23. Carmie
Chapter 23
Carmie
I ’m wide awake when I finally force myself to get into bed. It’s past midnight. I’ve been sitting around in my gym clothes waiting for a masked man to show up at my door. Except that’s stupid, and he’s clearly not coming.
Time to give up. I crawl under the covers, but I’m still burning with adrenaline thinking about Lev in that fencer’s mask. And it’s only after I’ve basically decided that this isn’t going to happen when I finally hear the creak of footsteps in the hall.
My mind goes to filthy places. Lev pinning me down and fucking me violently. His hot breath on my back and neck as he plunges deep between my legs. The pure bliss of an orgasm ripping through my skin. His cock in my mouth as my spit rolls down his shaft.
When the door opens, I expect a mostly naked godlike creature.
Instead, it’s him, fully clothed in fencing gear.
“Get up, princess.”
I sit and stare, my mouth open. What the fuck is happening right now?
Lev tilts his head, but I can’t read his expression through the mask. He grabs my fencing gear from the floor and throws it at me.
“Get dressed,” he says.
“Are you serious?”
“Put it on.” There’s no question. His tone is pure demand.
I should tell him off. I’ve been waiting for this, and now he’s really trying to spar with me? But the competitive demon roars deep in my veins, and fuck it, fuck him, if he wants this, then I won’t hold back.
I get out of bed and snatch up my clothes. “Turn around.” He doesn’t move, though, and I don’t even know why I bothered.
I let him watch. Screw him to hell. I strip completely naked, pull on my sports bra and comfortable underwear, and drag on the fencing costume. He stands still the whole time, staring at my body as I do it. I’m blushing like crazy and feeling exposed, but my heart’s hammering in my chest and my hands are shaking, and I don’t know what’s going to happen from here.
But I do know I’m going to shred him.
I’m going to rip him to fucking pieces .
Lev walks out of my room. The masked man stalks down the hall as I follow after him. I roll my shoulders and my neck, loosening up as he takes me into the basement. Everything’s been cleared away already, and a space has been designated for the bout.
My foil and mask are both waiting for me. I lift the sword first and balance it in my hand, taking a few warm-up lunges before putting the mask on but leaving it tilted up.
“You sure about this?” I ask.
Lev falls into a passable fencing stance. “Come on. Don’t make me fucking wait.”
A shiver runs down my spine. Excitement slams into my chest.
“Rules?” He doesn’t answer. “First touch then. Epee style.” I figure that’s easiest since any touch on any part of the body counts in epee. It’ll give him a very slight chance since it’s my worst discipline. I prefer the raw aggression of saber to the measured testing and attack/riposte of epee.
“Ready,” he says, holding up his blade.
I shove down my mask, give him a quick salute, and stand opposite him. “Ready,” I say, dancing on the balls of my feet. “Let’s go.”
Not exactly standard, but it works.
He comes toward me. Lev’s strong and quick, but his footwork is absolutely terrible. I test him with a few quick swipes of my foil, our blades clashing, and this feels good. It feels so fucking good.
My nerves burn away. The moment shrinks. I’m entirely in this bout. Even if it’s the furthest thing from a real fencing match and really just a basement swordfight, it feels incredible .
I want to fucking crush him.
Instead, I take my time. I move through a few forms and pull back before touching him at least twice. I can almost feel his frustration as I tease him into an awkward lunge, parry his blade, and dance backwards instead of finishing him.
“Don’t fucking hold back,” he snarls at me.
“Or else what? I thought you could take me.”
“I can.” He comes at me. It’s a furious attack as he swipes wildly. I easily evade backwards, excitement singing, my breath coming fast, and I quickly knock his blade sideways before executing a decent lunge into a touch right on his chest.
He grunts and backs away as I release a primal scream.
It’s overkill. I know it’s too much. But fuck, it feels so good to win again. It’s been so long since I scored a touch on an opponent on the piste and even though Lev’s trash and this isn’t a real bout, it feels incredible.
“Again,” he says when I finally get myself under control.
“Again,” I agree, grinning viciously.
He lets me come at him. This time, I take control. I drive the exchange and make it fast. He tries a messy parry that leaves him wide open and I score another touch on his arm.
I scream my animalistic aggression in his blank face.
“Again,” he says.
And again I come at him. Again I score a touch, and again I scream.
The next time, I draw him out. I let him think I’m getting tired. And I am—I’m nowhere in the shape I used to be—but he’s not good enough to take advantage. When he overextends himself, I finish things, scoring my fifth touch in a row.
“Where’s that cocky banter now?” I say to him, my voice raw from victorious screams. I wrench my mask back and let him see my elated grin.
“Again,” is all he’s willing to say.
I shove my mask back down.
This time, it’s different. I step in, staying in my stance, and he barely reacts. I get closer and closer, waiting for him to spring his trap, and I’m practically on top of him when he finally moves.
