Page 18 of The Masquerade: Room 2

I blush at the use of the word. I’ve never been good at cussing, and I’ve never referred to my sex as anything vulgar before. Except that it doesn’t feel vulgar when he says it. I like it when he says it. So possessive, raw, and masculine.

“Girl, you are in for a treat. I want all the details after you’ve been to his playroom.”

“I’m nervous.” I would only admit that to Celest.

“Don’t be,” she says as she loops her arm with mine once more. “You’re going to have a night to remember. Just don’t overthink it, Freya. You are in complete control, and he will do anything to please you. It’s a feeling like no other.”

We spend an hour enjoying a stroll through Strawberry Fields and Poet’s Walk before I have to leave.

“As much as I’d love to stay, I need to go into work for a few hours. My boss was riding me about paperwork, and I have a few things to finish up that I didn’t get to last night. It was a busy day.”

“So, you’re working even on your days off? That’s such bullshit!”

“It’s par for the course. I knew it would never be a strict nine-to-five job. Anyway, I’m more concerned that I have to go in there with no underwear on.”

Celest wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. “Maybe you should show your boss, and he could ride you about something else.”

“And I just threw up a little in my mouth. Thanks for that, Cel. I’ll see you on Sunday.” I give her a quick peck on the cheek and make my way out of the park and through the bustling streets, my body in a permanent state of arousal with every step.

Thankfully, my afternoon goes by quickly as I get my notes written up and check my schedule for the rest of the week. Just as I’m about to leave, my boss appears in the doorway.

“Are you up to date with everything?”

“Yes. Just finished. Is there anything else you need, sir?” He smirks as I hand him the files.

“I need you to stay on top of this in the future. I don’t have time to baby you. This is important work. I expect excellence because I won’t waste time on anyone who cannot meet my standards. Am I wasting my time with you?”

“No, sir. It won’t happen again.”

He eyes me warily. “We’ll see. I have an interesting case tomorrow. Read up on it tonight and present first thing. If I’m satisfied, you can assist.” He drops the file down on the desk.

“Thank you, sir. I will do my due diligence. You won’t be disappointed.”

He disappears without another word. In fact, this might be the longest conversation we’ve ever had. My boss is a man of few words, and he chooses them carefully for maximum impact. I guess I have some studying to do tonight, but first, I have a man I do want to talk to. One that has been on my mind all afternoon as I sat with my sex naked under my skirt. At times, I found myself opening my legs, feeling dirty even though no one was around to see.

I wanted to touch myself, to alleviate the ache between my thighs, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. Not in public. My thoughts go back to that night and the two-way mirror, wondering if anyone could see me. He was careful to shield me from view, but when I stood there and watched him pleasure himself, I didn’t care if someone had seen him pleasure me.

When I get home, the first thing I do is pull my phone—and panties—out of my purse and type a message to the man who consumes my thoughts.

Me: I’m home.

Sir: Hello, little one. How was the rest of your day? Were you a good girl and kept your panties off?

Me: Yes, Sir.

Sir: Mmm, just the thought of your pretty little cunt makes me hard. Tell me, how did you feel?

Me: Dirty.

Sir: And did you like being my dirty girl?

Me: I did like it. I thought about you all afternoon.

Should I tell him?

Sir: I was thinking about you too. How wet I knew you would be. I think you enjoyed being naked beneath your skirt.

Me: I did.

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