Page 22 of Endless Obsession

I have the distinct feeling, though, that I’m being dismissed.

Slowly, I sit up the rest of the way, still feeling dizzy and a little shaky, as if I haven’t entirely reinhabited my own body. I look for my panties, realizing that I have no idea where they ended up, and the man sitting across the room watching me seems to have no intention of helping me find them. The idea of looking around for them while he watches feels embarrassing, so I give up on the idea of them, tugging my skirt back down around my knees. Walking out of this place without my underwear is the least insane thing that I will have done tonight.

I slip my feet back into my shoes, glad for the low heels. Jaz tried to talk me into borrowing a pair of her stilettos, but I would tip right over if I tried to walk out of here in those shoes. I feel like a newborn deer trying to walk, as it is.

The man is still sitting there, motionless, as I walk past him. I look at him once more, silent and strangely handsome behind his mask, those dark blue eyes resting on me, and I try to think of what to say. I feel like I should say something before I leave, to the man who just made me come harder than I ever have in my life.

Twice.

“Thank you,” is what comes out, and my face flames instantly. I’m painfully aware of how ridiculous it sounds. But he just smiles, one gloved hand resting on his thigh, close to that straining ridge in his suit trousers. I look at his hand, at those fingers that were inside of me, and another shiver runs down my spine.

“It was my pleasure, little dove,” he murmurs. And then he leans back, his head resting against the back of the chair, and I realize with a flush of confused heat that he’s waiting for me to leave.

He’s waiting for me to go so he can finish himself off.

My eyes widen a fraction as that lust spreads through me again. I want to watch. I want to participate. I can envision myself going to kneel in between his legs, unzipping his trousers, and wrapping my hand around his cock as I slide it into my mouth, watching his expression change behind the mask.

My body goes tight at the thought, clenching, aching. But he’s made it clear what he wants for tonight. And I have no more part in it, even if, for the first time, I want to give something in return for what I received.

I don’t feel like a second thought. Like my pleasure is a necessary chore. And that makes me want to give him everything in return.

I bite my lip, wondering if I should push. But everything about him feels closed off, as if the night—with me, at least—has ended for him. And that feeling is enough to propel me towards the door, looking away from him reluctantly as I go to leave.

There’s nothing else from him as I open the door. No parting words. He’s utterly silent, as if he’s ceased to exist, and my chest tightens as I step outside, closing the door behind me. I stand there, drawing in a long breath, and another jolt of lust ripples through me at the thought of what he might be doing right now.

I’ll probably never see him again. I feel a flicker of regret at that thought—but it’s overwhelmingly doused by a different one.

What else is out there that I’ve been missing this whole time?

7

IVAN

I’m so turned on that I can barely fucking think.

A part of me feels utterly insane for letting that woman leave without asking her to do anything to me. I could have asked for anything, and she would probably have done it; she was so drunk on pleasure after I went down on her. I’m pretty sure she was telling the truth about men having never made her come before. That orgasm—both of them—felt like a lifetime of pent-up desire flooding my tongue all at once.

It was one of the most erotic things I’ve ever felt. The way she gave herself over to it, not believing me when I told her what I could do to her, but willing to give it a chance anyway. The way she moved under me, the way she tasted, the sounds of her gasps and moans, and at the end?—

The way she fucking screamed for me.

I would have committed terrible crimes to see her on her knees, flushed from two orgasms, her lips swollen and wet, wrapped around my aching cock. I would do worse to hear what other sounds she might make while I fuck her. To find out what she feels like, hot and wet and tight, fluttering around my cock. Truthfully, I don’t know why I didn’t keep her here to find out. She was more than willing. And I’m not a self-sacrificing kind of person. I’m not even a good man. Not the kind of man who gives up his own pleasure for the sake of others.

But I meant what I said to her tonight. Something about her cut me to the bone, touched things inside of me that I thought were long cold and dead. She deserves what I gave her—a night of pleasure that was only about her, that demanded nothing in return. She deserves to know what that feels like, to be selfish about her own needs. To take without having to give anything back. She’s a woman who clearly has never gotten to be selfish in her life, especially in the bedroom.

Her comment about men always going soft after they went down on her made me see red—both because no man should ever be anything other than rock-fucking-hard after going down on a woman, particularly one like that—and also because the thought of any other man touching her sent a wave of possessiveness through me that I’ve never felt in my life before.

I’ve never felt that for a woman. My love life has been a string of casual girlfriends like Alice, one-night-stands, and the entirely anonymous encounters I’ve had here at Masquerade. I’ve never wanted to keep any of them. Never wanted to make anyone mine. But the thought of any other man teaching her all of the myriad ways that she can both receive and give pleasure that’s clearly beyond her wildest dreams makes me feel murderous.

Which is yet another reason why I’m not a good man—because my telling her to leave without reciprocating wasn’t entirely the altruistic gesture I made it out to be.

She won’t be reciprocating tonight, but she will in the future. Because I have every intention of finding out who she is.

And I’m going to make sure no other man touches her until I decide if she really is going to be mine.

My cock throbs painfully at that thought, reminding me of my frustrated desire, of how long I’ve been hard without relief. I reach down, undoing my belt with one swift motion and tugging down my zipper, and my cock springs free instantly, jutting up stiffly.

For a moment, I consider taking off my gloves. But the leather is still soaked with her arousal, the sweet scent of her on my hand, and I want her all over me. I want to jerk off with her wetness still soaked into my fingers.

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