Page 24 of The Masked King

I sense him smiling, when he says, “I’ll hold it arm’s length. This is my fantasy, Nyx, and I want you to put it back on, so that’s what you’re going to do.”

“Okay.”

I don’t waste a beat. I reach out with my hand and swipe the air in the direction of his voice. My fingers graze soft gauzy fabric, but he snatches the robe away from me before I can get a hold of it.

“Nice try.” The amusement in his voice is unmistakable. “How about this?”

The robe brushes my face, but his reflexes are faster than mine, and it’s gone again before I can grab it.

I step closer. My bare toes touch the ridged circle marking the boundary between me and the client, meaning that I’m now two arm lengths away from him. He could hold the robe on his lap, but where would be the fun in that? No, he’s teasing me, reeling me in like a fish on a hook, but even fishermen sometimes break first.

Holding my breath and keeping perfectly motionless, I wait till my ears are ringing and then swipe the air again like I’m swimming through the darkness.

Nothing.

I circle him and try again. I sense I’m not even close before I reach out and feel blindly for a whisper of fabric.

Then I step away.

And wait.

“Is that it, Nyx? Are you giving up on me?” his voice slices through the darkness.

I don’t answer. I close my eyes and focus on the feel of the carpet on the soles of my feet, the dampness between my legs, the barely-there rhythm of Brian’s breaths.

“Nyx?”

Focus, I tell myself. If I’m right about him, he’ll tire of the waiting game before I do.

“Oh, I get it,” he says. “You’re waiting for me to break first, huh?” I hear him rising. “Okay. I’m done. Do I get to keep this? A little reminder of the fantasy that never was.”

I remain silent.

“If I leave now, Nyx, I won’t come back.” He pauses, like this is a game of chess, and he’s contemplating his next move, the one that will lead him to checkmate. “You’ll never know what I would’ve done to you on our second date.”

He only has to say the word, and I’ll leave, and the door will open for him to find the exit. But I’m confident he won’t do it.

I start counting in my head: one… two…

Before three, he says, “Catch.”

I hear the fabric flying as gentle as butterfly wings and catch it in my arms. I do what I imagined Brian doing, I raise it to my face and breathe deeply, and there it is, the faint but unmistakable hint of his cologne.

My pussy tingles as I feel my way around the robe and slip my arms into the feather-light sleeves. I don’t know if he realizes, but I have a piece of Brian now in the scent that clings to the gauzy fabric. Sure, it will get rinsed away in the laundry, and I might not even get to wear this same garment again, but I’ll imprint it on my consciousness and stow it away for later.

“Are you wearing it, Nyx?”

He isn’t angry; he’s adapting his fantasy to accommodate me as he learns, and I wonder what kind of lover he would be in the real world. The controlling kind who gets off on dominating his partner, or gentle and considerate, nothing like his Brian persona?

“Yes.”

“Touch yourself.”

I swallow hard and slide my hand between my legs. My fingers touch wetness, and I instinctively spread my legs wider, my index finger grazing my clit.

“Tell me what you feel, Nyx.”

“I’m wet. My clit is tingling.”