Page 27 of Unmasking Mayhem (Behind the Mask Duet #2)

Compelled by a force I can't understand, I find myself inching closer again, drawn to the danger he represents. “Is that a threat?”

He grins, the darkness in his eyes swirling like a tempest. “Not a threat, Little Mischief. A fucking promise, and you know I always keep my fucking word.”

As heat pools in my stomach, I realize I have a choice to make.

I can either push him away or play into this dangerous night, and with every beat of my heart, the lines blur further, leaving me teetering on the edge.

Uncertainty wavers against desire, and I find myself whispering the only thing that feels like it might save me from his brutal wrath.

“I guess I’m staying.”

King’s laughter dances around us, dark and sweet, consuming the room as we spiral deeper into this uncharted territory of pleasure and peril. He smirks, satisfaction radiating from him as his grip on me becomes more possessive.

“I knew you’d come around, Little Mischief. But let's be honest, the choice wasn't yours to make. Even if you said no, you'd still be sitting right here—right where I fucking want you.”

The air between us thickens with anticipation, my heart racing as he leans in closer, his mouth brushing against my ear.

Another shiver runs down my spine at his words, and I feel that treacherous warmth pool deeper within me.

I want to protest, to voice the hesitation bubbling up underneath, but it’s chased away by the heat of his breath—confident, intoxicating.

He shifts under me, adjusting his position as his fingers slide in and out of me, deeper each time, teasing the edge of what I know I shouldn’t crave.

“I can make all the dark thoughts in that pretty little head of yours go away.” His voice is low and rough, sending waves of heat surging through me. "Or I can put new ones in there for you."

I swallow hard, fear flooding my senses again. “What exactly do you have in mind, King?”

“You’ll find out.” His smirk deepens, and with surprising strength, he flips me around, guiding my back against his desk.

It’s a jolt of reality—a small reminder of where we are and what I’m actually involved in.

As he leans in, the weight of his body presses against mine, and my heart swells with exhilaration mingled with dread.

The disarray of the messy desk—the spilled drinks, cigarette butts, and remnants of wild nights—feels like an extension of the chaos swirling between us, like a sinister playground.

“Tell me, Whitney, how does it feel to tempt danger?”

I hold his curious gaze, battling against my swirling thoughts. “I—” My voice falters as his fingers find their way back between my thighs, slowly rubbing, teasing my most sensitive spots, and creating a flame inside me that I cannot ignore.

“Feelings aside,” he interrupts, “is there something about Red and 13 that you wanted to tell me?”

My breath quickens, torn between the reckless abandon that bubbles up inside and the voice of logic that screams to escape. I didn’t come here for this. I wasn’t prepared for this. But as his thumb rubs small, tantalizing circles on my clit, my resolve starts to slip away.

“I—” I start again, but I’m cut off as he presses inside my pussy with another finger, his fingers demanding, pulling gasps from my mouth as I fight against my body’s instinctual betrayal.

“What is it?” He urges, his lips brushing against my ear once more, the cryptic words igniting something terrifying within me.

I feel myself teetering, wavering on the brink of my own boundaries. Everything blurs together—the illicit thrill, the dangerous allure, and the halting desire for something more. A part of me wants to surrender completely, but the other part—the rational part—screams that I’m playing with fire.

With a shaky breath, I nod—not fully understanding what I’m consenting to but aware that I’m stepping into uncharted territory. “No.”

“Okay,” he breathes, his grin widening scarily, fury and lust dancing in his hungry gaze. “Now,” he continues, voice dipping into a chilling rasp, “let’s see just how much mischief you can handle.”

With that, he introduces urgency and chaos back into the moment, claiming my attention entirely. His fingers work their magic, dancing teasingly along my slick pussy, while my hands instinctively grip the desk, the power of the moment threatening to buckle my knees.

His tattooed fingers sink into me, wrapping around the need pulsing deeper within. I find myself leaning forward, losing the fight against fear and succumbing more willingly to the flames of my own need.

