Page 38 of Unmasking Mayhem (Behind the Mask Duet #2)

“Then let’s keep it that way,” she whispers fiercely, her lips crashing against mine, igniting the spark we refuse to let die.

As we meld our bodies together once again, the world outside fades to nothing.

Because love, in its most electrifying form, can't be extinguished—not even by fear. I can feel Whitney’s heart racing against my chest as she presses into me, igniting an intense need within me that I can’t ignore.

The soft warmth of her skin, the way she clings to me like I’m her anchor—it makes the world outside seem so insignificant.

But the faint glow of Dustin’s gun laser continues to flicker in the depths of my mind, a reminder that our sanctuary is frail, and our moment is borrowed.

“Raze,” she murmurs against my lips, coaxing me from my thoughts. “Please, just hold me.”

Her plea wraps around my heart like a vise, stirring up something deeply protective within me.

I tighten my grip around her waist, burying my face into her hair, letting the faint scent of vanilla and danger intertwine with the snow-filled air around us.

I need this, need her more than I’ve ever needed anything, and if this is going to be our last night together—if Dustin’s shadow closes in—then I want to make it unforgettable.

“We’re not done yet, baby.” I pull away just enough to lock my eyes with hers, keeping my grip firm. “You’ve got to trust me.”

“I do,” she whispers, her voice trembling with anxiety and hope, the mix making me crazy. “I trust you, Raze.”

I pull her closer, capturing her lips in a deep kiss, inviting her to sink into the need we share—denying the darkness that threatens to extinguish our flame.

I lift her, cradling her against me as I back toward the bed, all while maintaining that captivating rhythm between us.

She melts against me, her laughter a soft melody that cuts the tension in the air, bringing life back to the moment.

As I gently lay her on the bed, the vulnerability in her eyes fires me up.

I want to shield her, protect her from what lurks in the shadows, and yet, every action is cloaked in desire—the knife is still ominously embedded in the window seat, a reminder of the risks.

I take my time exploring her body, my lips trailing along her collarbone, down to her breasts, savoring every gasp that escapes her.

Fire courses through me with each flick of her fingers against my skin, making me burn hotter, craving the way she arches into my touch.

“Raze,” she breathes, tangled in the heat as her fingers thread through my hair. “I don’t want to think about him. I want you—I want us.”

I can’t help but smirk at her words, her willingness to step into the storm of chaos with me. “Then you can have me,” I rasp against her lips, raw hunger in every word. ”You always have me.”

I slide my hands down her smooth thighs, coaxing her legs apart. The thrill coursing through me combines with an unrelenting need to protect, to claim her as mine in every sense of the word.

“Ride me,” I command, my voice low and laden with desire.

Her fiery gaze meets mine, mischief dancing within them. “Only if you promise to keep me safe.”

“I swear on my life, no one’s going to fucking touch you,” I vow fiercely, positioning myself at her drenched entrance.

She grins, pushing her hips against me, and I thrust inside her pussy, igniting her cries and filling the room with the sound of our bodies colliding.

I hold her gaze, watching as her eyes roll back, her moans harmonizing with the frantic beating of our hearts.

But as her body begins to quiver and her pussy pulses around my cock, lost in her bliss, the shadows creeping even closer brush against the edges of my consciousness. Every thrust, every gasp, tempts fate.

“Whit,” I groan, meeting her eyes, desperate to convince her of our resilience. “Don't fucking stop.”

With even more urgency, we lock back into our rhythm, bodies moving like they’ve done this dance for lifetimes, sweat rolling down our skin, breath mingling with the cold winter air seeping into the room.

I lose myself in the way she rides me and how she clutches my shoulders, and I nourish the flames that are consuming us, knowing our time may be running short.

And then it happens—an explosion of pleasure as she spirals into sweet oblivion, her eyes rolling back, and the sight of her euphoric fulfillment sends me spiraling right after her.

I hold her close, feeling her tight pussy pulse and contract around my cock, lost in pure ecstasy.

“Fuck, you’re incredible,” I whisper, my voice ragged as I thrust into her, filling her with my cum, our bodies still entwined as the high of our climax washes over us.

“Just like you,” she breathes, a dreamy smile playing on her lips as she gazes at me, sleepiness pooling in the corners of her eyes.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps thudding down the hall makes my heart lurch. They’re heavy, deliberate—a sound I know all too well.

“Whitney,” I hiss, urgency charging my tone. “Get dressed, now.” I shove my clothes back on, trying not to panic as I scramble to my feet.

“What’s happening?! Is it Dustin?” she asks, her eyes wide with fear as she darts from the bed, snatching her shirt from the floor, her earlier desire replaced by dread.

I nod, my heart racing, weighing the danger that lingers just beyond the door. “He could be coming here; you need to hide,” I urge her, scanning the room for any place that seems adequate.

“Where?!” she asks, trembling as she struggles to pull her pajama bottoms over her hips.

“Under the bed, or…” I freeze, considering a better option. The window seat. “In the window seat, hurry!”

With trembling hands, Whitney dives inside the hollowed-out seat, and I quickly close the top behind her just as I hear Dustin’s voice calling out from the hallway. It drips with smug confidence, the kind that makes my fucking skin crawl.

“Whitney! I know you’re in there!” He calls, and I feel the tension in my gut twist tighter, panic rushing through me like fucking wildfire.

I scramble back to the window, my heart racing harder as I peer through the curtain.

Snow still falls heavily, but I can see the shadowy figure of Dustin creeping closer.

There's a sharpness in my chest, a desperate desire to keep Whitney safe and our world intact. And then there’s a knock—hard, insistent, the dark promise of his arrival.

“Open the door, sweetheart ,” he drawls, casually but with a hint of menace. “We need to have a little chat.”

I can’t let him in. I need to act, need to protect her.

The knife—its glint catches my eye, a reminder of uncontrolled chaos, a sense of excitement creeping back in.

I won’t let him take anyone else from me.

My heart pounds as the sound of footsteps confirms he’s not backing off.

I scan the room for anything that can help, a plan forming in my mind. Time is ticking.

“Whitney,” I whisper urgently. “Stay quiet. No matter what. I love you.”

“I love you too,” she whispers, melting my heart.

I glance back at the door, where another strong knock reverberates, shaking the wooden frame. A determined grin spreads across my face, and I grab the knife, feeling its cool handle in my grip, my finger hovering near the blade as I turn toward the door, adrenaline pumping through my veins.

“Just open the fucking door, Razey boy, and maybe I won’t go wrecking your night like I did last time,” he says lightly, each word oozing with a dark history I wish to forget—a darkness that has seeped too deeply into our lives.

My gaze flickers back to Whitney, waiting quietly, and it strengthens my determination.

Whatever he’s planning, he won’t get the chance.

Not tonight. Without another moment’s hesitation, I swing the door wide open, knife poised and ready, my heart racing with the weight of what’s about to unfold.

If there’s one thing I know, it’s that keeping Whitney safe is worth any battle—even if it means facing the monster lurking in the shadows.

To my surprise, Dustin is nowhere to be found.

While Whitney stays hidden, I search the apartment but find no trace of the man who continues to torture her day in and day out.

Did I imagine all of what just happened?

Or did I really see and hear him? I question myself pretty heavily, not sure what to believe.

When I safely get Whitney out of hiding, she jumps into my arms, and my knife clatters to the floor, our relieved breaths the only thing you can hear. She clings to me as her body shakes in fear, my heart thundering in my chest.

"I didn’t see or hear him. Where did he go?" She asks frantically, locking her legs around my waist as I walk to the door to double-check the lock.

If she didn’t hear or see him, did I really just fucking imagine it all?