Page 17 of Don't You Pucking Dare

"I always know where you are." His words sink into my bones. "Always."

I don’t know why I can’t ask him to stop. It must be the intensity of his eye contact, the adrenaline coursing through me, or the quickness of his hands. His touch is like fire on my skin. He pushes my underwear to the side and doesn’t do what the previous guy did, no. He’s not just feeling my pussy and telling me I’m wet. He’s rubbing me into an orgasm, staring at me, pressing his hard dick against my side, and holding my neck with his other hand.

But I can’t lose control. Never all the way. Never completely. But this is terrifying me. His experienced fingers know exactly what they’re doing and the anxiety ripping through me is building a fucking mountain inside of me. And she’s climbing it quickly. He grips my neck tighter.

"Look at me," he demands because he knows the pressure is about to explode. "Fucking look at me."

I dare to look into his eyes as he rubs my clitoris so fucking good.

His eyes are beautiful as I stare into them.

My hips ride his fast fingers as my insides ache for something more.

"That’s a good fucking girl," he groans.

And that makes me lose it. The sweet release has me clawing at his suit, craving more. I shatter from his fingers, his mask the last thing I see before I close my eyes.

But he doesn't stop.

"Good girl," he breathes, and something in his voice reaches straight into my soul.

The only part of his face I can see above the mask is his forehead and dark hair, falling in perfect disarray. "Who are you?"

He doesn't answer, just leans closer until his mask brushes my neck. The scent of expensive cologne mingles with night air as he crowds me against the wall. His body is hard and muscled. Athletic.

I should be terrified. I'm alone in a maze with a masked stranger who seems to know exactly how to break down my carefully constructed walls. Instead, I find myself arching closer, drawn to him.

"Join me," he commands, guiding my hand to follow his movements. Teaching me how to destroy myself.

He inserts my fingers inside of myself as he continues to rub my clit.

Jesus Christ, I don’t want to be doing this, but my body is betraying me because it feels so fucking good.

The question of his identity fades as he works me up again. The smell of cologne and minty breath. He’s overbearingly large, consuming me whole. All I see is him. His eyes are penetrating me. All that matters is this moment, this surrender, this perfect loss of control.

My last coherent thought before ecstasy claims me again: I never knew falling could feel so much like flying.

"I can't—" My voice breaks as stars explode behind my eyes.

"You can," he growls, relentless. "Show me what happens when the perfect girl finally breaks."

And I do. My pussy fucking throbs for something bigger than my fingers as he makes me climb Mount Everest and forces me to keep fucking going. Wave after wave crashes over me until I'm boneless against the wall, destroyed in the best possible way.

"Please," I breathe.

"Please, what?" he asks in complete control. He’s not breathless or fazed.

I inhale, scared. "Tell me who you are."

He presses my clit once more before putting my underwear back over my pussy and removing his hold on me.

He lifts his mask just enough to reveal a cruel smile. The same smile I'd noticed earlier, watching me from across the party. His fingers brush my lips, making me taste myself, before he steps back into shadow.

"Sweet dreams, Duchess." His voice carries on the night air. "Tell your father I said hello."

I still.

What the fuck?

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