29
Sailor
Mask Fetish Unlocked
I HATED MYSELF FOR PUSHING HIM TO DO something he didn’t want to do.
I did my best to take my pleading back.
To be strong enough to do this on my own and stop using someone for my own gain.
But…I couldn’t.
For the first time in my life, I really, truly, desperately needed someone. Not sexually. Not physically. But in all the ways he made me feel: protected, cherished, seen . Every fractured piece. Every distorted part. He saw all of me, yet he didn’t judge me or pity me or shame me.
I ought to be petrified.
A man in a mask and baseball cap pinned me to my bed and glowered at me with such intensity, I felt his stare in my soul.
Yet all I felt was safe. So exquisitely safe.
I had no more tears. No more self-doubt or hate or guilt.
I hummed and burned, and even if he said no to helping me, I might, just might, be able to achieve a happy ending on my own if he left me with more memories like this one.
When he hugged me from behind, I’d felt so sheltered.
When he flipped me onto my back and grabbed my chin, I felt so bare, so open, so wanted.
He gave off such a caring, secretive vibe with the occasional explosion of dominating masculinity.
It scrambled my senses, set fire to my system, and left me shaky and achy and…
“ Please ,” I whispered again, staring at the painted skull covering where his lips would be. The toothy grimace only added to the dynamic that I was the weak one while he was the one in my control.
He willingly gave me every power over him without speaking. I saw it in the way he watched me and felt it in the way he touched me. He told me, loud and proud, that his crush for me was real, that this was real, and everything else didn’t matter.
Tugging one of my arms from under the covers, I reached for his mask.
I managed to tug it enough to reveal a part of his nose before his fingers locked around my wrist and pulled my hand away.
He shook his head just once.
He clucked his tongue.
He doused me with gasoline and struck a match that made fire erupt and heat burn and all I wanted to do was kiss him.
“If you won’t sleep with me…kiss me?” I flicked my stare from his mask to his eyes, once again asking for something I shouldn’t. “Kiss me and you can go.”
With a snarl, he rolled off me and pulled his mask back into position. “You’re definitely trying to kill me.” Propping himself up with his elbow, he supported his head and stared at me. “And nice try, but I won’t remove my mask.”
“Ah, yes.” I nodded seriously. “The boils.”
He chuckled quietly. “Exactly.”
Lying on his hip and facing me, he ran his fingertip feather-soft over my bottom lip. “I need you to know that I’m not denying you because I don’t want you. I do. I want you way too fucking much. It’s taking every ounce of willpower not to take you but…I’m trying to do the right thing and the right thing is…” He bit back a groan-snarl. “The right thing is not giving in to you even though that’s all I want to do.” Narrowing his eyes, he added, “I’m not going to kiss you, and I can’t sleep with you, but…okay.”
The world stopped spinning.
“Okay?” My heart almost leaped out of my chest.
Bending over me, he rubbed his masked nose against mine. The darkness in my room only granted shadowy features even this close. If I hadn’t seen him before with my bedside light on, I wouldn’t have known he had black hair under his hat or the richest, kindest brown eyes.
“Okay…I’ll help you.”
My leaping heart suddenly played dead. “H-How?”
Trailing his fingers from my mouth, he traced them along my throat, between my cleavage, and slowly down my belly.
His eyebrow rose as he felt the silky satin of my nightgown. “I thought you were more of a t-shirt and shorts to bed kinda girl.”
I stretched under his petting, fully invested in the sparkling, tingling sensation he left me with. “A nightgown is easier access than shorts.” I was so breathless, I sounded as if I’d run ten laps of the park.
He laughed again, low and rich. “You’re right, it is.”
His shoulder dropped as he lowered his hand from my lower belly and gathered up the fabric by my hip. Neither of us spoke as he hitched the hem up my shins, my knees, my thighs…
When most of it puddled on my stomach, he traced his fingers along the paper-thin skin of my lower belly.
I hissed and jerked, the sensitivity too hot, too sinful, too much.
“You sure you want me to do this?” His voice sounded like a beast, thick and croaky.
I didn’t trust myself to be able to talk without giving away just how sure I was. A flush of hot wetness had me cringing. What if my need turned him off? What if I wasn’t supposed to be this turned on by the local neighbourhood stalker?
He’ll judge me—
I stopped that thought immediately.
He’d never judged me. Not once. That was why I’d gotten this far. Why he’d successfully allowed me to take back the smallest part of myself.
“We don’t have to,” he murmured, his fingers stroking fire over my exposed hip. “But if you want to, you have to tell me. Otherwise, this ends and I leave.”
