Page 167 of Boardroom Mask

Every time he comes back, I’m reborn.

By the last round, I’m not a person anymore. I’m a trembling, soaking, sweaty mess, face smashed sideways into the sheets, drool on my chin, mascara far beyond saving. His fingers push inside me again and his thumb finds a good spot and my whole body locks up and I know—Iknow—if he stops this time, I will actually, literally perish.

“Please,” I gasp. “Please, please, please.”

There’s a note in my voice now that we both recognize. It’s the same desperate, broken surrender I gave him on my kitchen floor almost a year ago, the first time he touched me, when all I had to do was ask.

The Masked Man’s fingers go still inside me. His breathing changes.

Then, so quiet I almost miss it, he says with lusty approval, “That’s the sound of a very good girl.”

He flips me onto my back and slowly takes off my blindfold. It’s dark, but I can see just enough to take my breath away. He’s huge and irresistible above me, a giant, my master. I can feel the weight of him settle between my spread thighs, the smooth wool of his suit pants against my bare skin, the stiff edge of his jacket brushing my stomach. He’s still fully dressed, mask included. I’m naked and bound and pinned. The power imbalance is glaringly obvious.

All I want to see, though, all Ineedto see, is those eyes on me.

Those eyes tell me everything.

Because that’s what people don’t understand about the fantasies I have, the scenes I act out with my man night in and night out. It’s that helovesme enough to destroy me. He’s a dangerous person with violence in every cell, but he loves me enough to use that violence to take me right where I need to go and not one inch farther.Hegivesmethe power to say when. I give everything to him and he gives it all right back.

That’s the kind of love we have. Dark. Twisted. Jagged. Bloody.

But oh so fucking real.

“Please,” I whimper again. “I need you so bad.”

He reaches between us, tugs down his zipper, and frees his cock. Even in the gloom, I can see how huge and hard he is. The glistening drop of precum at his tip shines in the light through the gap in the window curtains.

He coaxes my knees a bit farther apart, then steps closer. I feel him line up, the blunt head pressing against my opening.

Then he pushes in. Slow. One inch. Stop. Another inch. Stop. Lets me adjust. My bound hands dig into the mattress beneath me as I sputter wordlessly and soundlessly. He feeds himself into my wet greediness with agonizing patience until he’s all the way in, buried to the hilt.

Then he pauses again.

He stays right there. Bottomed out. Full. Heavy. Filling every inch of empty space I have and then some. The sharp flash of stretching pain comes and goes quickly, and when it’s gone, all I can think is how complete I feel with him like this. I’m home. Safe. Cared for. On the verge of my most beautiful oblivion.

His hand finds my throat, but it’s the first thing he’s gotten wrong tonight, because it’sgentle. Too gentle. I want more. I need the squeeze, the blur, the soft cotton edges of the world curling inward. So I tuck my chin down and arch up into his grip.

Take what you want,the gesture says.I’m giving you permission.

His fingers tighten. Not all at once. It’s gradual, degree by degree, until the pressure builds on both sides of my windpipe and the room gets warm, distant, and perfect.

Yes. Yes. That’s right. Kill me, then bring me back to life, baby.I’d say it if I could, but I only have air to whine and nod.

Then he moves.

The first thrust is slow and deep, dragging out and pushing back in until I feel him everywhere. He does it again. Again. Finding the rhythm, letting it build. My legs wrap around his waist and I pull him closer, though closer is never quite close enough with us.

He picks up speed. The bed frame protests. His hips snap harder and the sound of skin hitting skin fills the dark room and I’m gone, I’m just gone.

“Give me everything, little fox,” he growls above me. “I want all of it.”

The dam breaks.

I cum twice in the first two minutes he’s fucking me. Normally, I’d want him to throw me around. I like being manhandled, moved from my knees to my back to on top to my knees again. Bent over this chair or that desk, spread, tortured, worshipped, broken. But tonight, by unspoken agreement, we’ve both decided that we don’t have the patience for anything more than what we’ve already done. Now, we’re in the home stretch, hurtling down to the black hole at the bottom, hand-in-hand.

At some point, he reaches down below the small of my back and undoes the knots. The blood rushes back into my fingertips as the rope comes free. And thank God for that, because I need to touch his hard, hot body or I might just perish.

My freed hands fly to his back, nails digging in, pulling him deeper. He responds by driving harder. I feel every inch of him tonight in a way I haven’t before. He’s so deep it borders on too much. There’s no room in me for anything that isn’t Kir’s thick cock. Not fear, not doubt, not the past.