4. Chapter 4
It’s confirmed.
I’m certifiable.
Imogen would be so proud.
My moan warms the glass as he manages to somehow get free of one of his gloves and rip a hole in my hosiery with a sound that splits the air around us.
I swallow, feeling the heat of his fingers where they tuck beneath the fabric of my underwear.
His knuckles brushing against me as he pulls the fabric aside to expose me fully to him and the room.
The lace soaked by this point and easily sticking to my skin where he hooks it aside.
I rocket up onto my toes at the first touch of his fingers. The way he slowly guides them through the wet heat that has gathered, parting me.
“Why does it take a stranger to make you feel?” He murmurs.
It takes a breath or two to come down from my lunacy and offer an answer, especially when he sinks two fingers gloriously deep. “Fuck—I d-don’t know.”
He hums and stills his fingers.
I see the game now.
I’m not getting what I want if he doesn’t get exactly what he wants. Strange enough, his want doesn’t seem entirely sexual in nature—I don’t think. Hell if I actually know. I can’t imagine fingering a stranger isn’t something that skips the list of sexual acts.
“B-because I don’t let anyone else get close enough to make it so,” I choke out and he slowly begins to thrust his fingers again. They find a steady rhythm, the sound of them obscene past the breath that fogs the mirror my forehead falls against.
His grip at the back of my neck remains as he does deliriously delicious things with his fingers.
“You don’t have sex?” He probes.
I know better than not answering, not when his fingers are wickedly talented and doing terrifying unholy things inside of me. Things that would have made the nuns at the catholic school I attended as a young girl blush and call on all their saints.
“I do,” I moan and arch my spine to invite him deeper. He makes a low sound of approval and rewards me with a third finger. The stretch finally enough to start me climbing that peak I so rarely find with other partners.
“Does it not satisfy you, then?” He asks as if he can read my thoughts.
“In some ways,” I whimper.
I watch him nod in the mirror, but I can’t tell if he’s actually looking at me. All I know is I’ve officially lost the plot.
“In what way does it not?” He murmurs and removes his fingers.
My reaction is immediate, a cry ripping free from my throat in frustration of being denied.
The fuck?
That’s not part of the deal.
I answer, and I get an orgasm.
I think.
“Answer,” he orders smoothly. Clearly not bothered by the way my thighs threaten to close and my body squirms.
“There’s never a connection maybe,” I hiss beneath my tight jaw, freezing when I hear the slide of his zipper.
Oh fuck—we’re doing this, doing this.
“There isn’t a connection now,” he points out bluntly.
My throat bobs as his hand flicks over one of my shoulders, a foiled square held between two fingers. Oh, good. At least one of us operating with more than one brain cell. “Open this for me, little fox.”
Don’t have to tell me twice.
I take it from him and rip it down the center with my teeth, eagerly holding it back over my shoulder in the next breath.
It’s no different than a quicky in a club stall, I tell myself. I’ve done this a time or two and it never became a problem. Only, a part of me knows this is different. He’s crawling off inside of my head and finding a way to bury himself there amongst all my thoughts.
“No, but there’s also no risk of it either. I don’t know who you are, and there isn’t any pressure to—I don’t know… figure it out further?”
My muscles lock at the first brush of his cock against me, my entire body going rigid as he guides himself back and forth through my slick folds. “So, you believe that you can just leave here and it never have meant anything at all? That, that in itself makes it better?”
“That’s two questions,” I breathe. He taps the tip against my clit and I shudder. He’s not small, not if he can manage to reach this far forward from behind me.
“The reward will equal the answer, little fox.”
I bet it does.
“It means nothing.” I admit. “I can leave and close this night off in a little black box, never to look back. It makes it infinitely better.”
He thrusts upward and my words strangle in my throat at the sheer size of him.
I’m not saying I haven’t done my fair share of sleeping around, but this stranger clearly takes the crown.
I can hardly fucking breathe as I push up onto my toes, only for his hand to drive me back down with the grip he has at the back of my neck.
