4. Brendon

4

brENDON

The sound of the eerie music and the screams of the other patrons has me on high alert as I hold my girl's hand and guide her through this spooky monstrosity. The air in here is cold, a prickly kind of iciness that crawls up your spine and solidifies like frost on a window, but my skin is hot.

I might have been a little annoyed when I realized I'd have to be on ‘Keep Saxon from discovering she inadvertently brought me to a sex club' duty, but now I'm thankful for the welcome distraction. Between leading her through room after room and fighting the arousal coursing through me, I've hardly had time to think about how fucking scary it is in this goddamn house. I'd like to have a nice long talk with the person who decided that getting the piss scared out of you— pun absolutely intended— was a fun late-night activity.

Okay. Apparently, I'm not completely over the fifth-grade hayride incident.

As we maneuver through each creepy scene, my heart races in my chest like I've been running a marathon. While I try to keep my eyes forward, my brain swims with all sorts of naughty possibility every time I glance down and notice one of those damned green bracelets. Each time Saxon yelps, screams, squeezes my hand tighter, I fight the urge to pull her even closer. Or better yet, yank her to my front and grind my persistent erection into the globes of her sweet little ass. I'm usually so much better at ignoring my lust for Saxon. I've been stuffing it down since I was a teenager, but the heady mixture of fear, anticipation, and the knowledge of what is going on right on the other side of these walls has all my senses on high alert.

Specifically, the senses that tell me to grab her, kiss her, claim her.

I am in for either a very cold shower or an intense lovemaking session with my right hand when I get home tonight. Probably both, if the way my dick is pressing against the zipper of my pants is any indication.

On and on we go, shuffling through a morgue scene, a rundown abandoned church, a nuclear wasteland chock full of zombie actors, one creepy scene after another. I almost forget about the entire reason Saxon wanted to come here tonight in the first place. There are no indications of anything besides the inconspicuous bands on people's wrists— even some of the actors have them hidden beneath their costumes. The only thing separating us from them is a glowing green line on the bands of the people who are here and ready to play, as opposed to the soft, red glow of the bands on Saxon's and my wrists.

That is, until we reach a hall of mirrors.