It’s a blur of speed. Even though I score a touch, he doesn’t seem to care. He bashes my sword aside, grabs my wrist, and wrenches the blade from my grip. I gasp in shock as he grabs the zipper on my jacket and rips it down.
“Lev,” I say in shock. He throws his blade down and aggressively rips off my top, working me out of my chest protector.
My adrenaline’s going wild from the fight and I try to struggle free, but he doesn’t give a shit. The masked monster is loose and he won’t be denied. My plastron is torn aside and thrown on the floor. I knee him in the thigh and it does nothing. He yanks down my breeches, gripping me by the hair with his other hand, my mask hitting the floor and rolling away.
He drags me to the mask. I’m breathing hard and still trying to struggle, but when his hand shoves down between my legs, I rip out an ugly moan as he strokes up and down my pussy.
“You beat me,” he whispers, his tone dripping with lust as he pulls my pants off, leaving me in my t-shirt and underwear. He shoves my panties aside, pinning me down, my hands up above my head. “But why do I feel like I’m winning?”
His cock’s rock hard and shoved against my aching, soaked pussy.
“You cheated,” I say, glaring at him, mouth open.
The mask stares back. “There weren’t any rules.”
“Epee. We agreed. I won.”
“You won your game.” He releases one wrist and reaches between my legs. “Now I’ll win mine.”
I moan as he sinks his fingers inside of me. When I reach for the mask, he pulls away and turns me around, shoving me down on my belly, his hand still between my legs. He strokes up and down my pussy, teasing me, sinking fingers in and out. I look back as he pauses to strip off his breeches and jacket until he’s only a man in a mask again, his cock free and thick.
He pushes my face down in the mat. “Don’t look,” he whispers, and then I feel it.
Lips on my ass. Then slowly down until I feel his mouth on my pussy from behind.
“Oh my god,” I whisper as pleasure rips into me.
He licks and eats me from behind. I obey him and don’t peek, but a part of me wants to. A part of me wants to see the look on his face, that dreamy, heavy-lidded stare that’s half lust and half possession. I want to taste his tongue in my mouth, but instead, it’s in my pussy as he licks me like a monster.
Then he’s pulling back and I feel his tip glide forward. He holds onto my hips, and my fingers dig into the floor as he slowly pushes inside.
“Fuck, Lev,” I moan as he fills me.
His growl of pleasure is the only response I get.
And it’s the only one I need.
He fucks me like that. Like I’m his real prize. Like even though I won the bout, he’s the one that’s conquering.
I push into him, bucking and riding his cock, letting myself give in and loosen up. This is me on the fencing piste, this is me free and open and real, and god, it feels so fucking good.
I turn back at him and whimper as he shoves me down. The man is iron and steel. He could crush and break me if he wanted.
Instead, he leans forward.
“Ride me until you come.”
Then he’s out and sitting back. I don’t waste time. I let my aggression take over. I straddle the masked man, my husband, the father of my unborn child, and arch my back as his cock fills me. His hands shove up my shirt and bra, and he teases my nipples as I take control, setting my own pace, his big dick driving me absolutely fucking crazy.
My legs are tired. They’re burning from the workout earlier, from the bout, and from this. But pleasure keeps me going as I grind down into him, leaning my weight on my hands. He thrusts into me, but I’m the one setting the pace, and I’m the one that’s winning tonight.
The orgasm rushes through me. I feel beautiful and in control. I feel incredible as I come on his big dick, and he groans as he finishes with me. I throw back my head and let my moans stand in for my primal screams, the basement filling with our noises as I come like a lightning storm.
And just like that, I collapse onto him.
He wraps his arms around me. My face is pressed against his chest and I feel his heart racing. It’s a match for mine. Neither of us speaks, and I feel dizzy from exertion.
But I also feel good. So freaking good. Better than good—I feel like I finally did something for myself.
Like the night I tried to lose my virginity.
Except better.
“I think we should call this a draw,” he says softly.
I laugh. I can’t help myself. I kiss his chest and stare up into his masked face. I reach to move it, but he stops me.
“Why not?” I ask. “It’s not like I know who’s under there.”
“Better this way. You’re looser.”
He’s right, honestly. I feel like I can do whatever I want with a man in a mask. There’s no judgment from him.
“Your fencing sucks,” I say, showing my teeth.
He slaps my ass hard and rolls me off him. I stretch as he gets to his feet and dresses. “I’ll beat you next time.”
“You want a rematch?”
“Another night.” He looks back at me. “You’re beautiful, Carmie. You know that?”
I shiver at the sound of my name. “Thanks,” I say, propping my head up on my hand. “Your form is atrocious.”
I can’t see his expression, but I like to think he’s smiling as he leaves the basement.