Masked Page 15

  The last time she’d sat here in her car, listening to the brush of the wind and staring at Catacomb’s double entrance doors, she was damn certain she wouldn’t ever do it again. Her quest for fulfilling her D/s dream seemed like it would only ever be a dream. Now, there was no question mark over the rabbit hole. She was diving straight into the darkness, led by a creature with a filthy rock god’s voice mashed with a kinky king’s arrogance. Both sides were like sexual crack to her—except for the part about having to choose which side of herself to access as a Dom-pleasing complement.

  What about choosing your true self?

  Shocking, how she didn’t automatically attach Dan’s voice to that. She had no doubt about his influence over it, though—a paradox she couldn’t ignore. For a guy who spent most of his time hiding himself from the world, he loved riding her about the let-your-light-shine thing.

  He hadn’t always been the ashamed ogre under the bridge. She smiled a little, remembering the “Hot-lanta cowboy” of just last year, stealing hearts and slinging hokey one-liners everywhere he went. She missed the crap out of that guy sometimes—but that Dan Colton probably never would’ve grown into the man who’d become her closest, dearest friend.

  A frown set in. She still hadn’t told Dan about the development with Newport and felt like shit about it, despite her practical reasons for the delay. Someone way above her pay grade had Newport’s deal snagged in red tape, hoping the tensions with Russia would die to a dull roar by the time the paperwork got as high as the Oval Office. If they didn’t need Newport as much, his outrageous demands would have to be altered—if they were lucky, even revoked.

  In the meantime, she maintained a lie of omission with Dan. She’d even met him for drinks, gushing about how much she was looking forward to this new experience with Sir Sexy, selfishly accepting his “Domly” advice without dropping a clue about the potential shit to hit the fan from the Newport deal.

  But what if it didn’t? She’d be torqueing Dan for no good reason. His not-so-little “adventure” with Stock, a stunt he got away with only because he wasn’t on active duty with the Agency, might be just the right juice for the rockets he’d aim Newport’s way. And even if he chilled on that shit this time around, did he deserve the agony of knowing the asshole was sleeping on silk and dining on filet every night instead of rotting in a jail cell? He’d been through enough pain because of Newport’s corruption.

  “It’s better this way.” She nodded, decision firmly made. Her head was on board with the message. She just wished her heart would get its act together.

  Right now, she needed to get her own shit together, period. Why was she stressing over one man when only minutes away from meeting with another? Even if “meeting” wasn’t the most accurate term…

  A gulp sliced down her throat.

  A thrill raced through her stomach.

  A tremor claimed her whole body.

  No. “Meeting” wasn’t the right word at all.

  Giving. Taking. Servicing. Submitting.

  Only ten minutes now, and the griffin would be sliding his huge hand against hers once more. Lifting that slow, knowing smile. Speaking those deep, perfect commands. Taking over her body before one stitch of clothing came off…

  Who was she kidding? He’d started taking over from the moment she picked up the phone yesterday.

  When she thought of what she’d done for him, in the middle of the office, based on the power of his voice alone…

  Another shiver. Deeper this time. Spiraling through her blood, taking over her marrow, pounding into her ears…

  She could barely wait another moment.

  Just knowing he was probably inside the club already, maybe at the bar nursing a drink, perhaps even watching the door for her…

  “Eccckkk.” She rolled her eyes at her reflection while sliding on some lipstick. “He’s not watching the damn doorway for you, dork.” As Mom was so fond of reminding her, devoted princes exist only in worlds where girls have birds, mice, raccoons, and other disease-bearing animals as best friends.

  At least her makeup was being cooperative. Her lipstick was a shade called “Slaying the Enigma,” designed by the new cosmetics division of Stone Global. Thank God Killian Stone’s wife was a redhead, because this stuff looked great with her own coloring too. It was a perfect match for the dress she’d bought on her lunch hour today at an “alternative” boutique downtown: a bolder choice than the last time she’d been here.

  Much bolder.

