Chapter 11
NASH
When midnight rolls over, it feels like a sacred time. The moment between one day and the next, shrouded in darkness with endless possibilities ahead.
Tonight especially feels like a reckoning. I sit in the dark living room with the mask already on, and I let my repressed anger simmer until it feels like certainty.
She’s mine. Enzo’s precious princess, Blair, is mine.
He took everything from me five years ago—millions on a deal he sabotaged, my reputation dragged through the mud, my name whispered like poison in boardrooms. I rebuilt, quietly and ruthlessly, but the debt remained.
And now fate has delivered his daughter to my doorstep, squatting in my house, leaving her door open, coming on my fingers like she was always meant to be mine.
Tonight I collect. I’m done pretending this is just obsession. It’s justice. It’s hunger, and most importantly, it’s ownership.
The note I left her was simple: If you want more, sleep naked tomorrow night.
She obeyed. I know it before I even reach the landing. The air drifting down the hallway is warmer, heavier, scented with her skin and the faint salt of arousal. My pulse hammers hard as I walk closer and gently push the door open.
Moonlight pours across the bed like liquid silver, and there she is, completely bare. No tank top. No panties. Nothing between her and the night.
She’s lying on her back with one knee bent, the other leg stretched long, and her arms loose at her sides. The blanket is kicked to the foot of the bed. Every inch of her is on display, and it’s utter perfection. Flawless, preppy, country-club perfection twisted into something filthy and mine.
Her tits are full and high, her nipples tight from the cool air.
The curve from her ribcage to waist is a smooth, elegant dip I want to trace with my tongue.
Her hips flare just enough to promise grip, to promise leverage.
And between her thighs—smooth, glistening, already wet—she’s open like an offering.
She wants this. She wants me. There’s no question, and the sight of her hits me so hard my vision tunnels. My cock is an iron rod in my pants, aching for what’s to come. I stand at the foot of the bed for long minutes, just looking, memorizing.
The delicate line of her collarbone. The soft underside of her tits. The way her inner thighs tremble slightly in sleep. Every curve, every perfect inch, was made for my hands, my mouth, and my cock.
I strip my jacket off but leave the mask on because she doesn’t get my name yet. She gets the shadow that owns her.
I unzip, freeing myself. My cock springs out heavy and hot, the head already slick. I fist it once, twice, just to take the edge off, but it’s useless. Nothing will take the edge off except being inside her.
I climb onto the bed carefully; the mattress dipping under my weight.
She stirs but doesn’t wake. I kneel between her legs, spreading her thighs wider with my knees.
The scent of her arousal is thick now, intoxicating.
I lean down, close enough that my breath ghosts over her folds, and watch her hips twitch in response.
Just the tip, I promise myself. Just to feel her heat. Just to know what I’m claiming.
I brace one hand beside her head, the other guiding my cock.
The broad head nudges her entrance, sliding through her slick, swollen folds.
She’s hot and dripping, and I have to fight every urge to pace myself.
To take my time to feel her. I drag the tip up and down once, coating myself, and a low groan rumbles in my chest behind the mask.
And in that moment, just as I’m grinding my jaw shut, Blair’s eyes snap open.
She gasps, her body jerking hard beneath me as her hands fly to my shoulders as if to push me away. Shock widens those pretty eyes, then recognition—the mask, the shape of me looming over her. For a second she freezes, her breath coming in sharp, panicked bursts.
I don’t move. I stay right there with the head of my cock pressed firmly against her opening, not inside yet, but threatening.
“Shh,” I murmur, my voice rough through the mask. “I’m just testing you out, Blair. Seeing how ready you are for me.”
Her lips part, chest heaving. The movement makes her pretty tits rise and fall, the hard nipples brushing my shirt. She’s trembling, but her hips don’t pull away. If anything, they tilt the tiniest fraction toward me.
“Who…” she gasps, her voice momentarily breathless. “Who are you?”
Oh, wouldn’t she like to know. Instead of answering, I drag the head of my cock through her folds again, slowly parting her, teasing her clit, then back down to her entrance. She’s so wet the glide is effortless. A soft, involuntary moan escapes her pretty lips.
“It doesn’t matter who I am,” I say low. “What matters is you did what I asked. You went to bed naked, so now you’re going to take my cock.”
Her hands are still on my shoulders, her fingers curled into the fabric, not pushing anymore. Her thighs quiver around my hips. I can feel her pulse fluttering against the tip of me.
“Tell me to stop,” I challenge, voice dark. “Say it loud and clear, and I’ll leave you be.”
The words come out on autopilot. It’s a dare, a challenge, and I want to see what her reaction is.
“I…I don’t think I want you to,” she says as her breath hitches.
Her eyes search the slits of the mask, looking for answers I won’t give. I rock forward just enough that the head breaches her, stretching her open the barest inch. She’s impossibly tight, impossibly hot, and the restraint it takes not to drive forward nearly breaks me.
“Is this why you’re not wearing pajamas? Because you want to be fucked by a masked man in the middle of the night?”
Blair whimpers, her hips jerking, but still no words of protest. Only heavy, ragged breathing and the slick sound of her body urging me on.
“Ye-Yes.”
That’s all the permission I need. I lose my mind, and it only takes one brutal thrust to bury myself to the hilt.
She cries out sharply, shock lacing through her tone as I fill her completely.
Her back arches off the bed, nails digging into my shoulders through the shirt.
I groan loud and long behind the mask; the pleasure so intense it’s almost pain.
She’s velvet and fire around me, clenching and fluttering, and physically trying to adjust to my size.
I hold still for one heartbeat, two, letting her feel every thick inch. Her walls pulse around me, milking me already. I pull back slowly, almost all the way out, then drive in again, deeper this time, bottoming out against her cervix.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
Blair’s head thrashes on the pillow, her mouth open in a silent scream.
She wraps her legs around my hips instinctively, pulling me closer even as her body struggles to take me.
I can’t hold back; everything has culminated in this moment as I set a punishing rhythm with long, hard strokes that drag over every sensitive spot inside her.
There’s no mercy to be had. Not anymore.
I lean down, letting the mask brush over her cheek, and speak against her ear.
“Your father took something from me a long time ago, pretty one. And now I’m taking you.”
She gasps, but it turns into a moan as I angle my hips and hit the spot that makes her pull me closer. I feel her getting wetter and tighter as she climbs faster than she can control.
“You’re mine now, Blair. Every moan, every orgasm, every inch of this perfect body belongs to me.”
I reach between us and find her hard clit, rubbing in tight circles.
She comes undone almost instantly, her back bowing and walls clamping down on me in rhythmic pulses, as a broken cry tears from her throat.
The sensation drags me over the edge with her, and I thrust deep one last time and spill inside her, hot and endless, marking her in the most primal way.
I stay buried, breathing hard behind the mask, feeling her tremble beneath me. Her hands have moved from my shoulders to my back, holding on as if she’s afraid I’ll disappear.
But that’s not my plan. This is my house, my bed, and I don’t think I’ll be giving Blair Russo back anytime soon.