Five
DOMINIC
Her heart beats against my chest like something caged. Fast, frantic, still running from the orgasms I wrung out of her. Eight of them in thirty minutes, and her body hasn’t stopped shaking.
I can feel every tiny tremor and every half-muffled gasp that escapes her lips when she tries to steady her breathing and fails.
Nicki’s curls are damp against my neck, sweat-slick and tangled from where she clawed at them. She smells like sex and salt and something sweet underneath it all that I can’t place. Her leg draped over my hip is lead-heavy, muscles completely spent.
I wait. Let her gather herself. The timer on the side table reads zero, has read zero for several minutes now, and the silence it leaves behind feels earned.
Her voice, when it finally comes, is wrecked. “Why did you bring me here?”
My fingertips find her collarbone without thinking. Trace the sharp ridge of it from the hollow of her throat to the dip of her shoulder.
“Would you rather we’d stayed at the library?” I muse. “I brought you here because you belong with me, baby. And this is my—our—home.”
She goes still against me. “My followers will—”
“They probably already know you’re missing.” My thumb presses into the soft spot at the base of her throat where her pulse jumps. “Or maybe they thought they saw a BookTok fantasy being carried out. After all, I posted my intentions online last night, before you arrived.”
Her head lifts off my chest. “You what?”
I grin beneath the mask. “You heard me, baby.” My fingers slide from her collarbone down to the curve of her spine, tracing each vertebra. She shivers, full-body, and presses her forehead back against my chest like the sensation is too much. “Next question.”
A beat of silence. Her breathing has changed, gone shallow. When she speaks again, her voice is smaller. “What do you want from me, Dominic?”
Fuck, I love hearing my name when she says it like that. My hand stops at the small of her back, presses flat against the warm skin.
“Everything.” No hesitation. “I want everything, Nicki.”
Her exhale shakes against my shirt. I feel her fingers curl against my ribs. “You can’t just…”
I move my hand lower, down over the curve of her ass, and then between her legs from behind. When I push two fingers into her drenched pussy, she makes a sound that’s half-protest, half-moan.
“I can’t stand not being inside you, baby,” I almost whimper. It’s not a manly sound by any means, but I don’t fucking care. “I’m obsessed with you. I want to spend the rest of my life touching and worshiping you.”
Her beautiful cunt clenches around my knuckles with a greed that makes my cock twitch.
“Fuck,” she gasps, her hips jerking forward into the thrust. “Dominic, I…”
“I know.” I lazily move my fingers in and out of her heat. “You don’t have to say it.”
She doesn’t. Her mouth drops open against my chest. I think she’s about to bite me again, but instead, she kisses me. Kisses. Me. Fuck, this woman.
Even though she’s undulating her hips to get me to work my fingers faster, I continue the slow pace. This isn’t about pleasure. Not really. I just need to be inside her.
After a pregnant silence, she finally asks her next question. “How long?” Her voice is muffled against my chest, but I catch it. “How long have you been planning this?”
“Since we first spoke almost three months ago,” I admit unashamed.
“And for the last two months, I’ve been in the library when you were filming yourself.
I sat in the back corner, watching you arrive in your white tank top and shorts.
Your curls were always wild, like you just rolled out of bed and decided to be the most beautiful woman in Briar Falls without trying. ”
Her breathing stops. Completely stops for three full seconds, and I count each one against the pulse in her neck. Which is fucking awkward to do with my free hand, but I refuse to stop finger fucking her.
“You’ve been…” She trails off.
“Watching you.” My thumb finds her clit, circles it once, lightly. Not enough to push her over, just enough to remind her I’m here. “The same way you’ve been watching me on your screen.”
“Oh my God.” The words come out on a breath, almost a whisper. Her body has gone completely still against mine except for the rapid hammer of her heart. “That’s… that’s fucking creepy, Dominic.”
“Or is it romantic?” I counter because, honestly, it could be both. Right?
“Creepy.”
“Or romantic,” I insist.
She laughs, a soft trill of pearls that makes my heart contract. Fuck, she’s perfect.
“So when I reached out to you, and we were chatting all night, you’d already been watching me?” she asks like she needs clarification.
“Only online,” I explain. “But after that night, I was in love. With you, Nicki.”
Her hand flattens against my chest. “Holy shit.”
I laugh. Low, dark, the sound bouncing back at me through the mask. “Holy shit is right, baby.”
Her fingers dig into me. Not pushing away—holding on. She really is a good fucking girl.
“That’s why you knew my name. That’s why you knew the library.”
By now, I’ve lost count of her questions, not that it matters. All that matters is that she’s still here, the wetness of her pussy, and the way her breath puffs across my chest. It makes the hair there move. It’s an odd detail to focus on, but it’s just part of what feels so… perfect.
***
NICKI
My brain feels like it’s been put through a blender, set to purée, and then served back to me in a glass with a little umbrella.
Eight orgasms in thirty minutes will do that to a person.
Eight orgasms and the man who gave them to me still has two fingers buried inside my pussy like he can’t bear the thought of being anywhere else. If I’m honest, I love that. Love that he can’t get enough of me.
Dominic’s chest rises and falls beneath my cheek, steady and slow, while my own breathing hasn’t found its rhythm since question whatever knocked the fucking wind out of me.
I can’t quite believe how long he’s been watching me, or how long he’s planned this.
Dominic is one of the most wanted Masked-Tok creators. Women literally send him used panties—ew—and request filthy birthday greetings, which they have to pay for, of course.
But now, this epic specimen of a man wants me. Me. Nicki. Yeah, how does a girl say no to that?
And he’s been in the library. Every Saturday. Watching me.
