I step back, creating space between us. “I want to see you. Take your shirt off, keep the mask on. I want to see what you’ve been hiding under that suit.” I say, feeling emboldened behind my own mask.
Even if I know who he is, I don’t want to see his face just yet. As if he would disappear as soon as I find out.
His smile turns predatory as he shrugs out of his jacket, letting it fall to the floor. His shirt follows, revealing a torso mapped with muscle and scattered with scars, evidence of a life I know nothing about. My mouth goes dry at the sight of his cock pressing desperately against his pants.
“Your turn,” he says, his voice rough.
I look at him warily, eyes wide. I hate my body and I hadn’t thought this far ahead.
I shakily reach for the hem of my dress, but he stops me with a gentle hand. As if sensing my reluctance.
“It’s okay, leave it on,” he says. “Just lift it forme.”
Heat floods my face as I slowly gather the fabric in my hands, inching it up my thighs. His eyes follow the movement hungrily.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs as the dress clears my hips, revealing the black lace underwear beneath. “So fucking beautiful.”
He drops to his knees in front of me, placing one hand on mine over the fabric of my dress. “Higher,” he instructs, and pushes the fabric the rest of the way up.
His hand slides up my thigh, his touch featherlight until he reaches the edge of my underwear. He looks up at me, seeking permission, and I nod. Beyond words now.
He hooks his fingers into the waistband and pulls them down slowly, helping me step out of them. Then his hands are on my inner thighs, gently urging them apart.
“I’ve dreamed of this,” he says, his breath hot against my skin. “Of tasting you.”
The first touch of his mouth sends electricity through my body. I gasp, my head falling back as he licks a long, slow swipe over my slit. My free hand finds his shoulder, needing something to anchor me as he explores me with his tongue.
He’s methodical, almost reverent, learning what makes me shudder and gasp. When he finds my clit, circling it with the tip of his tongue, my knees nearly buckle. His hands grip my thighs tighter, supporting me as he doubles his efforts.
“Oh, fuck,” I breathe, heat building low in my belly.
He hums against me; the vibration adding another layer of sensation. One of his hands leaves my thigh, and then I feel a finger tracing where his tongue has been, teasing myentrance without pushing inside, respecting my boundaries.
The combination of his tongue on my clit and his finger circling my opening pushes me closer to the edge. I rock against his face, chasing the pleasure building inside me. My hand moves from his shoulder to the back of his head, holding him where I need him most.
“Fuck,” my voice breaking on the word.
He responds by sucking my clit into his mouth, applying just the right amount of pressure, and that’s all it takes. The orgasm crashes over me in waves, my body shaking with the force of it. I cry out, not caring who might hear through the door.
He works me through it, gentling his touch as the aftershocks ripple through me. When I finally push at his shoulder, oversensitive, he pulls back, looking up at me with undisguised hunger.
“You taste even better than I imagined,” he says, wiping his mouth with his thumb and middle finger.
I let my dress fall back into place, suddenly shy despite what we’ve just done. But as I look at him, still on his knees, chest heaving, the obvious bulge in his pants, the shyness fades, replaced by a different kind of desire.
“Stand up,” I tell him, and he does, watching me curiously.
I reach for his belt, undoing it with fingers that only tremble slightly. The button of his pants follows, then the zipper. I push the fabric down just enough to free him, wrapping my hand around his hard length.
“You don’t have to—“” he starts, but I silencehim with a look.
“I want to,” I say, beginning to stroke him. “I want to hear you come apart for me.”
His head falls back slightly, a groan escaping him as I find my rhythm. I watch his face, fascinated by the play of expressions visible beneath the mask, pleasure, vulnerability, hunger.
“Please,” he whispers, his hips jerking forward into my touch. “Fuck, Lila, please.”
Hearing my name on his lips sends a fresh wave of heat through me. I tighten my grip slightly, speeding up my strokes. With my free hand, I reach up to touch his face, tracing the edge of his mask.
