Eye Candy

I’m used to sitting while getting my makeup done, but this is a lot more intricate than what I wear for a performance. Today I brought home a pile of old costumes. I just happened to be around when my producer opened a trunk of donated costumes, none of which were helpful for performances on the stage, but all of which were perfect for Halloween. Halloween may be weeks away, but the second I walked in the door I started trying on costumes. And the moment Amie arrived, I made her do the same.

I love Halloween. It’s my favorite holiday of the year, even though technically it’s not a real holiday since no one gets the day off. I also love horror movies. I love being scared more than ever now that I have a super-hot boyfriend to watch those movies with. It didn’t take long for him to learn to share that love. Especially when it means I’m cuddled up in his lap, using his neck as a place to hide my face when the movies get too scary. As a side note, the movies are never really that scary, I just like the way he smells. And more than half the time we never make it to the credits, since I use the scary part as an excuse to get all up on him. That often leads to kissing, and nakedness inevitably follows.

But back to Halloween. Beyond scary movies and morphing the condo into a haunted house—which I’ve already done thanks to several shopping expeditions to local Halloween specialty stores and a few consignment shops, all before October first—I love dressing up. Like love, love, love it. But then, I’m an actress, so playing pretend is kind of my thing. Even the bathroom Amie and I are currently occupying has been decorated. I’ve turned it into a haunted bathroom, with bats hanging from the ceiling and fun accessories containing creepy-crawly things lining the vanity. I’ve actually scared the crap out of myself a couple of times when I’ve had to pee in the middle of the night.

My phone buzzes on the vanity. I glance down and see that it’s Bancroft, my boyfriend. It’s his vanity I’m currently sitting on. Well, ours is probably more accurate. We’ve been dating since the spring and I moved into his condo two weeks ago. Our beginning was a bit unconventional. Not too long ago I was jobless and nearly homeless.

So when he presented an opportunity to be his pet sitter while he was out of town on business, he also offered me the spare room in his luxury, penthouse condo. Of course I took it. Five weeks of pet sitting turned into five weeks of video chat flirting that turned into seriously hot sex when he got back, which turned into an actual relationship.

I reach for my phone, but Amie slaps my hand. “Don’t move.”

“Ow.”

“I said don’t move. That includes your lips.”

“God you’re bossy.” It’s so hard not to smile at her angry expression. Especially with the way she’s dressed up. Amie’s a gorgeous, ultra-fit, sandy-blond-haired, blue-eyed goddess. She has a sweet face, but under that pretty exterior is a whole lot of bite. Bite that I haven’t seen much of since Armstrong came onto the scene.

She pinches my arm and I turn into a mannequin.

Less than a minute later I hear the door open and the sound of my name being called from down the hall. I’m not allowed to speak, so Amie answers for me, shouting, “We’re in your bathroom.”

The heavy tread of shoes—they’re not Bancroft’s, he always takes his off when he walks in the door—echoes down the hallway. Bancroft is not alone. He’s with Amie’s fiancé, who happens to be his cousin. I find him to be a pretentious asshole, but Amie seems to love him, so I keep those thoughts to myself most of the time. Unless I’m alone with Bancroft. Then we share our disdain for him openly.

Tonight they’re staying for dinner. Later we can bitch about him and I can distract Bancroft from his scorn with a blowjob and he can return the favor.

“What’re you ladies up t— Holy fuck.” Bane’s voice drops to gravel pitch.

Bancroft’s massive, broad shoulders take up most of the doorway. Sweet lord he’s gorgeous. Currently his luscious mouth is hanging open as he holds on to the jamb, as if his grip is the only thing keeping him where he is. His gaze bounces over Amie and lands on me, sweeping down and back up again.

“What’s going on?” Armstrong asks from behind him. He can’t see anything because Bancroft is impeding his view. Armstrong is shorter than Bane by a few inches. Although, to be fair, Bane is huge. I think he’s at least six-three, and he weighs twice as much as I do. He’s a wall of solid muscle and sexiness.

“That’s a really good question,” Bane mutters. His eyes drop to my red-toenailed bare feet, and move up, tongue dragging across his bottom lip as he takes me in.

Beyond the fact that I’m dressed the part of a villainous fairy with the makeup to match, I’m also sitting on the vanity with Amie standing between my legs. If I take off the makeup and the costume, it’s a rather common position I find myself in with Bane. Except both of us are usually naked and he’s often inside me. Or on his knees with his face between my legs. Based on the way he’s looking at me right now, I might very well get to experience his adeptness in both departments later tonight. I look forward to ripping off his suit and treating him like a ride at an amusement park. Once Amie and Armstrong leave, of course.

One eyebrow quirks as he asks, “You two playing dress-up?”

I grin. I assume it must look incredibly evil considering the makeup I’m currently sporting but am not allowed to see yet. “We’re practicing for Halloween.”

His mouth tilts in a smirk. “Fuck yes you are.”

Oh yeah. I’m getting so lucky later. I don’t think I’m changing out of this costume, as difficult as it might be to sit in all night considering the massive wings attached to my back. I’ll make it work. Bancroft is very well acquainted with my love of all things Halloween and horror.

“What’s happening in there?” Armstrong elbows Bancroft in the ribs so he can poke his head in the door.

He edges inside the bathroom and his eyes go wide as they move over Amie. I suppose I can understand why. I’ve managed to get her into a pair of red satin booty shorts and a tight T-shirt. Her bra is very, very visible through the thin fabric. Her amazing legs are on display. Her hair is pulled up into two pigtails. If I wasn’t 100 percent sure she wasn’t even close to Bancroft’s type, I might be inclined to make her cover up. But he’s not into leggy blondes. He’s into somewhat petite brunettes. He also likes the sass, which I have an abundance of.

“What’re you wearing?” Armstrong asks. He sounds very much like he’s sucked on a helium balloon for shits and giggles.