1 | Gold Mask
CARTER
Friday, 9:22pm
His large, calloused hands trail up my thighs, prying them apart. “Riven,” I breathe, arching when his lips graze the sensitive strip of skin above my panties. I’m already aching for him, my core throbbing as he hooks his fingers beneath the lace and rips them off me.
There’s something feral in his gaze when he finds me already wet for him—something so stripped of humanity I’m not entirely convinced he’s still in control. The swirling black swallowing the gray in his irises confirms it—his wolf is taking over.
Before I can speak, his tongue slides out, dragging through my slick heat and erasing any trace of rational thought I had left. The world narrows until there’s nothing but me, him, and his huge—
“Are you working?!”
I whirl, slamming my laptop shut so fast it nearly bites my fingers. “No, I was just—”
“Bullshit, you absolute stick-in-the-mud. There’s a party raging in the next room, and who’s out here in the dark writing again? Carter fucking Pierce.”
“Excuse you.” I stand, smoothing down my dress. “Just wait until ‘Carter fucking Pierce’ is printed across covers in every damn bookstore.”
“At least you’ve got the imagination part down.” Payton pushes the door all the way open, bright light spilling in. “Come on. You look way too hot to be sulking back here alone.”
I tug at the hem of my dress, which just barely covers the ink on my thigh.
Damn it. I should’ve worn a normal costume.
I trail after Payton, following her back to the party. The music thrums through the air, settling heavy in my chest. I don’t even like parties, but here I am, pretending I do—because I want to get on Helen’s good side. And because, frankly, I deserve a damn break.
I get one night to myself. One. I haven’t just been taking care of my grandma—I’ve basically been living like her. My life has become a rotation of grocery runs, cooking, working, and tucking an old lady into bed. Give me two more weeks and I’ll probably pick up knitting just to stay sane.
But tonight, my cousin’s taken over, which means I finally have the night off.
And I plan to actually use it.
The place is too bright, too crowded, and way too full of people I have absolutely zero interest in seeing after hours.
Well—except Payton. I actually like getting coffee with her on our days off. She’s an absolute menace, but she makes me laugh, and she keeps my head screwed on when I start spiraling.
And fine, I don’t totally mind seeing Huck either. He’s posted up near the DJ booth—right behind a girl dressed as Katniss Everdeen—pretty sure that’s Layla?—and the Sherlock Holmes she’s chatting with.
I never thought I’d be into a guy like Huck—although into might be an overstatement. Still, he caught me off guard. He isn’t someone I’d usually go for. Too blunt, too rough around the edges. But there’s something about him—something that the scene I wrote earlier has apparently made me inclined to explore.
Writing doesn’t usually turn me on—not even the filthiest scenes—but there’s something about this story. There’s gold in it; I can feel it humming under my skin.
Maybe it’s because it’s mine.
For once, I’m not mimicking another author’s voice. I’m not squeezing myself into some tiny box someone else built, hoping no one notices the phantom doing all the heavy lifting.
The glamorous fate of a ghostwriter. Fucking delightful.
Not for long, though. This Little Red Riding Hood retelling is my ticket out of the shadows. My own little rebellion. An ode to every girl who watched Beast turn into Prince Adam and immediately crinkled their nose.
Because let’s be honest—we all preferred Beast.
So I figured… What if Little Red Riding Hood wasn’t some sweet little girl delivering pastries to Grandma? What if she was a fierce young woman with a mission?
And what if the Big Bad Wolf was a very, very hot werewolf?
Payton pops up beside me, two drinks in her hands. “Mr. Darcy over there has been eyeing you since you walked in,” she murmurs, passing me a cup. “Maybe you two should merge your stories—Pride and Prejudice meets… wait, what are you even supposed to be? Betty Boop?”
I roll my eyes and tug my hood over my head. “Little Red Riding Hood, obviously.”
Payton snorts. “Didn’t know Little Red wore a dress like that.”
I tug on the hem again, the damn thing creeping higher every time I move. “It’s my Halloween costume from last year. The invite said ‘favorite book character.’ I figured this would do.”
She eyes me over the rim of her cup, knowingly. “Oh, it’s definitely doing something.”
