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The man on my balcony is dressed all in black, and when he steps into the light, I see the mask.
Then his hand comes up and he slaps a sticky note on the glass door.
Johnny.
When he reaches for the handle, I breathe in relief that it’s locked.
Only, it’s not.
I take off down my hall, but even before I try to slam the bedroom door, he’s there, pushing his way inside.
I asked for this, I can’t back down. Plus, I don’t want to. I want something real with Eoghan but I can’t have him. Johnny only wants this, so…
Walking backward, I stutter, “What are you doing here? You scared me.”
“You’ve been bad, slut,” Johnny growls in that metallic tone I recognize.
I turn to run into my bathroom, but he tackles me, and throws me onto the bed.
“How dare you let another man touch you!” The sexy, old-money drawl is etched with a deep, disapproving fury.
“You saw?”
“I saw everything.”
Everything?
“Where? How?”
His fingers grip my skull. “I’m in your head. I see what you see. You wear it all on your face.”
Did he just have a hunch and let me out myself?
When I don’t say anything, his hands close around my throat.
His perfect, full lips protrude from the mask. I admire them, thinking of Eoghan and how he kisses me even though men like him don’t kiss the women they use only for sex.
“You’ll pay for letting him touch you.” Johnny squeezes my chin and forces me to look at him.
My heart pounds loudly in my ears, and I wonder if he can hear it.
“I’m going to fuck your mouth, and you’re going to take every inch of me down that gorgeous throat.” He reaches for his belt.
I stare, searching to place him. He leaves on his long sleeve black T-shirt, and I wonder why. Is this a man I know? Did he agree to this mask for another reason?
I struggle to make out the color of his eyes. They’re just dark and stormy, lifeless almost. He’s either truly pissed or masterful at playing a wounded fuck-buddy.
All of my senses are on high alert. As Johnny slowly undoes his belt, I smell the leather. I smell everything. His raw maleness and that masculine sweat. His soap, fresh and cottony. I even smell the flowers in my kitchen, ones I picked up over the weekend.
Johnny shucks down his pants, a pair of black cargos, to sit just below his ass. I swallow nervously, seeing he’s hard-as-steel and turned on by our game.
I eye the abnormally large engorged cock and think, my God, this is going to hurt.
I pause to remember I not only wanted this, I begged for it. But I’m still nervous.
Leather. Leather. I can say my safe word at any time, and he’ll stop. Right?
He walks toward me, holding his cock.