Trembling, I went to cup his cheek, but he reared back, his eyes wide.
“You can’t take my mask off. That rule hasn’t changed.”
Lowering my arm, I nodded. “I wasn’t going to. I just wanted to touch you.”
“This isn’t about me.” His fingers sketched a little closer. “This is about you. Say the word and I’ll do my best to give you an orgasm. I’m a little rusty and not saying I’m very skilled with my fingers, but…” His voice shaded with a tease. “You did say you like a man who takes instruction.”
I flushed.
Lowering his masked mouth to my ear, he whispered, “So am I doing this? Yes or no, Lori.”
I shivered at the nickname. At the separation it gave me between Sailor Rose, abuse survivor, and this new me rising from the ashes.
Licking my suddenly dry lips, I nodded. “Yes.”
He didn’t make me ask again.
His fingers navigated right to my clit.
My spine arched right off the bed as his hand cupped me, hot and steady, letting me get used to his possession.
“You can either teach me what you like, or you can retreat inward and focus on healing. Either way, I’m here.” His voice hitched as his middle finger stroked my entrance. He didn’t comment on my slickness or say anything to embarrass me. He merely held my stare, swallowed a growl, and torturously, slowly inserted that finger inside me.
I arched off the bed again. My blood heated, my bones trembled. No one had ever looked at me so intently all while touching me so intimately.
With just one finger, he blew me apart.
Unable to hold his stare while he systemically shattered my body into pieces, I closed my eyes and focused on his touch.
He didn’t rush.
He savoured.
His heavy, harsh breathing sent goosebumps darting over me as he pressed his thumb against my clit and just held it there. I moaned as he hooked his finger inside me, pressing against that inner spot, making me clench.
I waited for him to speak.
I hated that I didn’t really want him to. I didn’t want to have to cringe with self-consciousness. I didn’t want to fight to focus on his touch. I wanted him to remain with me but distant—here but far enough away that I could be swept away and hopefully find a way to come for myself, not for him.
Without a word—almost as if he’d heard my silent request—he feathered a second finger inside me. A soft cry escaped me as his thumb finally moved on my clit, just the barest rub, firm with pressure. He didn’t tickle or bruise, he somehow knew the perfect press.
The longer he touched me, the less effort it took to concentrate. With every hook and flutter of his fingers, my mind turned darker and softer, and all that mattered was a release.
My hands clutched at the blankets as he shifted closer and pressed his erection against my hip, letting me feel I wasn’t the only one burning. With a soft growl, he withdrew his fingers before pushing them back inside me.
Not rough, not cruel…worshipping and claiming and absolutely delicious.
And still, he didn’t speak.
I lost track of time as he set a rhythm with his fingers, slow and languid to start, his thumb keeping constant pressure on my clit. He built me up and up. I felt heavier and heavier. Hotter and hotter.
And when I reached for his arm and felt his muscles contract and the steady thrusting motion of his wrist, I lost it.
My legs fell wider. My teeth clamped onto my bottom lip.
I wanted.
More and more and more.
I forgot why this was so hard for me. Why being touched had become so terrifying. All that mattered was the searing fire he cultivated inside me, slowly adding more and more fuel until my body clutched around his touch, and I cried out as his wrist angled deeper.
I clung to his bicep as his pace increased. His touch went deeper. His thumb pressed harder.
Up and up and up, he pushed me.
Quietly, firmly, wonderfully.
I couldn’t stay still any longer.
I shivered and squirmed, fighting with him, needing to come, all while terrified of it.
His leg hooked over mine, keeping me pinned.
And then he inserted a third finger.
His pace lost its sweetness. His hand moved with the motions of fucking.
He didn’t coax me anymore. He shoved me up the mountain, forcing me to tighten, to spiral, to spark. The telltale drawing up of my womb, the hot, delicious cramps that turned into a delicious knot just waiting to explode.
I was so close.
So, so close to detonation.
“Please…” I moaned, needing a final push.
His fingers drove deep, deep inside me, unapologetically possessive.
Sudden pain wrenched over my scalp from Milton pulling my hair out. My jaw ached from his punch. My shoulder blades and spine and ribs and wrists and legs. His every kick and throw repeated in horrifying precision. Discomfort and despair added awful layers to my rabidly popping pleasure. A cyclone of the past and the present howled through me, doing its best to blow away the future I needed to claim.
No.
Don’t.
He’s not here.
You’re safe.
