Page 23 of Unmasking Mayhem (Behind the Mask Duet #2)
"It’s dangerous, isn’t it?" I whisper, returning my gaze to the glass, no longer focused on just me.
I watch as our reflections intertwine, the heat of our passion palpable. The louder the outside world gets, the wilder my need becomes, pulling me deeper into this intoxicating web.
“Only if we let it.” Red leans back slightly in order to lock gazes with me again, an enigmatic smile pulling at his lips as he matches his rhythm to the escalating beats echoing from the main stage.
In the moment, it’s impossible to tell whether my heart races from the fervor of our actions or the thrill of all the danger that comes along with him.
Either way, I feel alive, electrified in the way only Red can provide, completely engulfed in the deep strokes he keeps fucking me with.
Not just a fantasy, this was becoming a reality that I wanted to endure forever, even if it was only for tonight.
"Now come for me," he orders, his cock growing even harder inside of me, making all the muscles in my body tense.
The urgency in his command stirs something primal within me, pushing me closer to the edge of ecstasy I can barely hold back. I can feel every nerve ending on fire with sensation, sending shock waves through me as pleasure builds like a thunderstorm, swelling and swirling deep in my core.
“Red—” I gasp, my voice a breathless plea, feeling it teetering on the edge, desperate for release.
His grip tightens on my hips, fingers digging into my flesh as he thrusts harder, deeper, his pace relentless. “Not until you give in,” he growls, his tone a sultry mixture of authority and something darker. “Show me how fucking bad you want it.”
My heart races—his words sending a thrill coursing through me, blurring the line between pleasure and danger. I throw my head back onto his shoulder, allowing the rapture to wash over me in waves, wanting to let go but teetering on that knife-edge of control.
“I want it; I want it so badly,” I moan, my reflection a riot of delicious chaos.
“Then give in,” he urges, thrusting even harder, his breath hot and ragged against my neck, sending shivers racing down my spine.
His urgency pushes me to the brink. I can already feel the tension sizzling hotter, and my body—from my clenching thighs to the fluttering of my heartbeat—begins to unravel under him.
“Red!” The word spills from my lips, my eyes widening as the world narrows down to the two of us, the mirror capturing every raw expression of desire—that desperate, lingering need carved into our very beings.
It’s intoxicating, electrifying—a dance of vulnerability and longing wrapped in the grim reality of our predicament.
“Let go, Whitney. I’ve got you,” he whispers reassuringly, his voice acting as both a command and a promise.
The certainty in his tone reinforces my faith in this moment—a moment that feels toxic with all the beautiful danger that comes from wanting something forbidden.
And then it hits me—the wave of pleasure crashes over me like an unchecked tide, pushing me from the ledge.
My body convulses, trembling under the force of my release, pulsating around him as I cry out, the sound echoing off the walls.
The world blurs and fades away, leaving only the addicting connection between us, the beat of the music now just a distant hum.
“Good fucking girl,” he praises, watching me in awe, the admiration in his gaze sparking something deeper within my chest. “Now, don’t fucking move.”
I’m caught in the aftershocks of pleasure as he begins to thrust again, slow and purposeful, riding the high off my euphoria as if savoring every moment.
“I want you to see this,” Red murmurs, and I obey, turning my gaze back to my reflection.
His cock glistens, slick with our cum, thrusting in and out, writing our story in every thrust. I’m panting, overwhelmed by how he consumes me and how beautiful it is to surrender—even if just for a moment.
In our reflection, I see more than a dancer caught up in a passionate affair.
I see a woman who has faced demons but is now rising, determined and fearless.
I am unrestrained and powerful, wrapped up in the fantasy of our sanctuary.
As he slams into me, I can see the flicker of desire in his eyes too—the connection beyond mere lust, swirling around us like confetti caught in a fever dream.
“I’m close,” he warns, his voice thick with need. It also sounds like it has an undertone of something else—maybe it’s longing, or perhaps it’s more than that, an invitation to many more nights like this.
“Me too,” I gasp, my body responding instinctively, meeting each thrust as if we are matching puzzle pieces, as if we can escape the very recklessness that has sewn us together in this fabric of darkness.
We lock eyes in the mirror, and for that instant, it feels like everything outside these walls—every fear, every threat—fades away. All that exists is us, in this moment of unfiltered understanding, passion, and the bittersweet realization that nothing is forever.
