Page 7 of The Medic (Dominion Hall #6)

I turned to her, and up close, she was a fucking revelation. Her scent hit me first—something dark, like sin distilled into a bottle. My mouth watered, and my cock stirred, already imagining her pressed against me, her thighs wrapped around my waist.

“Nice dress,” I said, keeping my tone light, my mask hopefully hiding the way my eyes devoured her. “You trying to start a riot or just here for the free champagne?”

She tilted her head, her lips curving under the lace, a cascade of blonde hair catching the light. “Maybe I’m here to see how many men trip over themselves before they realize I’m not interested.”

“Harsh,” I said, grinning. “But I’m not tripping. I’m walking. Big difference.”

She laughed, a low, throaty sound that sent a jolt straight to my groin.

“Confident. I like that. But this party’s a bore, don’t you think?”

“Like watching paint dry in a tux,” I said. “You got a better idea?”

Her eyes glinted behind the mask, sharp and playful. “Depends. You strike me as the kind who’d rather break rules than follow them.”

“You have no idea,” I said, leaning closer, my voice dropping to a growl. “How about we get back at these pretentious fucks by finding the master bedroom and breaking in their sheets?”

Her lips parted, and for a second, I thought she’d shut me down. But then she nodded, slow and deliberate, her eyes locked on mine. “Lead the way.”

My pulse kicked into overdrive, the bourbon and her scent making my head spin. I still didn’t know who she was—her mask hid too much, and the light was too dim to catch her eyes clearly.

It didn’t matter. I wanted her, and she was game. That was enough.

I took her hand, her skin warm and soft, and led her through the crowd. The contact sent a tingle up my arm, electric and distracting, but I ignored it, focusing on the mission.

We slipped past masked guests, their laughter fading as we climbed a grand staircase, the carpet muffling our steps. Her hand stayed in mine, firm, determined, like she was as committed to this as I was.

The master suite was at the end of a long hall, its double doors carved with ostentatious swirls.

I tried the handle—locked, naturally. I pulled a small tool from my pocket, a trick from darker days, and had it open in ten seconds.

She raised an eyebrow but said nothing, her silence as intoxicating as her scent.

Inside, the room was a shrine to excess—four-poster bed with silk drapes, crystal chandelier, a balcony overlooking the estate’s gardens.

I locked the door behind us, the click loud in the quiet. She stood by the bed, her silhouette framed by moonlight, the red dress glowing like a warning I was too far gone to heed.

I reached for her mask, needing to see her, to know who I was about to lose myself in. She caught my wrist, her grip firm but gentle. “Masks stay on,” she murmured, her voice a velvet blade that cut straight to my cock.

“Okay,” I rasped, the anonymity making it dirtier, hotter. “Your call.”

She stepped closer, her body brushing mine, and I was done waiting. I grabbed her hips, yanking her against me, my mouth finding hers. Her lips were soft, warm, tasting of champagne and something sweeter, something that made me growl low in my throat.

She kissed me back, fierce and hungry, her nails digging into my shoulders through the tux, sharp and wanting. I deepened the kiss, my tongue claiming hers, drinking her in like she was oxygen and I was drowning.

The masquerade ball thrummed below, a haze of music and masked faces, but up here, it was just me and her. I didn’t know her name, didn’t need to. Her eyes, glinting behind her mask, burned with a challenge I couldn’t resist.

Her hands tore at my jacket, shoving it off, then clawed at my shirt.

I yanked the zipper of her dress down, the satin pooling at her feet to reveal a body that stopped my heart—curves that begged to be worshipped, skin like silk under my calloused hands, breasts full and perfect, nipples tight and pink through a lace bra that didn’t stand a chance.

I unhooked it with one hand, tossing it aside, and took a nipple in my mouth, sucking hard, swirling my tongue until she moaned, the sound vibrating through me.

“Yes,” she gasped, her fingers tangling in my hair, pulling me closer.

I bit gently, then harder, her body arching into me, her pussy pressing against my thigh through her panties. I could feel her heat, her wetness, and it drove me feral. My cock strained against my pants, thick and aching, begging to be inside her.

I lifted her, her legs wrapping around my waist, and carried her to the bed, laying her on the silk sheets like an offering. She looked up at me, mask still in place, eyes dark with raw desire.

I stripped fast—shirt, pants, boxers—letting her see every inch of me. Broad chest, muscled arms, cock hard and heavy. Her gaze lingered, her lips parting as she reached for me, her fingers wrapping around my shaft, stroking slow and firm.

“Jesus,” I groaned, my hips bucking into her hand.

She smirked, her thumb circling the head, spreading the slickness, teasing me until my vision blurred.

I grabbed her wrist, pinning it above her head, and kissed her again, rough and possessive, my other hand peeling her panties off, exposing her pussy—bare, glistening, so fucking perfect I nearly lost it right there.

I slid two fingers inside her, curling them against her walls, tight and wet around me.

“Taste me,” she demanded, her voice raw, her masked face a mystery that made her need feel like mine.

I spread her thighs wide, kneeling between them, and dipped my head, my tongue flicking her clit, slow and teasing, then fast, relentless.

She bucked, her hands fisting my hair, pulling hard as she moaned, the sound echoing in the room.

I sucked her clit, plunged my tongue inside her, tasting her arousal, fucking her with my mouth until her legs trembled.

Her orgasm hit like a storm, her pussy pulsing, her cry sharp, and I lapped her through it, greedy for every shudder.

“More,” she urged, her voice raw, her hips grinding against my hand.

I thrust my cock into her, deep and brutal, filling her to the hilt.

She gasped, her nails raking my back, leaving welts that burned like victory.

I fucked her hard, each thrust a claim, the bed creaking under us, silk sheets tangling around her thighs. Her pussy was a vice, hot and perfect, milking me with every stroke. I leaned down, biting her neck, sucking until it bruised, marking her as mine, even if just for tonight.

“You’re mine,” I grunted.

“More,” she moaned.

I fucked her harder, my hands gripping her hips, bruising, angling her.

She came again, her pussy clenching so tight I saw stars, her body convulsing under me, her scream raw and unhinged.

I didn’t stop, flipping her onto her stomach, pulling her ass up, spreading her cheeks to see her pussy, red and swollen, dripping with her arousal and mine.

“Again,” she begged, pushing back. I thrust in, deeper, my cock stretching her, my hands bruising her hips, fucking her like the world was ending.

“More,” she growled, her voice a snarl, her mask still hiding her face, making her a stranger I knew too well.

I reached around, stroking her clit, driving her over the edge again. Her orgasm was a tidal wave, her pussy milking me, her body shaking so hard the bed groaned. I roared, my release tearing through me, hot and endless, spilling into her as I marked her inside and out.

But I wasn’t done.

I pulled out, flipped her onto her back, and spread her legs again, thrusting back in, slow now, deliberate, each stroke a conversation. Her pussy was swollen, sensitive, and she whimpered, oversensitive but craving more.

I fucked her deep, my thumb circling her clit, building her up again, her moans soft, desperate.

She came a final time, a shuddering wave, her pussy pulsing, her breath hitching, and I followed, my release a slow burn that left me raw.

We collapsed, panting, slick with sweat and come, the room spinning around us.

The mask, the bourbon, the heat of her body clouded my mind. But as I looked down at her, her scent lingering, a flicker of recognition stirred, too faint to grasp. It didn’t matter. Not then. All that mattered was the way she burned, and how I’d burn with her again if I got the chance.