Heat hits my cheeks instantly. I spin around so fast my dress flares out, adding insult to injury. “Alright, that’s it—I’m changing.”
Payton’s hand curls around my wrist. “Don’t. I’m teasing. You look hot—criminally so. Just have a drink and mingle a little. Helen just got here, and she’ll love seeing you among the living.”
I hesitate, then fold. “Fine, I’ll stay. But if this doesn’t earn me brownie points with her, I’m coming for you.”I take a long sip of the drink she handed me. It’s stronger than I expect, burning down my throat in a way that loosens the knot in my stomach but does absolutely nothing about the noise pressing in on me from all sides. The bass pulses low enough to shake my bones, and people are yelling to hear each other over it.
Nope. Maybe I haven’t exactly socialized, but I’ve existed in the same room as other humans. That’s enough for now.
I edge along the wall, keeping my hood up like it’ll make me invisible, and slip out of the main room. The hallway is dimmer, cooler, and blessedly quiet. My shoulders drop a little.
I didn’t even last five minutes—God, I really am turning into my grandma.
I head back toward my office, a little red shadow creeping through the dark. Just as my fingers brush the doorknob, something—instinct, maybe—drags my attention over my shoulder.
At the end of the hall, half-swallowed by shadows, stands a man.
Tall. Broad. Completely, utterly still.
He’s dressed in all black—and he’s wearing a golden wolf mask.
I almost jump at the sight of him, then I huff out a shaky little laugh. “Fuck, you scared me,” I mutter, raising my cup halfway in a mock toast. “Gotta hand it to you—you embody your costume pretty well.”
He doesn’t answer—doesn’t even move, really. He just stands there, watching me.
A chill races down my spine, curling in my stomach in a way that’s not entirely unwelcome. God, of course I get turned on by the sight of a fucking wolf mask—I’ve basically conditioned myself.
“Right,” I mumble, retreating back into my office. “You keep doing… that.”
I slip inside fully, shut the door way too fast, and exhale. My pulse is ridiculous—I’m actually worried about my poor little heart. With my hand pressed to my chest, I peek through the narrow window beside the frame.
He’s gone.
There’s nothing there but dim light and an empty hallway.
I swallow hard and turn back to my desk. My laptop calls to me, the lingering adrenaline curling into something warm and delicious.
I need to write.
I open the doc and sink right back into the scene—Riven’s mouth, Scarlet’s breathless arch, the feeling of losing control—
The door clicks.
I jump. “What the—”
Huck steps inside, brows raised like I’m the unreasonable one for startling. “Pierce.”
“Coroner,” I shoot back, spinning in my chair to face him. “You freaked me out—I was already jumpy from running into the wolf.”
He tilts his head, curious. “Wolf?”
“I think so. The one with the golden mask? Definitely something canine. “
A disinterested hum rolls out of him as he comes closer. “So what are you supposed to be—sexy Annie?”
My brows knit, then jump. “Annie? The orphan?! Jesus Christ—no. I’m Little Red Riding Hood. How are none of you—”
“You look good,” he cuts in smoothly. “You should wear dresses more often. How’s that drink?”
I glance down at my cup. “Strong and sweet. Yours?”
“Empty.”
I lean back in my chair, my red velvet cape hugging my shoulders. I put on my best dude-voice. “Need me to get you a refill, sweetheart?”
He grins, amused. “How about I get you one instead?”
I lift my cup. “Still half full.”
He reaches out and plucks it from my hand anyway. “Can I have a sip?”
I shrug. “Have the whole thing. It’s not really my type of drink.”
Huck knocks it back in one go. “Sweet indeed.” He studies the rim… then licks his lips. “Is that strawberry chapstick you’re wearing?”
I smack my lips, exaggerating it for show. “Blueberry.”
Something shifts in his expression—darker, heavier. The kind of look that lights a fuse low in my stomach. I immediately commit it to memory to describe in a scene later.
“Sweeter than the drink itself,” he murmurs.
Heat curls through me, sharp and fast. His eyes drop to my mouth, and it sparks again. I put a lock of hair behind my ear innocently. “Even sweeter straight from the source, I bet.”
