Page 11 of Unmasking Mayhem (Behind the Mask Duet #2)

In the pause that follows, I see her resolve soften as she considers my words. Slowly, I reach out, brushing my fingertips along the back of her hand. She doesn’t pull away, but instead, there’s a tentative connection—a delicate bridge between distrust and burgeoning affection.

“Carter?” Whitney’s voice is small, and I lean in, taking her words seriously, preparing for whatever confession she needs to spill.

“I—I can't shake the feeling that we might be too late for Havoc. There’s got to be more going on, something even bigger than we realize. I just can’t help but think that with every tick of the clock, we’re running out of time,” she whispers. "I need to know how he's doing."

A shiver runs down my spine; her words are heavy with dread that tightens in my chest. I don’t want to imagine a world without her—without the threads that tether our lives together—but I also can’t ignore the gravity of the situation, and if we end up losing Havoc, there's no fucking doubt in my mind that if we do, we're going to lose Whitney right along with him.

To put her worries to rest, I pull out my phone and text Cade, showing Whitney the message before putting my phone on the patch of grass beside me.

Hey, how's Havoc doing? I need an update for Whit.

She holds her breath while waiting for a reply that neither of us knows when will come through.

She's determined, her focus strictly on Havoc and nothing else, but I'm determined too—determined to get her focus onto something else.

Snatching her wrist, I tug her onto my lap, firmly holding her in place with my hands around her hips.

She tries to wiggle out of my grasp, but I refuse to let her move.

Roughly, she shoves her hands against my chest, trying to push off of me and get up.

It doesn't work. I smirk, knowing my teasing is making her nervous, which is a shock, seeing how she never seems nervous around Cade or the others.

It's just me.

"You can fight me all you want, Whitney; I actually like it, but I'm still not fucking letting you go," I tell her, my voice deep and dominating, a hint of sarcasm lacing it.

Before I can comprehend what's happening, she has her gun pressed to my temple and her other hand around my throat, a dark, devious look in her pretty eyes. My heartbeat steadies, but my cock throbs intensely, aching for her in ways that it never has before.

She leans in close, her lips grazing the shell of my ear, her breath skating like fire across my skin as she whispers, "I've never killed a cop before, but there's a first time for everything."

"You think this is the first time I've had a fucking gun to my head, Little Mischief?

" I grunt, fisting her hair and roughly tugging on it.

"If you have the fucking balls to point it at me, you'd better have the fucking balls to pull the trigger, or else your ass better fucking run," I growl, releasing my hold on her hips to see if she takes the bait.

To my surprise, she doesn't fucking flinch.

Instead, she cocks her gun, pressing the muzzle even harder against the side of my head, leaving me momentarily speechless.

In an unexpected turn of events, I pull out my weapon and press the muzzle against the front of her throat, watching her eyes twinkle with curiosity.

"Did you forget that I'm carrying too? Or did you think just because you're you, that I'd never pull a gun on your ass?" I tease, staring deep into her eyes.

"Use it, Carter. Put me out of my fucking misery," she demands, her voice shaky but her grip stronger than ever.

Shaking my head, I glide the gun up her throat and to her mouth, pushing the barrel in between her lips, and she fucking lets me, never taking her eyes off mine. Without thinking, she begins to grind on me, her eyes fluttering from the feeling of my cock as she rubs her pussy over it.

"I've got a better idea," I whisper, trying to remain in control. "Instead of us threatening to fucking kill each other, how about I take your mind off of everything else in a different way?"

Without waiting for her answer, I swiftly flip her onto her back, keeping my gun in her mouth.

Looking down at her as I hover above her, she slowly lowers her gun from my head and places it beside us, her legs instinctively locking around me, trying to bring me even closer.

I ease my gun out of her mouth, covered in her spit, and lay it down, running the pad of my thumb along her bottom lip.

"Just make me forget about it, Carter," she begs, giving into temptation. "Just make me forget..." her voice trails off as her eyes finally close, her body and mind submitting to me in ways I've only ever dreamed about.

"Oh, Whitney, what have you done?" I ask, hiking her skirt over her hips and violently ripping her thong down as I settle between her legs.

"I'm not fucking around when I say you're mine to love, mine to hate, mine to fix, and mine to break.

.. and I'm not just going to ruin you, Little Mischief, I'm going to fucking destroy you. "

Her eyes fling open as I press my cock to her entrance, stopping myself from slamming into her. She grins, and I can tell right away that I've just awakened something inside of her that was probably meant to stay locked away.

"Then fucking do it, 13. Destroy me if you think you can; otherwise, I'm going to be the one destroying you," she threatens, slightly shocking me.

To hide my nervousness, I drive my cock deep into her pussy in a single thrust, her body moving up the grass from the force.

She digs her nails into my back, sliding them up and down under my shirt, clinging to me as I pound into her relentlessly.

The world around us fades into insignificance as every thrust becomes a violent declaration of what we are—two misfits clinging to each other in a hurricane of chaos, seeking solace in the surrender of our bodies.

Her moans pierce the night, reverberating through the trees that stand sentinel above us, their leaves rustling in time with our primal dance.