  The crimson leather and vinyl one-piece, featuring a sweetheart neckline kept together by corset-style ties, tapered into a flared skirt that barely covered all the important stuff—the reason why she’d also purchased a pair of flattering red panties to go with it, topped with black lace and tied at the sides with dainty black bows. The sales clerk had helped her finish off the ensemble with a pair of black gladiator-style heels. Overall, the look gave her a little more cleavage, a lot more leg, and a bit more confidence.

  She took a deep breath and checked the time again.

  “Five minutes.” Okay, now she could go in. Five minutes didn’t make her desperate. It just made her punctual. The griffin would appreciate that. He was a Dominant who paid attention to the details, meaning timeliness was likely a hot button for him.

  When she walked in and peered around, she indeed found him eyeing “details”—on a petite little thing with a Tinkerbell haircut and an eye-popping rack, dressed in a top and skirt that looked more like fancy-wrapped duct tape. In short, a show girl with curves that could fascinate a man for days.

  And yeah, the man looked fascinated.

  Insecurity swooped in, making Tess back against the wall. Her heart lodged in her throat. While she was certain the man wouldn’t back out on their “appointment,” would he consider the time merely an obligation now, to be filled on his way back to the duct-tape fairy? She wasn’t certain about the answer even as he looked up, locked on to her with his mesmerizing stare…

  And lifting the most wicked, wanton grin she’d ever seen.

  She was suddenly grateful for the wall. Holy shit, how he could emulsify her in a matter of seconds. Even with the mask, which now just seemed a part of him, instead of something that frustrated the crap out of her. He’d developed lots of other ways to do that anyway. The way he stepped forward—leaving the pixie stuttering in midsentence—to get a better view of her. The way he stopped as soon as he did, sharply pulling in air, eyes glittering with lust. The way he squared his shoulders before restarting his approach, boots pounding the stone floor, leather pants and vest gleaming with every graceful move of his tawny muscles.

  Frustration was her friend and enemy now. It took over as she watched him, hardening her breasts and pooling between her thighs, deepening with every powerful step he took. He wasn’t moving fast enough. Closer. Need you closer. Now.

  Her breath was a freight train by the time he finally got there.

  He crashed his mouth over hers with the same force.

  It was the last thing she expected. The only thing she wanted. She mewled as he pushed in, letting him dominate her tongue as he slammed against her body. The rugged aroma of his leathers and the earthy scent of his skin spooled their way through her senses, heating her blood to fevered intensity. If he demanded she strip and kneel for him right there, she doubted she could refuse.

  Even with the duct-tape fairy watching?

  The thought gave her the will to pull away. It didn’t sit well with the man still pinned against her. “I’m not done with this part yet,” he growled.

  “Even with your new friend taking notes?” A fast glance confirmed that the blond pixie had indeed tracked his every move since leaving her, even this one.

  The griffin huffed. “She can compare info with them.” A jog of his head made Tess look the other direction, across the room, to where a pair of men stood with Scotches in their hands and gazes fixed on her. They were both attractive and commanding but had to be utter nutcases, since
they raised their glasses and smiled as if conveying, if things don’t work out with the guy nailing you to the wall with his crotch…

  She couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, damn.”

  “Sounds about right.” His rougher timbre matched the new texture in his energy. His jaw was a crag beneath his dark-gold stubble. His biceps rippled as he splayed hands against her hips. “Damn, red. I’m the luckiest fucker here tonight.”

  He took her lips again, though he did it with a shocking sweep of tenderness. Though his tongue was just as hot as ever, he rolled it with hers like a sensual stream instead of a pounding wave, teasing her passion higher by calculated increments. That all changed when she freed a moan into his mouth, unable to hold back anymore. As if she’d pulled the pin on his dam, his passion surged. He groaned and dragged her thighs around his waist, never once breaking the pressure of his mouth.

  He only broke the kiss after working a hand against her slit, exploring her from behind—before piercing her with a hard scowl. “You’re wearing underwear.”

