Page 64 of The Masked King

“What happens if I touch you?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Has anyone touched you before?” Brian asks.

“Yes,” I whisper.

“I have all night.” Nyx says via the invisible sound system.

“Yeah, but I don’t.” There’s a long pause before Brian says, “Who else is here?” He sounds jittery, and my heart goes out to him, knowing how this all ends a week later.

“Sit down, Brian. We’re alone in here, I promise.” Nyx says, and somehow, Brian believes her because he stuck around long enough to get hurt. “Why do I need to wear a mask, Nyx? Can you see me? Is that it?”

“No, I can’t see you,” I say at the same time as Nyx. “I wish I could’ve seen you, Brian.” My head is spinning like I have the hangover from hell, and my eyes close.

“How does the mask make you feel?” My voice is still playing and I try to focus, but it’s hard when I’m so goddamned sleepy.

“Claustrophobic. Gimp masks are not my thing.”

“Can you feel the blood pumping around your veins?”

“Yes.”

I cling to Brian’s voice. “Need to stay awake,” I mumble hoarsely.

“Embrace it, Brian. Lean into the mask instead of counting the moments until you can take it off.” Did I say that?

My brain feels incapable of stringing that many words together right now, and the thought makes me shiver. I don’t know what’s going on. I should be trying to escape…

“You only imagined me touching you.” Nyx is still talking. “I’m right here in front of you, Brian.”

“Where? Why can’t I see you?”

“Because I’m the night. I’m the fantasy inside your head when you close your eyes and go to sleep. Would it be as much fun if the lights came on and you could see me?”

Without thinking, my hand slides between my legs. I’m wet because I know what’s coming even if I can’t remember the conversation word-for-word. I remember how he made me feel, how his voice made me feel: special.

“Describe me, Brian. What do you see right now?”

I slide a finger inside me. This is wrong on so many levels, but if Brian was here right now, I would beg him to fuck me, just like he wanted.

“You’re wearing black leather.”

“Too gimmicky.”

“Okay… You’re not naked. But you’re not fully clothed either. You’re wearing sexy underwear.”

“Color?”

“White.” He knew.

I soften my clit with my wet finger, round and around, my pulse racing, desperate to stay awake so that I can hear more of Brian’s voice.

“Interesting. Do you want me to be naked?”

“Yes,” I answer for him and spread my legs wider. It occurs to me then that I’m not under the sheets, but my heart is pumping blood to my pussy and not to my brain, so I don’t dwell on it.

“You haven’t finished describing me,” Nyx says.