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“Please what?” he prompts. “Use your words.”
“I need…” My voice breaks into a whine full of want and desire. I don’t know what to ask for. Knowing what I crave in my mind isn’t the same as saying it aloud. Blood sizzles in my cheeks, flushing my skin. “More.”
Silver Mask hums, the sound vibrating low in his throat. “What else? Say the words, and you’ll get it.” My heartbeat pounds harder. “Look at me.”
I peel my lids open to stare deep at him, where I sense his gaze focus on me. even when I can’t see anything behind the veil of fabric covering the eye sockets of his mask.
“Touch my pussy,” I plead. “This isn’t enough.”
A groan of approval erupts from him.
“What a fucking good girl,” he mutters. “I’ve got you, darling.”
His fingers abandon my hip. Before he continues his journey, he removes one glove to graze the sliver of exposed skin over the hem of my jeans. He teases his way to the front of my pants, enjoying the thread of unintelligible whimpers emanating from the back of my throat. The texture of his bare hand is different from the leather, though not less pleasant. Raspier thanks to the callouses adorning his palm. Silver Mask pops the button open with skill, and eases the zipper down, giving himself space to slide underneath the fabric.
However, he doesn’t dive in the way I expect him to. Instead, he caresses the tiny bow of my panties. If I could go back in time, I would’ve worn different ones—a sexier pair. Perhaps a lacy thong. Something that matches the energy I have tonight. Anything other than the simple black cotton briefs I have on.
Silver Mask seems to find it amusing because he tugs on the bow and says, “Cute.”
A choked moan breaks free when he slips his fingers under the fabric and cups my pussy. His hand covers my heat with ease, brushing the slick folds, and parting them with the pad of his middle finger.
Instinctually, I buck my hips while one of my hands grips his neck to anchor myself. My nails sink into his skin, probably leaving behind a trail of crescent moon-shaped marks in it. He hisses, but doesn’t complain. He wets his fingers with my arousal before he circles the hood of my clit, not rubbing directly or applying too much pressure.
It’s… fuck…it’sperfect.
I’m blinded by the overwhelming sensations exploding in my core. A high-pitched moan rasps its way out of my mouth, and I have no doubts that if anyone were to walk nearby, they’d hear me. I can’t find it within myself to care about other people when I’m lost in the magnificent pleasure he’s giving me.
Silver Mask must be experienced because he rubs me with skill and precision, knowing exactly where to stroke and how to do it.
I bite my bottom lip to muffle the moans.
“No,” he grunts as he lowers his head on my shoulder. “Let me hear you. I want to listen to every sound you make when I touch your needy little cunt.”
Somehow, hearing his dirty talk makes this whole scenario even naughtier. I love how he continues to ramble his filthy words in the crook of my neck, near my ear. I quiver and grip him harder.
In this position, the faint scent of perspiration mixed with the leathery hint of worn cologne hits my senses, and the primal urge inside me can’t get enough of it. Intoxicating and addictive, that’s how I’d describe his smell.
“You’re so good at that.”
His chest heaves, puffing with pride as he continues to circle my clit.
Pearls of sweat wash down my skin, overheating with the impending orgasm building in my belly, rising in tidal waves, each of them bigger than the previous one. I’m reduced to shaky breaths and unintelligible sounds, my system feverish. A warning of what’s coming hardens my muscles.
“I’m getting close,” I tell him. I don’t want to lose it, not when I can savor the sweet release. My orgasm is closing in, tightening my limbs, and causing my breath to hitch. But Silver Mask is cruel and sadistic because he stops giving attention to my clit. “No, no, no,por favor,” I beg, my voice raspy with desperation.
“Tell me what you want.”
“I want to come. Please, make me come,” I plead.
He nuzzles my cheek with his face. “See? That wasn’t so hard, right?”
Chuckling, he inserts two fingers inside me, catching me off guard. My back arches, and I tilt my head, hitting the wall behind me. Eyes rolling, I let out a choked moan. The heel of his palm brushes the sensitive bundle of nerves while his digits curve against my walls.
“What do you say?” Silver Mask asks, teasing my throat with the knife as his other hand drives me closer to the edge. “What do you say when you get what you want?” he insists, pressing the point of the blade straight over my pulse. “I won’t ask again.”
I push through the fog in my mind, praying for some clarity. But it’s so hard when his fingers are buried deep inside me, thrusting at an unholy rhythm.
“I don’t know,” I mumble.
