Page 73 of Terror Tuesday

Without waiting much longer, I plunge it deep inside her.

Her mouth drops with a gasp, but otherwise, she doesn’t move.

Eyeing the camera, I thrust the toy slowly in and out of her, using my thumb to rub slow circles on her clit as I do. It’s no longer than a few moments before she’s bucking, back arching, tits jiggling… Her fingers grip the sheets as she chokes on a whimper and comes hard, her body taut as pleasure surges through her.

Then, I slip the dildo out, lift my mask, and suck it dry, swallowing all her flavor mixed with mine.

We taste good together.

twenty

Upon awakening from a restful sleep,I immediately sense where Vanq’s hands have been…and more. An unfamiliar dildo sits next to me, along with my open laptop, another risqué video loaded onto the screen.

A soft gasp escapes as my fingers fly to my throat. After that intoxicating kiss with Elliot…did Iinvitethis by leaving my door open?

Because I crave those bad things he does to me…

What if I needed a sweet release of control and was scared to allow myself to become entangled with someone who would beperfectfor me…on paper?

What if I needed to be unmade by someone who knows I’ve worn a mask far longer than he has?

The only man who truly sees me is the one who hides so completely.

I hit play. And instantly, I ache in all the places where he marked me.

His gloved hand grips my waist as he fucks the cum-slick toy into me, slow and brutal, until I’m writhing. I shiver, clutchingthe sheets. Good thing I’m on birth control. I have been since Reggie.

Heat licks up my throat, my face, down between my thighs. But it’s not the thrusting that ruins me—it’s the final shot.

Vanq, bare mouthed, licking every trace of us off the toy like a lollipop made of sin.

My fingers are already on my clit before I realize it.

I grab the toy.

And pressplayagain.

It feelsnormal to hold his hand. Disturbingly normal. That instinct to retreat—to curl inward and shield myself—is replaced when he pulls me closer, guiding us toward the ticket booth.

He’s nothing like Hunter, nor the casual dates who draped power like a suffocating cloak. Elliot’s brand of dominance is subtle, protective. Positioning himself closer to the street, nudging me gently around uneven concrete, timing each doorway perfectly.

For a fleeting second, suspicion gnaws at me. Perhaps this charming, nerdy exterior is just a mask, and beneath it, he’s a predator. A cunning fox in glasses, leading me into his den where darker appetites wait.

Then he smiles, and the suspicion evaporates, replaced by warmth pooling in my chest.

He’s disarming—dangerously so.

And charming in a way that whispers secrets I want desperately to unravel.

“Only because I sense you’ve spent your share of time around the country club guys,” he says, lifting two putt-putt clubs fromthe booth. His open palm directs me smoothly toward the first hole, a bright windmill spinning lazily. “I should warn you.”

I arch an eyebrow, intrigued. “Warn me about what, exactly?”

“I’ve only played golf digitally,” he admits sheepishly. “And badly at that.”

I smirk, positioning myself over the tee with practiced ease, lining up my club carefully. I calculate silently, pull back, and swing with confidence. The ball glides under spinning blades, dropping into the hole.

Turning triumphantly, I tease, “Thought you said you were a rich prick, Elliot.”