Chapter 2
TESSA
I'm already wet when I draw him back for another kiss. The edge of my horned mask brushes the painted bone of his, and his palm spreads low on my back, hot through the satin.
His hand closes on my ass through the satin and hauls me up onto the edge of the sink. The porcelain bites cold through the thin fabric. I hook a heel behind his thigh and yank him between my legs before either of us can think better of it.
“Fuck me,” I say against his mouth.
He makes a low sound that isn't polite. Instead of pushing into me, he lifts me off the sink and turns me to face the mirror.
My palms slap the cracked wall tile beside it, my hips braced against the porcelain.
He gathers the red satin at my hips, dragging it up slowly enough that I feel every inch of it peel away from my thighs.
Cool air finds my bare skin. He works the dress higher, over my waist, then freezes when he finds nothing underneath.
“No panties.” Approval roughens the accent. “Wicked little devil.”
I laugh, breathless. He works the straps down my arms next, patient and possessive, freeing my tits from the satin until the fabric pools at my waist like a ruined belt.
His hands find me at once. He squeezes my tits hard, thumbs and fingers pinching my aching nipples until I push my chest into his palms and moan.
“Look at you,” he murmurs against my ear. “Flushed. Wet. Begging without saying it.”
He nudges my feet farther apart with his shoe and crouches behind me.
I feel his breath first, hot against my pussy, then his mouth.
He eats me from behind without ceremony, tongue flat and greedy, nose pressed to the cleft of my ass.
I gasp and tip forward, forehead nearly to the cool glass.
He spreads me with both hands and licks into my pussy, then drags his tongue higher over my ass until my knees threaten to give.
Bleach stings my nose over the damp smell of plaster.
My fingers slip on the wall tile as I press back toward his mouth.
“Oh, fuck.”
He moans against me. The vibration shoots straight through my clit.
I rock back onto his face, shameless, and he rewards me by sucking hard at my clit, then returning to my ass, wet and thorough.
When I whimper, he spanks me, one sharp open palm across my cheek that cracks loud over the bass. Heat blooms. I moan for more.
He spanks me again. Harder. Then again, until my ass is hot and I'm dripping down my thighs. His tongue returns to the stinging skin, and I push back for more. I barely recognize the sound I make.
“You like that.” Not a question.
“Yes.”
He rises. I hear his belt, the zip, the soft drop of expensive cloth. His cock brushes my wet pussy as he fists a hand in my hair and pulls my head back until my throat arches. The edge of his ring presses cool against my scalp.
“Then take it.”
He drives into me in one rough thrust, cock burying deep.
The stretch burns sweet. I cry out, half laugh, and he doesn't give me time to adjust. He rides me hard against the sink, hips slamming, hair pulled taut in his fist, my tits bouncing with every stroke.
He reaches around to pinch my nipples again, twisting until the ache makes my pussy clench around him.
“That's it,” he growls. “Take my cock. Be loud if you want. Let them hear what a slut you are for a man in a mask.”
The word makes me clench around him, and I want him to say it again.
I shove back to meet every thrust, chasing it, loving the roughness I asked for and the way he takes what I offer.
He bites my bare shoulder, teeth sharp against my skin, and I come hard around his cock, shaking, pussy fluttering, a broken sound torn out of me that the music barely covers.
He doesn't slow. He fucks me through it until his rhythm breaks and he holds himself flush against me, coming with a rough groan. His cock pulses inside me, and I feel the hot, thick release with each one.
For a second I think we're done. We're not.
He pulls out, still half hard, and the wet slide of him leaving makes me shiver.
Before I can turn, his hand presses between my shoulder blades.
He pushes me down, and I go with him, knees striking gritty tile, palms sliding forward until my chest meets the floor.
The bass vibrates through the tiles into my bones.
His hand stays firm at the back of my neck while the other guides his cock back to my pussy. I spread my knees for him.
I turn my cheek to the tile and gasp at the cold against my hot skin. He sinks into me again from behind, his cum slick between my thighs as he starts pumping hard.
“Again,” I whisper, stunned at myself. “Again.”
He gives it to me. Relentless strokes grind my tits against the floor.
I want every inch of him as his hand tightens at my neck.
A slut. His slut for the night. The thought makes me lift my hips for him again, reckless and wide open on a bathroom floor while a masked stranger fucks me hard, exactly as I asked him to.
He spanks my ass mid-thrust and pulls my hair.
When I push back for more, he leans over me to bite the top of my shoulder again.
My pussy is soaked and swollen and greedy around him.
When he comes the second time he pushes all the way in and stays there, cock jerking as he pumps another load into me, pinning me flat until he finally goes still.
We stay like that for a few breaths, his weight warm along my back and my knees trembling against the tile. His cock twitches once more inside my pussy. I laugh softly, stunned and pleased with myself, filthy and glowing.
He eases out carefully. My legs shake as he helps me stand, and the warmth of his cum threatens to spill before I've fully straightened. He steadies my elbow while I draw the bodice over my breasts and settle the straps back on my shoulders.
He pulls up his trousers, and his belt buckle clicks behind me.
The satin catches against my legs as I smooth my skirt. I'm still smiling when I remember we had sex without protection. He came inside me twice. My fingers stop halfway down the fabric.
I wasn't drunk or confused about what I wanted. I wanted him, and I still do. But my fist has knotted in the satin, twisting the seam against my palm. No amount of smoothing will change what we risked.
He lifts one of the ribbons from my mask and frees it from my dress strap. The care he takes makes me want to stay another minute.
“Come upstairs with me,” he says.
Through the door, I hear the swell of voices as another group passes.
Somewhere beyond them, Peggy is collecting deposits and keeping an eye on our samples.
I want to go with him badly enough that I take a step before I stop myself.
If I disappear upstairs, Peggy will have to finish with the clients and pack the display alone.
“I have to help my friend finish.”
His thumb strokes my waist once. He nods, kisses me again, and opens the door.
I stay behind to straighten my mask in the scratched mirror. Both of us have kept our faces half covered. We haven't even exchanged names.
That seemed thrilling a few minutes ago. Now I wish I'd asked.
When I step into the corridor, he's gone. I tuck the loose end of my ribbon beneath its bow and head for the main room, where I expect Peggy to take one look at me and demand details.
Instead, I find her beside our display with the tablet hanging at her side. The samples have been pushed together to clear a path to the door. She's watching the crowd, her halo held in her free hand.
“Have you seen Beatrice?” she asks.
“She went toward the back earlier.” I glance over my shoulder. “She followed a man in black work clothes through the side doorway. He wore one of those cheap skull masks. I thought he worked here.”
A woman beside Peggy grips a little metal coat-check token. “She said she'd be ten minutes. I've called her six times. We were supposed to leave together.”
I look toward the front desk. Beatrice's pale coat still hangs at the end of the rail, the belt dangling almost to the floor.
There's plenty of noise to explain an unanswered phone. I tell myself that while Peggy moves closer, speaking quietly so only I can hear.
“I've checked the fitting room and the lounge. Nobody's seen her come back.”
The pleasure I've been carrying out of the bathroom drops away.
A cold prickle runs along my bare arms as I catch the edge of our display and look toward the side doorway.
Beyond it, our racks stand where we left them, their capes brushing the scuffed wall.
I can see as far as the turn in the passage.
That's where I last saw Beatrice's wings.