CHAPTER 5
HILDA
Two days later the ache between my legs hadn’t faded at all.
It had only gotten worse—deeper, hotter, like my body had decided Jayden’s c**k was the only thing that could fix it. I spent forty-eight hours replaying every filthy second in that haunted house: the way he’d stretched me slow under red moonlight, the way he’d called me his slut while he filled me up again and again, the way his number stared back at me on my phone under that ridiculous contact name. The Ghost Who f****d You Senseless. I’d laughed when I saw it. Now I was throbbing just reading it.
So at eleven p.m. on the dot I stood outside his apartment door in nothing but his black hoodie, the one he’d left at my place after group project night months ago and a scrap of black lace that barely qualified as