  “Duh.” Mouthy? Yes. But accurate? That would also be a yes. “Have you looked at this thing?” She nodded downward. “More precisely, at the length of this thing?”

  “From the second you walked in the door.” His eyes glittered brighter, so gorgeous and blue, behind the mask.

  “Really?” It was even mouthier, but at the moment, she needed the sarcasm. “Could’ve sworn you were a little preoccupied when I walked in the door.”

  His lips flattened. “You going to keep bringing that up?”

  “That all depends. Did she ‘bring you up’?”

  “Fuck.”

  His disappointed mutter made her squirm. Damn it. She’d wanted to be perfect for him tonight, his sexy little subbie, not this ball of petty jealousy. Certainly not the girl who created drama over him simply standing next to another woman—and her barely wrapped boobs and booty. But for anything to work between them, tonight or any other night, he also required her truth—even copping to the claw of insecurity that dug into her because of duct-tape girl.

  So, she could be perfect, or she could be authentic. One was impossible, the other disgraceful. At least right now.

  She let her head drop.

  Sexy didn’t try to lift it back up.

  He even lowered her legs, purposely setting their bodies a foot back from each other.

  Shit. Shit.

  The happy flips in her stomach were now taunting clowns—all wearing Band-Aid dresses. She wanted to vomit. Then run out the door.

  Then he spoke again. A command. In the deepest, gruffest tone she’d heard from him yet.

  “Take them off.”

  Her stare jerked back up. Searched the eyes behind the mask for confirmation of his meaning. Sure enough, his irises had gone from sun-glowed cobalt to dark midnight smoke.

  “You know what I mean,” he pressed, reading the question on her face. “Take the panties off, rose. Then present them to me in your hands, palms up, with your feet in attention pose. Is that clear?”

  She was vaguely aware of the long moment she took before answering. How had the rest of the room turned into mere fuzz and background noise, in the space of but three sentences from him? And why did she even care? All of it—the eyes she felt suddenly turned to them, the whispers flying through the air—were a semblance of irrelevance to what really mattered here.

  Obeying him.

  But actually doing it? Oh, yeah. That part. Though the club wasn’t busy tonight, there was no ignoring the task being asked—commanded—of her. Stripping the covering over her most intimate parts, in front of strangers. Offering the evidence to her Sir in a formal position of submission, minus the kneeling. She should be grateful for that, at least.

  The dirty work doesn’t get done by itself.

  It was one of Dan’s favorite phrases, which she used to steady her hands while reaching beneath the little skirt and tucking her thumbs under the band of the panties she’d spent half an hour picking out. At least her efforts wouldn’t be for naught. Everyone was going to get a nice view of them now.

  With her eyes lowered—looking up meant gaping at one or more parts of his anatomy, and she had to stay focused—she let the panties drop to her ankles. As she leaned down, retrieving them off the heel of one sandal, her throat felt as dry as the wind whipping outside. And the cruel plot twist? Her pussy had never been wetter, responding at once to its naked freedom—and the griffin’s growling prompt.

  “Now present them.”

  With cheeks aflame and arms trembling, she gathered the red silk in both hands and extended it. Why she wasn’t adding an incensed glare, she couldn’t fathom. This was humiliating. Unnerving.

  And totally arousing.

  Sexy stepped back toward her. Another step, even closer, to the point that he pushed her elbows against her sides, hands just below her breasts. Dipped his head in, pausing a moment to draw in a breath of the bundle in her palms. Then tucked his lips against her neck, abrading her jaw with the fitted leather of his mask.

  As he bit down into her flesh, he cupped a hand over her naked mound.

  “This is all I desire tonight.” His fingers curled in, taunting her moist layers like steeled hooks. “This is mine to rule. To use. To possess.” He shifted his lips to her ear, infusing her with his torrid breath before sinking his teeth into the tender shell. “To fulfill.”

