Page 157 of Masked Sins
I reach for his mask and pull it off, admiring the messy hair and tortured look on his face.
“Orion,” I whisper, pleasure coiling inside me again as his cock slides in and out of me with a delicious friction.
“Layla,” he hisses. “Fuck, I want to feel you come again.”
I nod eagerly, and the hand on my throat moves down between us. Using two fingers, he slides them along the sides ofmy piercing, pulling the skin and causing me to jerk away from the pain.
“Good, I felt that?—”
He tugs on the metal jewelry. Gently—so gently—but it’s enough.
I squeeze my eyes shut as my stomach muscles contract, and then Ishatter.
“Fuck, Layla.” His cock thickens, stretching me as he empties inside me, warmth flooding my core. We stare at each other as we come. My lips part as his mouth drops open, and neither of us looks away. Neither of uscanlook away—it’s intense and wonderful all at once.
I could watch him fall apart like this all damn day.
When I stop jerking, he pulls out, and I go limp against him.
He helps me lower my leg, pulling my pants back on as we disentangle ourselves from the intense scene. That mixed with my performance tonight means I’m exhausted, and Orion must notice.
“To bed,” he says, pointing in the direction of his bedroom.
“But—”
“I made soup.”
My lips twitch. “Soup.”
“Yes. I’m trying out a new recipe for the restaurant.”
“Soup sounds delicious.”
The restaurant.
Orion has been talking about opening it for over a year, always sketching out plans, dreaming out loud when he thought no one was really listening. But it was only recently—just a few weeks ago—that everything finally started falling into place. He’s poured his heart into it, and the grand opening is just around the corner. Next week, in fact. He’s been testing recipes nonstop, refining every detail. The Orion of a few years ago would’ve beentoo caught up in the whirlwind of life to commit to something like this, but now ... now he’s different. Calmer, more focused.
The kind of man who tells me to go to bed and then makes me soup, apparently.
He cocks his head and nods toward the hallway. “Don’t make me ask you twice.”
“I can help you?—”
He steps forward and places his hands on my shoulders. “Go. I’ll be right there. Let me take care of you.”
I lean closer and give him a peck on the lips. “Fine.”
“I love you, Little Dancer.”
Those words. He first told me a week after I moved in, and they were the best words to hear. I never tire of hearing them.
“I love you too,” I say. “Always.”
As I walk into the bedroom and settle onto the bed, the sounds of him moving around the kitchen filter through the hallway, and I realize just how much this moment, this simple gesture, means to me. It’s not just about the soup or the restaurant. It’s about him showing me that he’s changed, that he’s capable of being the person I need him to be.
I take a deep breath, sinking into the pillows, and let the warmth of the moment wash over me. It’s like everything is finally coming together, for both of us.
Especially since I’m in the process of opening my own dance studio for teenagers.
