Page 12 of Into Pitch

He thrusts upward and my words strangle in my throat at the sheer size of him. I’m not saying I haven’t done my fair share of sleeping around, but this stranger clearly takes the crown. I can hardly fucking breathe as I push up onto my toes, only for his hand to drive me back down with the grip he has at the back of my neck.

“It’ll fit, little fox. Just keep opening up for me.” He purrs and the strange noise in my throat warps into a near embarrassing moan. My fingers flex against the glass and my eyes refuse to take note of the expression my face has donned.

Time itself warps as he slides inch after inch, pressing into places I’m not sure have ever seen action, until I can feel the press of his hips against my ass. Skin against skin as he finally bottoms out and gives his first real groan over to me.

“Do you usually feel pressured into sex?”

Jesus, why is he so hell bent on cracking my skull open?

“Sometimes,” I whimper and he rewards me with a thrust that has me seeing stars.

“Do you feel pressured now?”

“No.”

Which is an alarm in itself, but what do I fucking care?

“Good,” he purrs and unleashes himself.

I lose all sense of reality around me as he well and truly fucks me into the glass. His hand at the back of my neck keeping me pinned in place as he adjusts my hips to bend me forward. Allowing him to strike deeper, my mind spiraling away to nothing but the feeling of him yanking apart every sane piece of me.

The quiet room isn’t quiet any longer.

It fills with the desperate pleas that fall from my lips and the sound of our bodies meeting. The mirror layered in condensation from my breath and streaked where my palms have turned sweaty and fallen to brace near my shoulders.

“Fuck,” he loses a little more of his composure with that one word. “You feel incredible, little fox.”

I could tell him my name, but that would defeat the purpose of the masks. Defeat exactly what makes this so damn hot.

Although he could say I looked like a paper sack at this point and I’d willingly take it if he’d just keep going. Anything to get to the orgasm he is shoving me to with each snap of his hips. He adjusts the angle, as if he’s already figured out the tune my body is singing, and I scream as I break.

My core clamps down in mind-numbing spasms, my vision near whiting as he drives into me despite the pressure I place on him. His growl vibrates close to my ear one last time before his hips slam us both forward with enough force the mirror vibrates.

Aftershocks rock my body in tune with the twitching of his cock spilling inside of the condom. Our harsh and labored breathing the only living thing between us for several long seconds. My cheek damp from the tears I hadn’t realized I’d shed from the force in which he had taken me. My poor legs would have long past given out if his grip wasn’t so certain at my hip.

He groans as he pulls from me, the slide free enough to coax another gasp. My knees buckle from the release and his arm wraps the low of my waist to keep me upright. My focus shifts to the feeling of his hand as it slides up and over my chest, barring his arm there before his fingers curl around my jaw again.

Forcing me to hold my own gaze as we stand there in the aftermath of what we’ve done.

“The mirrors are honesty.” He murmurs. “You were right in that regard.”

“They don’t bother to sugarcoat or soothe your ego or pain.” He continues, his fingers long and pale where they grip me. The only information I get about him at all past the fact that I now know what he feels like inside of me.

“The truth is ugly, and your own might be uglier yet.” He keeps piling on and I flinch at the words. “But the voice? The meaning behind each of the sounds you’ve made tonight?”

The beak of his mask scrapes my shoulder as he ducks low enough that his mouth might be positioned right at my ear.

“Those will haunt my fucking dreams.”

He pushes back and I fall forward into the mirror, my legs having officially entered noodle territory as I try to gather myself.

It takes an embarrassing amount of time for me to gather myself up, and when I finally turn to give him a scathing remark long overdue, I find him gone.

I blink to the emptiness of the room, cheeks flushing as I yank my clothes back into place where they should be. Choosing to ignore the ache between my thighs or the tights that are officially destroyed as I step forward on a still shaky toe.

How the hell do I get out—

My eyes snag on a single charm that rests atop the swell of the settee’s arm. Announcing itself grandly to the room by glinting in the light that shines too brightly overhead for what had just occurred beneath it.