“It’ll fit, little fox. Just keep opening up for me.” He purrs and the strange noise in my throat warps into a near embarrassing moan. My fingers flex against the glass and my eyes refuse to take note of the expression my face has donned.
Time itself warps as he slides inch after inch, pressing into places I’m not sure have ever seen action, until I can feel the press of his hips against my ass. Skin against skin as he finally bottoms out and gives his first real groan over to me.
“Do you usually feel pressured into sex?”
Jesus, why is he so hell bent on cracking my skull open?
“Sometimes,” I whimper and he rewards me with a thrust that has me seeing stars.
“Do you feel pressured now?”
“No.”
Which is an alarm in itself, but what do I fucking care?
“Good,” he purrs and unleashes himself.
I lose all sense of reality around me as he well and truly fucks me into the glass.
His hand at the back of my neck keeping me pinned in place as he adjusts my hips to bend me forward.
Allowing him to strike deeper, my mind spiraling away to nothing but the feeling of him yanking apart every sane piece of me.
The quiet room isn’t quiet any longer.
It fills with the desperate pleas that fall from my lips and the sound of our bodies meeting. The mirror layered in condensation from my breath and streaked where my palms have turned sweaty and fallen to brace near my shoulders.
“Fuck,” he loses a little more of his composure with that one word. “You feel incredible, little fox.”
I could tell him my name, but that would defeat the purpose of the masks. Defeat exactly what makes this so damn hot.
Although he could say I looked like a paper sack at this point and I’d willingly take it if he’d just keep going. Anything to get to the orgasm he is shoving me to with each snap of his hips. He adjusts the angle, as if he’s already figured out the tune my body is singing, and I scream as I break.
My core clamps down in mind-numbing spasms, my vision near whiting as he drives into me despite the pressure I place on him. His growl vibrates close to my ear one last time before his hips slam us both forward with enough force the mirror vibrates.
Aftershocks rock my body in tune with the twitching of his cock spilling inside of the condom.
Our harsh and labored breathing the only living thing between us for several long seconds.
My cheek damp from the tears I hadn’t realized I’d shed from the force in which he had taken me.
My poor legs would have long past given out if his grip wasn’t so certain at my hip.
He groans as he pulls from me, the slide free enough to coax another gasp.
My knees buckle from the release and his arm wraps the low of my waist to keep me upright.
My focus shifts to the feeling of his hand as it slides up and over my chest, barring his arm there before his fingers curl around my jaw again.
Forcing me to hold my own gaze as we stand there in the aftermath of what we’ve done.
“The mirrors are honesty.” He murmurs. “You were right in that regard.”
“They don’t bother to sugarcoat or soothe your ego or pain.” He continues, his fingers long and pale where they grip me. The only information I get about him at all past the fact that I now know what he feels like inside of me.
“The truth is ugly, and your own might be uglier yet.” He keeps piling on and I flinch at the words. “But the voice? The meaning behind each of the sounds you’ve made tonight?”
The beak of his mask scrapes my shoulder as he ducks low enough that his mouth might be positioned right at my ear.
“Those will haunt my fucking dreams.”
He pushes back and I fall forward into the mirror, my legs having officially entered noodle territory as I try to gather myself.
It takes an embarrassing amount of time for me to gather myself up, and when I finally turn to give him a scathing remark long overdue, I find him gone.
I blink to the emptiness of the room, cheeks flushing as I yank my clothes back into place where they should be. Choosing to ignore the ache between my thighs or the tights that are officially destroyed as I step forward on a still shaky toe.
How the hell do I get out—
My eyes snag on a single charm that rests atop the swell of the settee’s arm. Announcing itself grandly to the room by glinting in the light that shines too brightly overhead for what had just occurred beneath it.
Easing forward, I pick it up between two fingers and look to the little plague doctor that looks back.
Imogen is going to lose her shit.
I click it to my bracelet, earning my first charm, and a lock disengages behind me.
Ripping around on my heel, I look to where the glass has given way across the room to a shadowed corridor.
Right—the only way out is forward.
Gathering what is left of myself, I march forward.