His gaze lifts, locking on. “Is that an invitation, Pierce?”
“I’m just saying,” I murmur, tilting my head up at him. “Bet you can’t even taste the blueberry mixed with the alco—”
I don’t even get the word out.
Huck grabs me—fast—pulling me to my feet like I weigh nothing. His arms lock around my waist, solid and warm, and then his mouth is on mine, hard enough to steal the last of my breath.
I gasp into him, lips parting without hesitation. His tongue slides against mine and god, I melt.
I need this. I need to let go, to stop living like some overworked nun and remember I have a body. One that deserves attention.
His hands drop to my ass, squeezing like he’s trying to pull me through him, like he wants us tangled right here on my office floor. The bulge in his pants presses against my hip, and my knees give out instantly.
He breaks the kiss first, panting, forehead almost touching mine. “Alright—wanna get out of here?”
My breath shudders. “Yeah. Just—let me grab my things.”
He nods once, stepping back, jaw tight. “I’ll get you some water, yeah? Sober you up a bit? Wouldn’t want anyone accusing me of taking advantage of an unclear mind.”
“My mind is perfectly clear,” I whisper, chest rising and falling like I’ve just run a damn marathon. “But… yeah. Water would be nice.”
When he’s gone, I pull the little mirror from my purse and do a quick damage assessment. My lips are flushed, my hair a little wild—but in a good way. I reach under my dress to adjust my panties, which are already damp… mostly courtesy of Riven, but Huck doesn’t need to know that.
I sling my purse over my shoulder, pulse still fluttering from the kiss.
Time to get some inspiration for my story.
Friday, 9:48pm
I kick the empty McDonald’s cups aside and swing my legs out of Huck’s Volkswagen. The world tilts a little as I stumble after him. My body’s still humming from that kiss, but the alcohol is nipping at me. I had, what, half a cup? Skipping dinner really is a rookie mistake.
He pushes open his front door with his shoulder and gestures for me to go inside. The place is dim, curtains drawn, the only glow coming from a massive fish tank dead-center in the living room. Blue light ripples over everything—couch, carpet, walls—warping the space just enough to make me feel even more dizzy.
My brain feels… overexposed, somehow. Every detail hits me at once: the cracked leather couch, the heavy wooden table, the sharp scent of hot dust burning off old radiators. It’s a lot to take in at once.
Huck laces his fingers through mine and leads me up the stairs, talking a mile a minute about work. I trail after him, heart beating too fast, breath a little shallow. I feel wired, jittery—not in a cute butterflies way, more like I drank three coffees on an empty stomach. Maybe it’s just nerves—it’s been a while since I went home with anyone.
In the bedroom, he spins me straight into a kiss, hot and fast. I kiss him back, threading my fingers into his hair, letting him take the lead. He hoists me onto the bed and climbs on over me, hands already moving. He’s unzipping, shoving fabric aside, rushing the whole thing like he has no time to waste.
My skin sparks at his touch, but wrong—sharp and electric, like static instead of heat. My limbs feel buzzy, weightless and heavy at the same time.
I’m lucky I’m still a little slick from earlier, because there’s zero foreplay. He rolls on a condom and pushes into me with a low groan, and I let him. My body reacts on autopilot, but there’s no build, no warmth catching low in my stomach. Just… motion.
I stare over his shoulder at the ceiling. The shadows swim lazily. My brain drifts back to the scene I wrote earlier—a fictional man doing fictional things with fictional dedication.
Yeah. Getting inspiration sure as hell isn’t happening here tonight.
Huck finishes with a short grunt. I don’t. He collapses beside me and is half-asleep in seconds.
The comedown hits hard, my vision blurring at the edges. I’m not drunk—just off. My heartbeat’s sprinting, but my limbs feel sunk into the mattress.
Huck snores once and rolls over.
I exhale slowly. I wanted to feel something tonight… just not this.
Eventually, exhaustion drags me under.
Alright, did we hook you?
This chapter (and all Carter ones!) were written by yours truly 🙋♀️ Did you recognize my writing? 😏
Now, what are you still doing here? Go meet the big bad wolf in chapter 2! 💋