His fingers curl inside me, a lazy, absent stroke that sends a shiver up my spine despite how utterly wrecked I already am.
I don’t know how many questions I’ve asked. Does it matter? I decide that the answer is no. He can stop me if I’ve reached my limit.
“Are you in love with me?” I ask, needing to know.
The silence that follows is absolute. His fingers go still inside me. His chest stops moving under my cheek. For three heartbeats, the only sound in the red room is the faint hum of whatever hidden lamp is casting this blood-wine glow across the walls.
Then, quietly: “Yes.”
Just that. Yes.
“You’re all I can think about, Nicki.” His voice has dropped, and the sound of it does something to my chest that feels dangerously close to cracking. “Every fucking day. For months.”
I swallow. My throat clicks.
“That’s…” I don’t finish. Can’t finish. Because what am I supposed to say to that? Thank you? Fuck you? Both feel equally true and equally inadequate.
His fingers start moving again, slow circles inside me that make my thighs tense despite the bone-deep exhaustion. My body is still responding to him.
“What if I don’t want you?” I can’t help asking.
His thumb finds my clit, presses once, lightly, and the sensation is so sharp I gasp.
“You do.” The words are quiet. Almost gentle. The most vulnerable I’ve heard him sound, and it’s fucking terrifying because it’s not a performance. It’s not the mask talking. It’s him, underneath all of it, and he sounds sure. “I know you do.”
“You can’t know that,” I whisper.
“I can.” His free hand finds my hair, threads through the curls at the nape of my neck. “I know the difference between what you say and what you want, Nicki. And right now, your pussy is fucking dripping around my fingers while you try to convince us both you don’t want this.”
He’s right. God, he’s right, and the fact that he’s right makes me want to punch him and kiss him at the same time, which is its own special kind of insanity.
I have one thing left to say. One.
I push myself up off his chest. My arms shake with the effort, muscles protesting after everything they’ve been through, but I manage. I sit up, ignoring his protest when I push his fingers out of me and straddle his hips.
Then I look directly into the hollow eyeholes of the mask. The plastic stares back, blank and screaming.
“Take off your mask.”
Not a question. A command. My voice doesn’t shake. I’m proud of that, at least.
Dominic goes still beneath me. “That’s not a question,” he says. His voice has that dry, amused edge back. The one that makes my skin prickle.
“I don’t care.” I hold his gaze through the mask. Or I try to. It’s impossible to know where his eyes actually are behind those black holes, but I stare at them anyway like I can see through plastic to the man underneath. “Take it off, Dominic. Now.”
A long pause. The red light catches on the smooth curve of the mask’s chin, on the permanent wail of its mouth.
Then his hand comes up. Slowly. Deliberately. Fingers curl under the edge of the mask at his jaw, and he lifts.
The reveal is agonizingly slow.
First, his jaw—sharp, clean, a shadow of stubble darkening the line of it. Strong. The kind of jaw that belongs on a man who doesn’t negotiate. Then his mouth. Full lower lip, a slight curl at one corner that’s already pulling into what I know, with absolute certainty, is a panty-dropping smile.
Last, the mask lifts clear of his eyes, and…
Fuck.
Fuck.
Dark hair, disheveled in that way that’s absolutely deliberate. Gray eyes—cool, sharp, the exact shade of a winter sky right before a storm—fixed on mine with an intensity that feels like being hit.
His face is, without exaggeration, exactly the one I constructed in my head. How is that possible? Have I seen him before?
Wait… yes I fucking have. I’ve met him at the coffee shop, at the ice cream parlor. Random places, at random times. We’ve never talked, but I noticed him and his big-dick energy that surrounds him like a second skin.
My jaw goes slack as I stare. Gawk, really.
Dominic watches me with that small, satisfied pull at the corner of his mouth, and the expression on his face is so fucking smug I should hate it. I don’t hate it. I want to lick it. It’s mine.
“You’re staring, baby,” he says, and his real voice—unfiltered by plastic, low and rough and exactly as devastating as I thought it would be—hits me like a physical thing.
“I know what I’m doing,” I mutter, and then I’m moving.
My hands fly to his face—his actual face. The skin is warm under my palms, rough with stubble. The small touch sends a jolt through me so violent I actually gasp.
Then I kiss him.
It’s not gentle. It’s not sweet. It’s raw and filthy and desperate, my mouth crashing into his with all the restraint of a woman who’s been fantasizing about this face for months without knowing it was the same man I’d shared fantasies with online.
Dominic groans against my lips—low, hungry, almost a growl—and his hands lock around my waist, hauling me tighter against him. His tongue pushes into my mouth, and I suck on it, hard, my fingers tangling in his hair, pulling.
He kisses like he fucks: with absolute certainty, like every movement is calculated to break me open. His teeth catch my lower lip, bite down just hard enough to make me moan into his mouth, and the sound bounces off the crimson walls and comes back to us doubled.
I’m riding his thigh, grinding against the denim of his jeans. His cock is hard beneath me, thick and straining.
“Nicki,” he moans against my mouth.
I don’t answer. I kiss him harder. Deeper. My tongue sliding against his, my hips rolling against his thigh, my hands holding his face like I’m afraid he’ll disappear if I let go.
The mask is on the floor somewhere. I kicked it off without looking. Don’t care where it landed. Don’t need it anymore.
What I need is right here, under my hands, in my mouth, his heartbeat hammering against my chest where I’m pressed against him, and the terrifying, exhilarating truth that whatever happens next—there’s no going back from this.
I kissed and fucked the Masked Creator—Dominic—and I am so completely, utterly fucked.