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So direct, powerful, and dominating.
It’s both too much and not nearly enough to be satisfying. I ache to merge with him, moving in synchrony. Fuck, I’m blinded by lust, fueled by the raw and visceral need for more.
As if he could read my mind, the thigh lodged between mine hikes up and I no longer have to rock my hips, or even buck them, to rub my pussy on it. Through the layers of fabric, the thick muscles push directly against my sensitive clit, stimulating it. Pleasure flutters in my lower abdomen. The friction is ever so slight, but I shudder like he’s using his fingers on me.
Oh, God, it’s so good.
My hips gyrate with their own volition and grind over him, establishing a rhythm that matches the pace of his sinful mouth. Lost in the overwhelming flush of desire, I use my hands to hold on to his shoulders, steadying myself to reach the perfect angle that rubs the seam of my jeans harder against the right spot. It sends tingles of pleasure under my skin.
“Yes, darling, just like that,” he praises between kisses. My eyes roll to the back of my head, and I welcome his approval. “Keep riding my thigh.”
I whimper, losing focus on what I’m doing. His voice is deeper than I thought it’d be, but not to the point where it’s scratchy like nails on a chalkboard. Only the smoothest wine compares, carefully curated and tasteful. The fact that I can barely see him in the dim lighting makes the sound of his voice send shivers down to my core where my pussy throbs.
“Did I say you could stop?” Silver Mask asks, scratching the front of my throat with the knife. A slice of a threat hidden in his words.
I gasp, and he seizes the opportunity to take the reins of the kiss, sliding the tip of his tongue to meet mine, greeting it with enthusiasm. He tastes and devours, controlling the rhythm and demanding more. The hand behind my neck slides to my chin, grabs it forcefully, and holds me in place so he can annihilate me with his mouth.
Following his order, I resume my grinding. Even though my legs tremble and can barely hold me up. If it weren’t because he’s propping me against the wall, I’d probably be on the floor, unable to remain standing.
He sweeps the tip of his tongue over my bottom lip before he nibbles on it, dragging the swollen flesh with his teeth. Goosebumps erupt over my skin.
Even with his fingers on my chin, I tilt my head back to allow him better access, while seeking a comfortable position for us to kiss. But rubber isn’t the most malleable material, and it’s difficult to return the same excitement when my mind keeps drifting to the mask clawing at my skin.
Without breaking apart from the delicious way his tongue flicks against mine, I lead my hand to his face to remove it. He’s faster. As soon as he realizes what my intentions are, he wraps his fist around my wrist, preventing me from getting rid of the inconvenient rubber.
“No.”
The loss of his mouth is imminent, and I yearn for it. I blink in confusion once I wake up from the broken spell of his kiss. I take a second to realize what he said. It’s so abrupt that I freeze in place. The temperature drops in the hall as the seconds tick by.
“No?” I echo, but my tone is more questioning than imitating.
“Mask stays on,” he states firmly.
“You don’t want to take it off or can’t?” I ask, out of curiosity.
It could be a work policy that I’m unaware of, not that it matters. If he doesn’t consent to be without it, I won’t force him to. I must admit the mask is a major turn-on for me. It’s not comfortable, but it does the job. Plus, I like the anonymity it provides. Though I would prefer full access to his face.
“Won’t.” It’s his only response, and he softly unwraps my wrist to rearrange the mask over his features, hiding his wicked mouth from me. It feels cold and disassociated from the heated moment we were sharing.
Disappointment weighs on my stomach, fearing this has ended before we could explore this further. Not that I had big expectations. I was willing to go with the flow and see where it led, and I ruined it.
Sheepishly, I nod and mumble, “Okay. That’s okay.” But because I fear my impulsiveness has shattered the moment entirely, I dare to ask, “Are you going to remove me from the game now?”
Silver Mask tilts his head, almost in amusement.
“Who said we’re done here?” he muses, a hint of laughter present in his tone. “Because I’m nowhere near done with you.”
To prove his point, he closes in the tight distance between us, allowing his chest to press into mine. His free hand caresses its way down my torso, grazing the swell of my breasts before continuing its path to my right hip. Fingers grip the flesh as he guides my lower body to oscillate on his thigh, establishing a low but steady rhythm.
I’m so turned on that even with clothes on, I can feel the wetness gathering in my panties. I wish there were no layers between us, so I could glide over him and have his warm skin touching aching pussy in the places I desire him most. This—riding his leg like a wanton woman—is satisfying, but not enough.
I need his direct touch—fingers, mouth, cock.
Any of the above, but preferably all.
“Please,” I whisper, closing my eyes to focus on the sensations, hoping they’ll intensify if I move faster, but I fail to rub the spot that makes me see stars. I can’t quite reach it with my clothes on, not like this. I’m millimeters away, yet so far at the same time.
Frustration creeps in, gnawing my bones.
