Page 10 of Into Pitch

“I d-don’t know,” I stutter out and he adds pressure between my thighs.

Christ.

Warmth floods my veins and my cheeks darken as I stare up his chest at him. My own heaving despite the calm composure he so easily portrays. It’s vexing, this difference.

“We’ve established that I’m not fond of lies.” He murmurs and rocks his thigh just enough to have a groan building in my throat.

This is madness. My fingers clutching at him as my hips instinctively roll up his thigh for—what? Am I really going to play into this?

“Anything more,” I spurt out. “Anything other than complacency.”

He hums and his hand at my hip urges for me to shift. I moan softly and he chuckles, the sound rasping through the mask as he lets my head fall back against the mirror. The pressure is exquisite in the most fucked up way.

It’s clearly been too long since I’ve had sex, because I’m almost positive my pussy has gone and soaked through the scraps of fabric that separate our skin. And there is something immensely pathetic about that.

“Why are you so concerned with complacency?” He asks, his voice deceptively calm for how he grinds me down against his thigh. I squirm, but don’t immediately answer. He presses up harder, his fingers closing tighter against my hips to stall me out.

“I don’t know—I just… I don’t want to be stuck in one place forever, I guess.” I squeak out and he hums in approval. The mind-numbing friction starts anew and I whimper as I push up onto my toes.

To escape it? I don’t know.

His knee of course follows me up and I hear a low groan when my nails bite into the fabric above his bicep.

“How deeply do you want to feel, little fox?” he breathes out and I squirm again at the contact that—

Just isn’t enough.

“Deep,” I rasp and if I was capable of hearing a smile I swear I do.

He spins me and I yelp, my hands shooting out to slap against the mirror as his hold moves to the back of my neck. He doesn’t press my face forward but kicks my feet apart, my cheeks heating as I meet his eyeless gaze in the mirror over the top of me.

I know what’s coming.

Rational me would swing a bat and call it a day.

The captivated, twisted, curious part?

Yeah, she’s got rational me all fucked up.

Because she doesn’t stop him when he ducks the beak of his mask near her ear and his fingers sneak down to her skirt.

“Deep it is then.”

It’s confirmed.

I’m certifiable.

Imogen would be so proud.

My moan warms the glass as he manages to somehow get free of one of his gloves and rip a hole in my hosiery with a sound that splits the air around us. I swallow, feeling the heat of his fingers where they tuck beneath the fabric of my underwear. His knuckles brushing against me as he pulls the fabric aside to expose me fully to him and the room. The lace soaked by this point and easily sticking to my skin where he hooks it aside.

I rocket up onto my toes at the first touch of his fingers. The way he slowly guides them through the wet heat that has gathered, parting me.

“Why does it take a stranger to make you feel?” He murmurs.

It takes a breath or two to come down from my lunacy and offer an answer, especially when he sinks two fingers gloriously deep. “Fuck—I d-don’t know.”

He hums and stills his fingers.