Page 25 of Masked Seduction

She moans, raw and breathy. “God, yes…”

“That’s it. Take it all. Every inch.” I lean forward, one hand sliding up her back, gripping the nape of her neck. “You’re mine tonight. Say it.”

She gasps, hips rocking against me as she chokes out, “I’m yours.”

I spank her lightly, but firmly enough to make her jolt and gasp. The sound echoes deliciously off the walls. Her ass is perfect, red blooming across her pale skin.

“You like that?” I murmur, rubbing the spot.

She nods frantically. “Please. Don’t stop.”

My control snaps. I move harder now, the slap of skin loud and rhythmic. One hand stays at her hip, grounding her. The other slides up, cupping her breast, pinching her nipple as I thrust deeper. She lets out a strangled sound—desperation and pleasure tangled together.

“You’re so tight,” I grit out. “So fucking good.”

She’s close. I feel it in the way her body clenches around me, in the soft gasps growing frantic, in the way she braces herself like she’s preparing for an impending storm.

“I want you to come for me,” I say, bending her over further, my mouth brushing her ear. “Come all over my cock. Let me feel it.”

That’s all it takes.

She shatters around me with a cry, trembling violently as I hold her still and fuck her through it. Her walls pulse around me, milking me, and I almost lose it right then and there.

But I need to see her. I pull out, gently flipping her onto her back. She’s a vision—flushed and panting, hair wild against the dark fabric, breasts rising and falling, a glistening between her thighs.

“Fuck,” I whisper, staring down at her. “Look at you.”

I slide between her legs again, her thighs parting willingly. I thrust in with one smooth stroke, burying myself deep.

She arches with a strangled gasp, nails dragging down my back. I find her mouth, kissing her hard as I thrust, hips snapping, sweat starting to bead at the base of my neck. This angle, this closeness, drives me mad. I grip the back of her thigh, angling her just right, driving in again, harder.

“Mine,” I growl against her mouth. “This sweet little pussy is mine tonight.”

“Yes,” she whimpers, clinging to me. “Please. Don’t. Stop.”

“Never,” I rasp, hand braced beside her head as I fuck her with everything I have. “You’re fucking perfect. You know that? Every inch of you.”

Her head tips back, mouth open, legs locked around my waist. The tension coils within, tight and furious. She squeezes around me, another orgasm building fast. Our bodies move in frantic unison, every sound she makes pushing me closer.

And then it hits—her release—crashing into her like a wave, pulling me down with her. I groan into her neck, hips stuttering as I spill into the condom, teeth clenched, every muscle taut with pleasure.

We collapse together, our breaths tangled.

I stay buried in her for a beat, unwilling to break the moment. Then slowly, I slide out, rolling off the condom and tossing it into the nearby bin.

Something about it feels… off. A looseness I don’t usually notice. But I don’t think about it too long.

She curls into me instinctively, her leg sliding over my hips, her cheek pressed to my chest, fingers splayed softly across my ribs.

I exhale, head falling back. Fuck, she feels good like this. Warm, soft, still trembling slightly. Her hair tickles my skin. I wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her closer, kissing the top of her head.

She fits against metoowell. Like she was built for me.

And that’s dangerous.

Because I know what this was supposed to be. One night. A faceless, anonymous encounter, just like a hundred others I’ve had in this club. But this? Her?

She’s not faceless or anonymous. And she’s definitely not forgettable.