  Tess moaned. Her head fell back. Her eyes slid shut. Heat cascaded through her body like stars on fire, her fingers clenching around the fabric in her palms. A sigh erupted past her lips. Or at least she thought so. Nothing was clear. She didn’t give a damn. Not one.

  “Now tell me too, little red. Say it for me.”

  There was no confusion about what he directed. She knew what he wanted; somehow she just knew. “I am yours to rule tonight.”

  “And…?”

  “And to use. And to possess.”

  “And…?”

  “And to fulfill.”

  His tongue was like honey down the column of her neck. “Yessss…”

  As he suckled at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, he shifted one finger up, into her throbbing channel. Then another. Tess bit her lip to keep from yelping. “Oh, my God. Oh…my…God.”

  The bastard unfurled a low laugh. Tangled the fingers of his free hand into hers, capturing her panties between them. “If you were still wearing these right now, would they be wet, babe?”

  “Soaked,” she sighed. “Drenched.”

  He twisted his hand, working a third finger into her clenched tunnel. “How about now?”

  “Shit!” She dug her nails into the back of his hand. “If you don’t stop, I’m going to—”

  He halted her with a brutal kiss. When he tore away, her skin was abraded from the burn from his beard. “I empathize,” he grated.

  That much was blatant. Sheathed only in his soft leathers, his erection hammered at her stomach. His whole body was bound by the tension unique to sexual denial, every muscle quivering, every breath dense.

  His hand unwrapped from hers. Grabbed the wad of her panties. Lobbed it off to the side, swooshing it into a stone trashcan carved with hieroglyphics. Great. She’d hooked up with a Dom who could really take it to the net—with her brand-new panties.

  No time to bitch about it now. Her go-to guy already hiked both her legs around his waist again. He wrapped his arms to her back, enfolding her torso against him now. She ducked her head into his chest, trying to ignore the visibility of her ass now that the panties were officially ditched, but that was silly. It’d only be an issue if he turned around—

  Just like he did now.

  Damn.

  She should’ve known Sexy would feel her ripple of tension—and counter it with another infusion of his velvet voice as he carried her across the living room. “Hang on tight, kink monkey. I have plans that don’t involve anyone looking at you but me.”

  “There are other people here?”

  She meant it.
Every word. Just like before, he’d read her mind, her needs, and her fantasies and then knew what she needed to hear in order to forget the world beyond their bubble once again. Right now, she didn’t care if there were five people watching them or five thousand. She’d be just as oblivious to what they saw or didn’t see, felt or didn’t feel.

  For now, all that mattered was the man who’d rearranged a week of his life for her. Who ducked his head close, making her feel protected and precious as he carried her past the conversations of the living rooms, toward the world she’d come here to discover once again—a world that terrified her as much as tantalized her. Where she was told she wouldn’t be played easy this time. Where her limits would be stretched. Where her body would be tested, stretched, and marked—before he made her forget that body altogether.

  She trembled just from the thought. The impossible thought. Sub space. It was the kink magical unicorn, mostly a dream more than reality. To believe the mastery of a Dom could really infuse a submissive with enough awesome biochemical juju to take their mind to another plane of consciousness…it seemed like a scene out of Twilight Zone. Or Naked Lunch.

  It didn’t matter. In so many senses, she was already flying. The knowledge of what she’d already shared with this man, along with his promise that everything tonight would be even more intense, already had her pulse speeding, her heart thundering, her body trembling. None of it was relieved when Sexy made a turn and the clamor of the common social areas was replaced by the muted dimness of the hallway to the private playrooms.

  She clung to him tighter. In response, he gave an approving rumble for her ears alone. A low-key EDM soundtrack emanated from ceiling speakers, barely masking the smacks, cracks, screams, and moans filtering from Catacomb’s already-occupied rooms. The sounds gripped Tess more viscerally than they had on Friday night, reminding her of what agony and ecstasy awaited her. Hiding their effects on her body was impossible; the griffin still had her legs fully parted, her naked cleft pressed against his expensive leathers. She was floating…