“Come for me, Red,” I urge, and it feels like a bold declaration laden with tension.
With one final thrust, he comes, his body tensing as he spills into me, and I'm swept into another climax, the two of us crashing together in pure bliss, lost in a fog of desire that consumes us whole. The world outside is forgotten, time irrelevant as we float in the aftermath of euphoria.
We both breathe heavily against each other as we come down, my body still trembling as we cling to our tangled desires, hearts pounding in sync.
“Holy shit,” he breathes, pressing his forehead against mine, our breaths mingling in the stillness that follows. “What the hell was that?”
I chuckle softly, the haze of lust still clinging to me like a fog. “Just a taste of how dangerous we can be,” I reply, my voice low and teasing, still reveling in the afterglow of my orgasm.
The soft rattle of the door reminds me that while this moment was ours, the world beyond was waiting for us to return. With a disappointed glance, we both know we need to come down from this heady high and face whatever awaits.
“Let’s show them what happens when you play with fire,” I add with fierce determination, grinning as I straighten myself out.
Red smirks, his playful confidence returning. “I like the sound of that, Whitney.”
Together, we step back into the chaos of Club Mayhem—not just as a dancer and an undercover cop, but as players in our carefully crafted game, ready to face everything as allies are born in the flames of desire.
Ruining the moment is a new text from an unknown number; I know right away it's Dustin.
I hold my breath and open it, shivering with goosebumps as I read his latest bullshit.
You're a bad girl, Whitney. You shouldn't be fucking an undercover cop. I wonder how your friends would take it if they were to find out the truth.
Leave me alone.
I quickly type back, trying to maintain my composure.
He'd better be careful. You never know when he could drop dead; shit happens all the time.
I ignore the death threat on Red’s life, turning back to him with worry and curiosity washing over him.
“Who was that?” Red’s voice drops, coming out deep and scratchy, his eyes narrowing as he sees the change in my expression.
“It’s… no one,” I say, fumbling for a lie that sounds believable while my heart pounds in my chest. I can’t keep him in the dark. He deserves to know what he’s gotten himself into.
“Whitney.” He leans closer, his gaze piercing through me. “Tell me the fucking truth.”
I take a deep breath, fighting against the tightness in my throat. “It’s Dustin,” I whisper, the weight of my words heavy in the air.
Red’s jaw clenches, his body tense as he processes the name. “Your ex? The fucking asshole from the California Bloods?”
“Yeah, and he’s… threatening you.” I can’t hold back the tremor in my voice. “He knows about you. He knows I'm here.”
“Did he say anything specific?” The calm authority in his tone belies the storm brewing behind his dark eyes, a flicker of protectiveness igniting within.
I hesitate but can’t back down now. “He said I’m a bad girl for being with an undercover cop and that… you should be careful because ‘shit happens all the time.’” The words come out in a rush, and I instantly hate how weak I sound.
Red releases a slow breath, processing the threat engrained in his every syllable. “Listen to me, Whitney.” He steps back, the distance between us suddenly feeling monumental. “You shouldn’t be mixed up with this shit. Let us handle it for you. You need to keep your distance.”
I shake my head adamantly, anger flaring. “I’m not going to let him control me! Every time I try, it goes wrong! I won’t let him fucking win.”
Red’s hands grip my shoulders firmly, forcing me to meet his gaze. “This isn’t about fucking controlling you. I care about your safety. I don’t want anything to happen to you, especially with that kind of fucking filth out there.”
His words strike a chord, reverberating through me, awakening a sad truth—I can’t keep dancing on the line of danger while Dustin lurks in the shadows.
“Then... I,” I say, determination flooding my voice. “I want to help you—find him, take him out. You can’t let him threaten me, and I won’t let him keep me scared.”
A shadow crosses Red's features as he hesitates. “It’s too dangerous, Whitney. He’s affiliated with a whole network that takes threats seriously. You saw how they operate.”
“Then we can use me,” I bite back, a fire igniting within me. “We can use what he wants against him. He expects me to fear him. What if I turn the tables? Surprise him?”
He studies me, jaw grinding, tension pooling in the air as he weighs the risks. “And if something goes wrong? You’re not trained like I am. You don’t know how these situations unfold.”
That hits hard—a painful reminder of the gap between our worlds. “I may not be trained, but I’ve faced enough dangers in my life. I know how to survive,” I argue fiercely. “And you’re underestimating me if you think I can’t handle this."