Four Psychos (The Dark Side #1)
Kristy Cunning
Four Psychos
The Dark Side
(Book I)
by
USA Today Bestselling Author
C.M. Owens writing as
Kristy Cunning
Thank you to the ones taking this fun little leap with me. <3
Chapter 1
“Oh! Oh yes,” the woman with the perfect purr says around an exaggerated moan.
Really, can’t he tell the girl is quite dramatic with the theatrics?
But Three doesn’t care.
Three is a rather selfish fellow, I’ve noticed. He lets One, Two, and Four do most of the heavy lifting, then he steps in and does something very scandalous it seems, if her breathy pants and moans could be trusted.
It’s not really scandalous. He’s just fucking her nice and hard, chasing his own release, and she’s fake moaning like she’s working for a Grammy.
It’s times like these I’d really like to be able to eat popcorn. It seems like the perfect time to have a bowl. The damn stuff slips right through my non-tangible hand.
Frustrating. As. Hell.
Anyway, Three gets his and moves aside for Two to step in. Two likes the nipples. He always works the nipples, and that’s when her moans will get raspy, more genuine. Two is who I’d like to meet first. Three would have to sit out if I ever get out of this half-here, half-not phase and touch some skin.
I’d make him watch, while Two took my nipples just like he’s doing to her now. As he was doing that, I’d make One and Four change their routine from going first to going second.
As soon as Two finished my nipples, I’d have One and Four do that delightful little blindfold game they do. I wouldn’t know which one had his face between my thighs, humming whatever tune he wanted. I wouldn’t know which one was behind me and running his hands all over my body.
Those two like to share a lot.
Three would usually step in and steal all this glorious thunder so he could deliver some anticlimactic lightning. Pew. Pew.
Not with me. He’d have his very impressive-looking ass on the sidelines, stroking himself for my viewing pleasure, as Two stepped back in and took me slow, then hard, then slow…
Oh yes. This is exactly what I’ve been doing for the last few years since I became whatever this thing I am.
We went dancing tonight. The four of them often go to clubs to find a willing participant interested in a scandalous night of debauchery with four sexy men.
I love dancing. I always pretend like it’s me they’re surrounding as I stand in the middle with the woman of their choice, while they close ranks, boxing her in on the dance floor and making her feel like the sexiest, most desirable woman in the world.
It’s breathtakingly erotic and empowering. Obviously it’s just make-believe on my part, since they’re not aware of me.
I’m neither here nor there. Alive nor dead.
I don’t even quite know who I am. I know what century I’m in, and who the American president is. I assume that means I’m American, especially given the fact English is the only language I know.
But me? I have no clue who I am. I know all that other seemingly less important information, but not where I live, or what I do, or even my name.
And I have no clue who these four are, other than the fact they’re not entirely human, though they look like the finest specimens in the world.
Well, I’ve learned their names; I just had them numbered first, so I considered them pet names after that.
Jude—Four—is the dark and tempting type. Not generally brooding, but certainly foreboding. A sinister twinkle sometimes flickers in his eyes. Dark hair, dark eyes, beautifully tan skin, and a body that would set my panties on fire if I could wear physical panties.
Yeah, he’s the one that drives you to the fine edge of pain, and that’s when those moans become disbelieving, as though they can’t possibly fathom anything is quite so good.
Four is definitely my favorite.
Two is a close second though, because he takes his time. His blond hair is a stark contrast to Four’s inky black hair. The two side by side have no visible similarities, besides the fact they’re carved like sexy stones.
Three is probably the most attractive—blindingly gorgeous, to be honest. But it’s wasted because he’s so selfish with his body, only touching but never letting anyone else touch.
His hair is almost as dark as Four’s, but it’s just a little lighter, always messier. But it’s messy in a deliberate way that only spikes his appeal. And again…that body.
One, who is built just as freakishly perfect, has very light hair, but not quite blond. It also looks the softest, and I really want to get my fingers tangled in it one day.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. I’m terrible for watching these people in their dirtiest, darkest, most intimate of times, when they’re utterly clueless of my presence.
Yeah. I felt that way for the first little while.
During that time, I would flicker in and out. It seemed the longer I had my eyes on them, the longer I was able to stay in this place. Their world.
But when I would seal them out during these intimate times to give them their privacy whilst I called that nasty skank a string of names, I’d slowly start to fade.
What sort of self-respecting woman would allow four men touch her like that? How sickeningly filthy would one have to be to partake in such acts of debauchery?
After years of no one being able to see you, hear you, smell you, feel you, or even sense you? You stop giving a damn about what other people might think of you, and you face the truth of who you really are and what your moral compass truly is.
Because your opinion becomes the only one that exists. No one else even knows you exist.
Turns out, I’m a shameless hussy.
I watched, I coveted, I even did some really questionable things to try and actually possess whatever woman they brought home with them. I’m apparently not the possessing type of ghost.
Or poltergeist? Am I a poltergeist?
If so, I’m terrible at it. I can’t even rattle the electricity or change the channel on the television. Power surges are obviously way out of my league.
Anyway, I’ve since perfected my own personal fantasy. Living. Watching. Learning. I know all four of them as if they’re my real life family.
Well, not family. My people. There.
But they have no clue I even exist.
When I’m watching them watch TV—okay, that sounds creepier than it is—I like watching their different reactions to the same thing. Four always likes the gory stuff. He actually grins when blood is slashed.
Three lights up like a horny teenager when anything to do with sex is on. Ironic, since he’s the worst one at the act.
Two likes to watch with heat in his eyes instead of eager, unlike Three. He also likes to watch his friends—definitely not brothers, learned that—have fun with the girl of their combined choice.