“Let go,” he whispers, a sultry command as his fingers curl expertly around me.

I inhale sharply, throwing my head back in surrender, chasing the edge of pleasure that dances just out of reach.

The sensation builds, fueled by the drugs coursing through my body, pushing me closer to the precipice of what it means to lose control—to experience the danger and everything that comes with it.

The possibilities tantalize me, each movement igniting further sparks of passion as King pulls me deeper into the depths of my own desire.

As if sensing my climax, he shifts his movements, quickening his pace, driving harder against me.

“You want this, Whitney. You want to be lost in me.”

“No,” I gasp, the word slipping from my lips, and King gives me a wicked smile, driving me towards the edge with dangerous precision.

The intoxication of surrender becomes my new reality.

My vision is blurry, and I feel myself going in and out of consciousness, the darkness just begging for me to let it swallow me whole.

Once my eyes shut and I fight to reopen them, I feel King pull me back on his lap, grab my hips with painful pressure, and begin slamming me down on his cock without warning.

I can't move, so he thrusts his hips up to meet my ass while he slams me down in unison, brutally taking what he wants for reasons I can't quite comprehend.

"King... no." I manage to get out, but my words are heavily slurred.

My eyes open and crack, and I suddenly notice the red recording light from a video camera set up in front of us, capturing the whole assault.

I'm mortified, even though I'm helpless.

I never thought my boss—my friend—would ever do something like this to me.

I can't help the tears that are now coming, streaming fast down my cheeks even though I cry in silence, only hearing his grunts and groans in my ear.

I try to claw at his hands for him to let go, but I can't even feel mine to move them.

I feel utterly helpless, but worst of all, I feel ashamed more than fucking anything.

Cold water almost drowns me right before I shoot up into a sitting position, drowsy, soaked, and delirious, not sure where I am or what happened.

I glance down at my naked body, seeing new bruises and marks covered with dried blood, my head thumping and my bones aching all throughout me.

The chuckle brings me back to reality and the moment, giving me answers to some of the panicked questions bombarding my mind.

King stands over me with another bottle of cold water, ready to dump it on me again.

"Are you awake?" He sneers, uncapping the water.

"Yes!" I squeal, not wanting any more water to be poured on me.

"Then get the fuck up and get dressed," he orders, his usual calm tone nowhere to be found.

I get up, and he throws clothes at me, not the ones I came in here wearing. Even though I'm confused, I keep my mouth shut, hoping he eventually tells me what happened and why he's so fucking pissed at me.

"How long have you known that Red and 13 were fucking undercover?" He bites, low and devilish, truly scaring the shit out of me.

"I... I," I stutter, not knowing what to say, which only infuriates him.

"Their fucking secret is out, and so is yours. Your little stalker ex decided to text me to let me know that you've been fucking lying to me." He's got a fire in his eyes that makes my skin feel like it's melting off, and the feeling of smoke infiltrating my lungs hits me out of nowhere.

"I didn't know until Dustin texted me too," I admit in a whisper, watching him methodically clean his gun with his favorite bandana.

"The fucking point, Whitney, is that you fucking knew they were undercover and gathering intel about me, your boys, and even you."

"Red said they weren't going to do what they—"

"You're fucking naive if you believe that shit, Whitney," he yells, slamming his hand on his desk and making everything shake, including me.

He stands up, bringing his gun, and backs me up against one of the glass walls, putting his gun to my lips, an evil, deadly gleam in his eyes. My heart pounds like never before. I'm trapped, still too fucked up from the drugs to do anything to help myself, so I try to remain calm.

"If I find you lying to me again, about anything, I leak the tape of you riding my fingers and begging for my cock," he laughs, pushing his gun further in my mouth. "But first, you're gonna have a part in those traitors' punishment, and you know me, Whitney, I don’t give any motherfucker mercy."

My heart sinks immediately, because I know what he's getting at, and if I'm right, Red and 13 are going to end up like Johnny, but their death will be at my hands.