Page 12 of Masked Intentions in Pelican Point
"Because I care about doing my job," she answers without looking at me.
I lean on the railing, close enough that our arms brush. "And because that kiss shook you."
Her head snaps toward me. "Arrogant wanker. It did not. Pleasant yes, but not life-changing."
"Liar," I say softly. "You kissed me back like you'd been needing it for years. Makes me wonder when was the last time you kissed someone the way you kissed me."
She exhales, eyes flashing. "You're insufferable."
"And you're gorgeous when you're angry."
Her laugh is unwilling, biting, but full of true amusement. "Do you ever stop?"
"Not when it comes to something worth chasing. Do you know what the old journals say? That anyone who puts on the mask too long would forget themselves, forget the world. Tell me that doesn't sound like what we just saw."
She arches a brow. "And you're telling me this is scholarship, not seduction?"
I smile slowly. "Maybe both."
Later, I catch her alone in the surveillance room, eyes fixed on the bank of monitors as she plays back the events of the evening. She doesn't hear me enter. She's muttering under her breath, British sarcasm sharp as broken glass.
"Talking to yourself?" I ask.
She startles, then recovers fast. "Unlike you, I don't need an audience."
"Funny," I murmur, stepping closer. "Because you seem to like mine."
Her chin lifts, proud even as I cage her in the chair. "You think because you can spout folklore and flash a smile you'll get past my defenses?"
"Already there. Admit it."
She swallows, eyes wide, pupils blown, her breath coming faster. "You're out of line."
"Maybe. Or maybe this is exactly where we were always headed. Like the tide. You can resist it all you want, but it still pulls you under."
I haul her out of the chair and against me, my mouth crushing hers. She resists for a split second, then melts, and the taste of her undoing—berries and wine—is sweeter than any victory I’ve ever claimed.
Her hands fist in my shirt, dragging me closer. My hands firmly grip her waist as I spin her around, pressing her back against the console. Monitors flicker with the silent feeds of the house. My thigh shoves between hers, forcing her legs open. She moans into my mouth, raw and hungry.
"You don't play fair," she gasps.
"Neither do you," I growl, yanking her blouse free of her trousers. My palm slides up her stomach, feeling the rapid rise and fall beneath my touch as I go higher until I’m cupping soft heat through lace. She jerks involuntarily, hips bucking into my hand, curses spilling from her lips like a mantra of pleasure. Her defiance only makes me harder.
I shove the lace aside and sink my fingers into her slick heat. The velvety wetness makes my cock throb harder as she bites my shoulder to keep from crying out—a sharp sting that sends fire straight to my length. She’s wet, desperate, and when I circle her clit she nearly comes undone in my hand.
"Say it," I rasp. "Say you want me."
"No," she gasps with quivering lips but the tremor in her voice betrays her desire. She rocks shamelessly against my fingers, chasing the edge. "God, I hate how much I want this."
That’s all the confirmation I need. I unbuckle my belt as I unzip my trousers, freeing my aching cock with a groan. I spin her around, bending her over the console, the monitors flaring white static around us. Her trousers are down around her thighs in seconds, her perfect ass bared to me. Her pussy glistens with arousal, slick and inviting, and I can’t wait another second.
I grab her hips, lining myself up with her dripping entrance, and slam home in one brutal thrust. She shouts, half fury, half ecstasy, her nails scraping against the console as I bury myself to the hilt. She’s tight, scorching hot, her walls clenching around me like a vice. I groan, my hips slamming into hers as I start a relentless rhythm, each stroke driving her wilder, her moans growing louder, more desperate.
Her hands clutch at the edge of the console, her back arching as I pound into her with unrelenting force. She’s so wet, her pussy dripping with every thrust, the sound of our bodies slapping together obscenely loud in the room. I wrap her hair around my fist, yanking her head back, and she shatters, her body convulsing around me as her orgasm tears through her. She screams my name, her voice raw and broken, and I’m not far behind.
I fuck her through her climax, my thrusts growing harder, faster, until I’m on the edge. With a guttural groan, I bury myself deep inside her, spilling my release in hot, pulsing waves. She collapses against the console, panting, her body trembling with aftershocks.
The monitors flicker back to life, the mask’s unsettling gaze staring at us from its glass prison. Allison looks at me, her chest heaving, her lips swollen from my kisses. “This changes nothing,” she says, her voice hoarse but defiant.