My forehead furrowed as I clung to happiness, not agony. I willed my body to remember the peace X gave me all while exterminating the memories of Milton.
It didn’t work.
Pain built and built.
The crack of my cheekbone, the burn of my hip, the throb of my knee—
Fight-or-flight kicked in.
Adrenaline and terror and—
No!
The tingling coils of my orgasm dissolved. Milton cackled in my mind. All I could see was his sneering face. His taunts calling me a slut. His punches decorating me with bruises.
It happened again.
I hadn’t been able to get past this part on my own.
I’d forced myself through it.
I’d screamed in resentment as that bastard prevented me from coming. I’d touched myself all while sobbing in defeat and failure because I’d let a monster into my life. It’d made me feel sick to my stomach—like I violated myself. He’d stolen my freedom, self-worth, and power and left me with frustration, irritation and bone-deep shame that I would always be tainted. Always be the stupid girl who trusted the wrong person. Always be the broken survivor who could no longer touch her own body.
“It’s okay,” X murmured, pressing his mask-covered lips to my cheek. “You’re with me. No one else.”
His fingers kept stroking me, tugging me back from the black nightmares. With each rock, he eradicated another pain, soothed another strike, deleted another kick.
Fresh tears streamed down my cheek that he was so patient, so understanding.
He touched me so worshippingly, all while reminding me that he did this for me . He touched me because I’d practically forced him to. He serviced me like someone I’d bribed or hired—obeying me despite his own reservations.
Guilt swarmed.
New shame drowned me.
I was so selfish. So greedy. Just as narcissistic as Milton.
It can’t just be about me.
I can’t use him like this.
My right hand dropped from his arm. Angling my hips a little, I put a little space between us and wrapped my fingers around his throbbing hard-on.
He went instantly, fatally still.
His breathing came fast and shallow, his fingers twitching inside me.
“S—Lori.” He exhaled with a heart-clenching grunt. “Stop.”
He shifted as if to prevent me from touching him, but I clamped my legs closed and kept his wrist trapped. “It’s not fair for me to ask you to give me a release and not return the favour.”
Stupid tears rolled hotly down my cheeks.
Every cell throbbed with hotter frustration as my impossible orgasm flew higher out of reach. What was the point? This was a waste of time. Milton stalked my thoughts, pacing on the outskirts of my mind, keeping me imprisoned in a cage of my own making.
“I can’t come,” I muttered almost coldly. Rocking my hand up and down, I focused on his climax instead. “But you can.”
I’d almost gotten there.
I appreciated his attempt, but…I couldn’t scale that wall just yet.
I’m not ready.
I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready.
“You can come. If I’m doing it wrong, talk to me,” he groaned. “Tell me what you like.”
“Forget about me.” My voice caught with frustrated tears. I clutched his rock-hard length. “Let me—”
“No.” Removing his fingers, he clamped them hot and damp around my wrist and jerked my touch off him. In the same motion, he flung up the covers over his head and shot down the mattress.
I gasped as he settled between my legs, his face directly above my exposed pussy.
Grabbing the blankets, I looked down and, good God, I’d never had a mask fetish. I’d never had any kind of fetish, but seeing X between my legs—dressed all in black with a skull covering half his face and his baseball cap a little skewed, all the tingles and clenches he’d conjured returned in a wave of delirium.
His left hand went to his mask, his eyes flashing black. “You asked me to make you come and I never leave a job half done. You can trust me. I will never hurt you. And you can leave at any time. But…” His voice turned husky with gravel. “While I have you like this, while I can smell your need, and see your desire, I’m going to keep going. I’m not going to stop, and I’m going to enjoy every moment of licking you.”
Holding my stare, he inserted two fingers back inside me.
My mouth fell open.
My arms trembled holding the covers up.
“However…in order for me to use my tongue, I have to lower my mask which means you have to drop the blankets. If I feel you lift them. If you try to look at me. If you attempt to stop me because you’re feeling guilty that you’re not returning the favour or that I’m not extremely, desperately willing to do this for you, then I’m leaving and not coming back.”
Cold water doused me.
I tried to close my legs, but he pressed my thigh with his free hand and kept me wide.
“Do we have a deal or not?” He dropped his blazing stare to where his fingers vanished inside me. “Because my mouth is watering, and I either need to taste you or run as far away from you as possible.” He groaned and squeezed his eyes closed. “And I just realised everything I said might terrify you, so if I’ve scared you and you want this to end, just give me the word and I’m gone, Lori. You don’t ever have to see me again. We never have to discuss this or—”
“I trust you.” I dropped the blanket.
