4. Mona #3
I shrug, a cocky smirk tipping my lips. “I think …” I trail off as his legs hit the bed, and he drops down onto it, his long legs parting for me. I step between them, and his hands effortlessly find my hips as I continue, “You’d let me do whatever I want with you.”
“Hmm,” he hums and clicks his tongue, his fingers sinking into my skin and yanking me closer to him. My stomach somersaults as I crash against his chest, grabbing his shoulders for balance. “I love that you think you’re the one in control. It makes it so much more fun when I do this.”
In the blink of an eye, the room goes blurry around me, and suddenly, I’m on my back, pinned to the bed with his hand around my throat and his knee between my thighs. I gasp, feeling each finger around my throat with my next breath.
Holy shit, this is the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced.
And in a split second, I know exactly the type of man I want. I want one obsessed enough to tattoo my name on his body. One crazy enough to stalk my every move. One confident enough to take what he wants from me but who still respects my boundaries. One possessive enough to never let me go.
I don’t want someone to ask me every five seconds if I’m okay, like I’m a fragile glass doll. The answer is likely no because the world loves to shit on me. I simply want to say, now get your cock out and make me come. Then I’ll feel something other than never-ending dread. Is that too much to ask?
Apparently, it’s not anymore. My desires have personified into the Halloween heartthrob before me.
My back arches, and he groans, sliding his knee up my thigh and pressing it against my center, shifting until I gasp when he finds my clit.
“There you go, my dirty fucking girl,” he groans, and I swear to God my core pulses.
Strategically, he rocks his knee, somehow using it like a perfect fucking toy, and I had no idea a goddamn knee could feel this good. But I want more. I want to feel him.
Reaching out, I grab at whatever I can, fisting his shirt and tugging him forward until both his knees are on the bed, my legs wrapping around his hips.
“I knew it. You’re obsessed with me, Mona.” He lowers his body to me, and the tip of his erection presses against my tights, right where I want him.
There’s never been a point in my life where I begged a man, but this one … I might do just about anything for him.
“Just take your pants off. Please, for the love of God,” I cry out, not caring if I sound pathetic or whiny as I paw at the waistband of his joggers, feeling the softness of his skin brush the backs of my fingers.
He thrusts against me, quick and firm, and the sensations fill my lungs in a greedy gasp. The length of his cock grinds against the sheer fabric of my pantyhose and the thin lace of my panties.
Shifting his hand up, stopping right below my jaw, he pinches his thumb and forefinger. His hips rock against me, over and over, until his controlled breaths become erratic and rough.
“Fuck,” he growls, his cock unbearably hard as he strokes against me. “I could explode doing this, riding against your sweet pussy I haven’t even felt yet.”
He feels so good, and I’m desperate for more. I meet his rhythm, thrust for thrust, and we become nothing but roaring pleasure and whimpered gasps. As we lose ourselves to one another, electricity crackles in the room, and my body starts to levitate off the bed.
There’s no way he’s going to make me come like this, right?
“Oh fuck,” he whimpers, and the soft, breathy exhale sends me right over the goddamn edge.
I stiffen in his grasp as pleasure tears through my body in fiery waves. His mask’s glowing above me. His hand’s around my throat. His cock’s grinding against my clit. I’m exactly where I want to be.
“Mona.” My whimpered name is a confession and a promise, rolled in one. “Mona.” His voice sinks into my skin, anchoring in my soul.
He rocks against me as he rides out his high, and I happily oblige. Slowly, he comes to a stop and unclasps his hand from my neck, standing back to his full height.
“That was”—I whistle—“the hottest moment of my life.”
Adjusting his mask and his pants, he chuckles proudly. “Get your pajamas on. I’ll be right back.”
A twinge of sadness strikes my chest at the thought of him leaving as I sit up sharply. “Where are you going?”
“To clean myself up.” He digs his phone out of his pocket and checks something quick. “And to look for monsters in the hall.”
That snaps me out of my softened stupor and I flip him off as he presses the button on the wall. He chuckles softly and slips outside, leaving me all alone.
The next thought solidifies in my mind. I’m not letting him stay the night. I’m not ready for that, and as long as he comes back unharmed and not ghostly white, I know I’m safe and the coast is clear. Just because I let him come doesn’t mean he gets full access to me immediately.
But I still can’t shake it … the nagging voice in my head telling me that it’s too late, I’m already completely his. In one of his letters, he said he’s the one who’s never letting me go, but I’m starting to think he's the one who never had a chance to escape me.