Page 53 of Boardroom Mask

He shrugs again. Clearly, he does not care. Or maybe he just believes he’s above it all? Yeah, that must be it. He’s so arrogant and convinced of his own omnipotence that he’s just like, sure, who gives a shit if a random civilian sees a masked man terrorizing a woman in an alleyway? Hell, I bet he could have the entire FBI surrounding us and he would still believe in the marrow of his bones that he’d walk away scot-free.

Knowing what I know about how the world treats men, I’d be inclined to agree with him.

“So what’s the plan here?” I ask. “You just gonna lurk in alleys all night?”

“The plan was to watch,” he answers. “The plan changed.”

“Changed into what?”

He steps closer. My back is already against the brick, so there’s nowhere else for me to go. I can only stand still as he plants one hand on the wall beside my head and brings his face closeto mine, close enough that I can feel the warmth of his breath through the mask.

“You were crying,” he says.

I immediately deny it. “No, I wasn’t.”

“Little fox, haven’t we talked about what will happen if you lie to me?”

“It’s cold out,” I insist as my heart starts to pitter-patter in my chest. “My eyes water when it’s cold.”

“I saw the tears while you stood at that fence.”

I feel sick to my stomach. “You saw that? That’s—you can’t just—” I close my eyes. “That was private.”

“I know.”

“If you know, then why the fuck were you watching?”

“Because I watch you. That’s what I do.” His thumb drags across my cheekbone, catching a tear track that I missed. The leather of his gloves is cold against my skin. “Who made you cry?”

“Nobody. I told you, it’s the cold.”

“Who?” he growls.

“Drop it.”

He doesn’t drop it. He just keeps his thumb on my cheek and his eyes on mine, those pale, unreadable eyes above the black fabric. I can feel him waiting. He’s patient when he wants to be, which is one of the more infuriating things about him.

“It doesn’t matter,” I say, turning my face away. “It was a long time ago.”

He absorbs that. His thumb traces down to my jaw and tilts my chin back up. “I’ll find out eventually.”

“No. You won’t.”

He’s so close now that his chest is touching mine. The wall is rough through my coat and his hand is in my hair. I should push him away. I should absolutely push him away. This is categorically insane behavior from both of us.

But when he kisses me and I let him, neither of us are truly surprised.

He makes a sound against my mouth—surprised, almost—and then his hands are everywhere. He spins me around and my palms hit the brick and the cold scrapes my skin. He shoves my coat up and yanks my jeans down just far enough, just past my hips. I hear his belt, his zipper. Then his hand grips the back of my neck and he pushes into me and I gasp so loud it bounces off the walls of the alley.

He doesn’t ease in. He fucks me the way he grabbed me—sudden, greedy, with no warm-up to speak of.

Anyone could walk by and see me in the most compromising position I’ve ever been in.

And I can’t bring myself to push him away.

He pulls my hips back and drives deeper. I bite my own forearm to keep from making noise. But a moan slips out anyway, only partially muffled against my coat sleeve, and he rewards it by going harder.

“That’s it,” he murmurs behind me. “Let me hear you.”