I did my best not to worry about him being able to breathe under there or how he’d overheat or how a strange man was closer to my core than any other man had been. Milton had never gone down on me, and my other two boyfriends had never asked.
I couldn’t stop shaking with a mixture of terror and torment.
My cheeks burned with fire. I’d never been so embarrassed or so turned on.
And when he shifted and his head lowered beneath the covers, I squeaked in shock, then screamed in ecstasy as his tongue licked hard and long up my seam.
He didn’t build me slowly like before.
He didn’t give me time to get used to the slippery sensation or give any space for my thoughts to ruin this.
I had no thoughts.
I was empty.
His fingers thrust inside me as his tongue licked again, driving from my centre to my clit.
I didn’t stand a chance.
I whimpered and squirmed and begged for him to stop or lick harder.
He nuzzled me.
Devoured me.
And then, he bit me.
I shattered.
A guttural groan escaped as I threw my head back and surfed waves of rapture. The clenches came in frenzied crashes of ravishment, over and over and over again.
All those months of being denied. All those years of never finding true pleasure.
It demolished me into fragments, breaking me apart in all directions like a starburst.
I was blind and deaf and free. So deliciously free.
The bed rocked as X removed his fingers and licked me.
I shivered with oversensitivity. It almost hurt with how hyper aware I was, but I didn’t stop him. I let him taste me, tongue me. I let him do whatever he wanted because he’d given me something I didn’t think I’d have the courage to claim, and somehow, by giving me back myself, he’d claimed me for his own.
I moaned as his lick went deeper, penetrating me in ways that felt so much more intimate than fingers. I clenched around him. His guttural groan from beneath the covers almost, almost , made me come again.
I’d never had two in a row.
And a selfish part wanted him to try.
But I also couldn’t bring myself to ask, so I lay there and let myself be devoured and—
He tore himself off me.
Breathing hard, he rearranged his mask and popped up from beneath the blankets. Without a word, he pushed my drunken shoulder and rolled me onto my side. I had no strength left and went where he wanted but my voice cracked with worry. “W-Why did you stop?”
With a powerful, possessive arm, he scooped me around the middle and drew me against him. His hard cock throbbed as he rocked into me, his breath coming in heavy, shuddering gusts. “I stopped because if I didn’t, I’m either going to come all over your sheets or take you up on the offer to fuck you.”
A lightning bolt of need arched through me. “You can…” I whispered. “I’d like you to.”
“Fucking hell.” Burrowing his masked face into the crook of my neck, he exhaled hard. “You have no idea how much willpower it’s costing me not to plunge inside you right now.” He arched his hips against my ass, grinding his throbbing length against me. “I’m seconds away from coming, Lori. A single touch and—”
“Then let me.”
Reaching behind, I fumbled for him.
I grazed his length. I went to grip—
He snatched my wrist and pulled me away. Panting into my ear, he growled. “You touch me, and you’ll destroy me. Do you understand?” Taking a heavy breath, he added, “This was about you. Not me. Keep your hands to yourself.”
I laughed quietly, shocked that I felt happy after the memories trying to break me. “Okay, no hands. How about my mouth, then?” I rocked backward. “Let me return the favour.”
His snarl cut right through his mask and arrowed into my heart . “You give me your mouth, and you won’t be getting out of this bed until you’ve been fucked five different ways and can barely walk.”
I moaned. Loudly.
I’d never been talked to that way.
Never felt the bolt of heat knowing how much he needed me.
Twisting in his arms, I tried to face him. To tug down his trousers and give him what he gave me.
But he clamped his arm around my waist and linked his still slick fingers with mine. Pressing our linked grip to my pounding heart, he grunted, “I’m going to go now.”
“No, wait—”
“You’re going to go to sleep, and no nightmares will find you—”
“X, don’t—”
“I’m going to taste you on my lips all night.” Kissing me through his mask, he untangled his wet fingers from mine.
I tried to hold on, but the lubrication meant he slipped easily from my grasp. “Message me in the morning, alright?”
The bed shifted as he slid off the side and stood.
I went to face him.
To leap on my knees and throw my arms around him, but his hand pressed on my shoulder, keeping me facing away. “Don’t get up. Don’t look back. Or this will always remain a one-time deal, okay?” His hand withdrew from my shoulder, fading into the dark.
I froze. My mind whirled. “You’re saying this can happen again?”
I trembled, waiting for his reply.
I waited and waited until I couldn’t wait anymore.
I rolled over.
But he was gone.