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It’s a fantasy.
If it were real, I would be able to get a hint something of the man behind the mask. “Such a pretty girl, aren’t you?”
“Yes, daddy.” The whispered words tumbled past my lips, and even though I couldn’t even make out any of my masked man’s features, I knew in my gut he was smiling at me with pride.
“Fucking love the way that sounds. What do you think, guys? That sound good to you two?” I didn’t dare look behind me. He was talking to someone and, knowing this was a fantasy, I let my imagination go wild.
Two men dressed similarly to the man who held me in place with a possessive grip on my hips. Watching me. If I stood still enough, I could almost feel their gazes on my body, their body heat radiating against my back.
Two deep grunts sounded, and the masked man in front of me tilted his head as if he was watching me even closer. Goose bumps flared over my skin, making me feel more exposed than I was. I glanced down to see that I was only wearing one of my racerback nightshirts. The one I had on was lavender and my favorite because it was worn thin and fit perfectly.
“Good girls get treats.” He brushed his mask-covered nose against mine, and I all but melted into the man. His lips skimmed my cheek, and it felt so real I second-guessed myself about it being a dream. “Do you deserve a treat, princess?”
“Yes, daddy.” My voice sounded breathy in my ears.
“Such a good girl. Turn around, princess,” he demanded in a stern tone.
I did, and there they were.
Just like I had known they would be.
Like I had dreamt before.
There were two other men wearing similar masks staring at me. Both as tall and strong and broad as the first. Covered up completely. I wanted to see a little bit of them. If I did, I had a feeling I would be able to figure out who was who. But not an inch of skin was exposed. They didn’t have to take the masks off for me to know who they were, who my fever dream fantasies were about.
“We’re going to make you feel so fucking good, baby girl.” One man stepped forward, and when his rough hand touched my chin, I trembled.
“But first, you’re going to take care of us, aren’t you?” I nodded happily as my mouth watered and my sex pulsed with need.
The man behind me pulled my back against his front, and I leaned into him. His hand dropped from my waist and slowly traveled to the hem of my nightshirt. Without hesitation, like he knew my body, like he owned me, his hand drifted under, and then it was there. Cupping my pussy. And I was very aware of the fact I wasn’t wearing any panties. His hand felt big and strong and slightly rough. One thick finger grazed between my folds, and the growled sound he made by my ear ran through me like lightning.
“She’s so wet for us,” he shared with approval in his voice. “Should we play with our little girl first?”
God, the possibilities were countless.
The images of the things they could do to me flashed through my head, and I knew I would let them do whatever they wanted.
“What do you want, princess?” the other man asked, and I could have sworn his eyes were so dark they were almost black, like Jett’s.
I opened my mouth to answer, but not a word came out. They stepped closer to me, and the man behind me kept teasing me.
“Tell us, baby girl. What do you want?” the other man asked, pressing his covered face against mine. I tried and tried, but I couldn’t tell them what I wanted. The words wouldn’t slip past my lips, and I hated it!
“Rosie. Fuck, baby? Wake up, honey,” Malcom’s deep voice sounded, and my eyes popped open as I gasped for air and looked into the warmest most soulful gaze. “Hey, shh,” he soothed. "I got you. It’s okay. Everything is okay," he reassured me. “Bad dream?”
“I’m, I’m… what?” I licked my lips. My throat felt dry, and he frowned. His hand brushed my hair out of my face, and I blinked. It was a dream. It’d been a dream. I took in my surroundings.
We were lying on the couch in their movie room. Casey and Jett were asleep on recliners, while I was lying on Mal’s very bare chest. I jumped and sat up, immediately hating that I wasn’t touching his smooth skin.
“Do you wax to get this smooth?” I blurted. Maybe it was my fever or my hands having a mind of their own or both, but my fingertips moved between us and slid between his pecs. His body was ridiculous.
I’d known he was ripped.
I’d seen them come and go to the home gym they preferred to use, but I had never seen him shirtless. I had never seen how beautiful his body was or how hairless his skin was. I would have bet money he had some kind of tattoo inked on him, but he didn’t. Not a mark. Not even a birthmark. Nothing but smooth, flawless, warm-to-the-touch flesh. His muscles contracted under my touch, and when I realized what I was doing, I pulled my hand away. He chuckled.
“No.” He shook his head.
“How do you, umm, get all silky like that?”