“Tell me you want this,” I growl, my voice thick with lust and desperate need. “Tell me you fucking need it.”

“I need you, Carter!” She gasps, her voice raw, each syllable touched by a mix of frustration and longing. “God, just don’t stop. Please don’t fucking stop.”

The tension within me coils tighter with each stroke, igniting a firestorm that blindsides my common sense.

It’s reckless and raw, but so fucking cathartic.

I push harder, driving deeper inside her, bathing in the wild sounds that escape her lips as if they’re a language I've been craving to understand.

I want to break her in ways that keep her whole, to weave our fates together in a tapestry of both agony and ecstasy.

With every move, I feel her cunt tightening around me, drawing me closer to the edge where pleasure collides with pain.

She gasps and thrusts her hips up to meet mine, urging me on as though we’re racing toward an unseen finish line.

The strong scent of sex mingles with the cool night air, intoxicating me as it wraps around us.

“What are you going to do when you realize I’m not the nice guy you think I am?” I taunt, my breath ragged, my heart pounding in sync with the rhythm of our bodies. “I might just be your worst fucking nightmare.”

With a wicked smile, Whitney raises her chin defiantly, her eyes a swirling storm of dark desires. “Then make me wake up, Carter. I’m not afraid of the nightmare. Just give me every last fucking bit of it.”

That challenge pushes me to the brink. I pull back slightly, only to plunge back into her pussy with brutal force, that primal need boiling over into something fierce—a relentless push and pull that knows no boundaries.

She screams out, a raw, uninhibited sound that echoes into the abyss of the night, fueling my determination.

“Damn it, Whitney,” I whisper, every ounce of my focus locked on her. “You’re not just a fucking distraction. You’re everything I’m not supposed to want, and yet I want you more than anything.”

In response, she arches her back—a sinuous movement that sends pleasure electrifying through both of us. Her nails dig into my skin deeper, drawing blood as she gasps for air, the heat of her body igniting an inferno at our core.

“Then take me, Carter. Own me. I’m done fighting.”

“God, you’re a wild one,” I breathe, losing myself in the depths of her surrender.

I don’t just want to fuck her; I want to consume her, to wrap her in the chaos of my heart and let her unravel me in return.

The rhythmic pounding of our bodies becomes a symphony, each note resonating with unspoken truths and regrets.

There’s a freedom in this moment—an understanding that for all our fractures and scars, we can still connect in wild abandon.

“Come on, Little Mischief. Just let everything go,” I urge, feeling my own climax creeping in, a flood tide of pleasure threatening to pull us both under. “Let it all out—your fears, your doubts. Let this be your escape.”

Her voice rises with the manic pulse of our intimacy.

“Carter, I—” But it barely reaches me, as my body blazes forward, senses honed in on nothing except her.

I feel the tightening at the base of my spine—the tightening that warns that we’re about to break free.

And then it hits. I spill into her—hot, heady pleasure surging forth in an instinctual rush, merging our worlds in an exultant haze.

Every thrust feels like a vow—an unspoken promise laid bare among the clashing of bodies.

As I clinch around her, reveling in the bliss of our chaos, I catch sight of her face—painted with raw emotion, a mosaic of vulnerability and power.

Our breaths intertwine in the heavy atmosphere, the night a witness to our recklessness.

But even as we ride the waves of ecstasy, I can feel the weight of the world settling back over us like a storm—reminders of the icy grip of reality lurk in the recesses of my mind.

But, for this moment, wrapped in each other’s arms beneath the vast expanse of stars, we are powerful.

We are fearless. And maybe we are enough to battle the darkness that threatens to engulf us.

Exhausted, panting softly, I rest my forehead against hers, a moment of stillness enveloping us after the storm. It’s vulnerable; it’s terrifying. But there’s a flicker of hope intertwined with our hot breaths—the promise of a future we might yet carve from the chaos that surrounds us.

“Stay close,” I murmur, grabbing her face and squeezing her cheeks, making her look me in the eyes, silence heavy between us as we both accept the uncharted territory that lies ahead. “Because this isn’t over. Not by a long fucking shot.”

Whitney glances back toward the edge of the cliff, her gaze lingering on the flickering lights below. “I know,” she breathes, and with a strange mixture of defiance and acceptance, she finds my hand—her fingers interlacing with mine.

And then, interrupting the perfect moment I've been wanting since I laid my fucking eyes on her, is a message that lights up my phone, quickly bringing us back to reality.

She scrambles to shove me off of her and desperately reaches for my phone, the moment gone—vanished—like it never even happened.

Before she can grab it, I pick my phone up and raise it out of her reach, earning a death glare from her as she picks her gun back up and aims it at me once again.

"Give me the fucking phone, Carter, or your ass better be the one fucking running."

"You think you can catch me?" I tease her, taking in the anger radiating off of her body as she pushes her skirt down, covering her perfect little ass. "Let's see."

And then I bolt for the trail tucked in between the tall trees that line the edge of the cliff, fully aware the game we're playing isn't the one with any winners at the end of it—only heartbreak and disaster, so to delay the inevitable, I run as fast as I can, needing to keep her mind off the news about Havoc, because glancing at the message, it's not one that she's going to like—not one fucking bit.