He stares down at me, one hand still glued to the doorframe as he studies me and pulls his sweats up with the other. I feel like a cute little bug under a microscope beneath his gaze.
“Do you like those pants?” he asks casually, his wardrobe question completely taking me by surprise.
Glancing down at the black leggings I’m wearing, I shrug. “I mean, I don’t know. I have, like, twenty pairs.”
He drops to the floor, crawling over to me on his knees—an intimidating sight, given his massive size and mask.
Wrapping his big hands around my thighs, he pushes them open, and I giggle, biting down on my bottom lip.
“Good. Because I’ve always wanted to do this.” He grasps the fabric on either side of my crotch, and in one swift movement, he rips my leggings apart at the seams like they’re nothing.
The motion jerks my body, but my jaw falls to the floor of its own accord. “I will buy a thousand more pairs for you to do that again.”
He huffs. “Deal.”
I lift my hips as he removes the shredded fabric from me. He sits up taller and leans forward, wrapping the material around my head and tying it over my eyes so I can’t see.
“Now be a good girl, close your eyes, and come all over my face when I tell you to.”
For once, I decide not to be a brat.
“Yes,sir,” I say eagerly as I lean back, a happiness I never knew possible spreading through my entire body.
Moments later, I do exactly as he said, crying out and coming hard from his tongue and mouth alone.
He helps me clean up afterward, fetches me pajamas, and tracks Freddie down somewhere in the house. I can hear him coming back upstairs, Freddie’s pitter-patter beside him as I finish slipping into my pajamas.
My back is to the door when they come in, and my masked man walks straight up to me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders, pulling me snugly into him.
An ache sinks in my chest, something that feels like agony. I don’t think I’m blinking or breathing as he holds me tightly, each second melting me more into his embrace.
Gradually, my eyes flutter shut, and I feel overwhelmed and vulnerable in the rawest way.
I wait … wait for him to strike, to caress, or to make his move—do something other thanthis. Because the tenderness and gentle comforting is foreign, new, and scary. But what he does instead makes my chest swell, and my heart jumps into his hands completely.
Cradling my body against his, he gradually rocks us side to side, swaying in place.
There’s something so gentle, sointimate, about the way he’s wrapped around me, holding me like I’m the most important thing in his world.
Our sexual chemistry is one thing, but this makes it all feel so much more.
But deep down, I know that we’re more than meets the eye, more than the surface connection we have been chasing.
I’ve never felt this way about anyone in my entire life. It’s intense and all-consuming, just how I like it with him.
But what’s next? How do we move forward from here?
“Can I …” I pause, reaching up and wrapping my hand gently around the swell of his bicep, over his sweatshirt. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything,” he murmurs. “I’ll try to answer as best I can.”
Swallowing the frog in my throat, I force the question out, the question that’s been haunting every interaction between us. My voice is barely audible. “Can you take the mask off?”
His body tenses behind me, and my name leaves his lips breathlessly. “Serena.”
“Or at least tell me your name?” I counter.
“I can’t. Not yet. But soon, okay? I promise.” His voice is sadder than I’ve ever heard it. His shoulders slump around me, and he squeezes me tighter, like he’s scared I’m going to run away.
