Page 33 of These White Lies
I press a kiss on the inside of her thigh. “Well, Firefly…” My voice is rougher now, throat tight. “I think another quick burn would be okay.”
She whimpers when I finally lower my mouth and taste her again, one hand gripping the back of her thigh to keep her steady, the other spreading her wider. When she comes the second time, I wrap my arm around her waist to keep her from sliding off.
I stand, heart pounding. I need her. Now.
I reach into my back pocket and pull out the foil square, and she exhales in relief as I tear it open.
Shoving down my pants and boxer briefs, I roll it on fast, and when I look up, she’s staring at me again—cheeks flushed, lips parted.
“Take it off,” she says.
My brow furrows. “What?”
“Your mask,” she says softly. “I want to see your face.”
I freeze.
This wasn’t part of the plan. I’m not supposed to let people know I’m here. Not yet.
The need for her to see me rises up raw and ugly. I want her to knowexactlywho’s touching her like this. Want her to know who is sharing this night with her. To be myself after so long pretending to be someone else.
Reaching behind my head, I pull the knot loose, letting the mask fall away.
She sucks in a small breath, eyes raking over every inch of me like she’s memorizing what she finds.
“There you are,” she whispers.
And I’m completely undone.
Gripping her hips, I nudge her back until her ass is perched on the edge of the desk, her thighs open for me.
She wraps her arms around my neck, legs trembling as I slide inside her with one steady thrust.
She gasps, body tightening around me, as if she was made for me.
“So good,” she whispers against my ear. “Don’t stop.”
“Not a fucking chance,” I growl, grinding deeper.
I brace her with one hand in her hair, the other under her thigh as I thrust. The hitch of her breath, and the low, needy sounds she tries to swallow are all mine.
And I want to stay buried inside this moment forever.
I press my forehead to hers, our eyes locked together as we chase our release, panting against her lips.
As it crashes over us, we hold each other’s gaze—like if we break eye contact, it’ll mean this wasn’t real.
In this moment, lost in her blue eyes, it feels like the only true thing in my life.
Whatever happens after this, I don’t care.
Not right now.
Because in this room she’s not a stranger.
She’s mine.
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