Page 108 of Masks and Mishaps

“I will literally die right now if I have to look at you dressed like that without having you. I don’t know how, but I will legitimately die from heartache.”

Still silent, I kneel in the space between his knees, positioning myself directly in front of him. He looks down, but when I put my hand on his cheek, he connects our gazes.

A tear slips from the corner of his eye.

I’m so taken aback that I don’t know what to say. I’ve never seen Dalton cry before. If I’m being honest, I didn’t know Dalton was capable of crying, but he’s looking right at me and making no effort to hide his pain.

“Essie,” he murmurs.

I press my lips against his before he can form the latter half of my name. I swallow the remaining letters, replacing them with the slide of my tongue. The kiss feels eternal, like it may never stop. In reality, it’s mere seconds.

I kiss his forehead. “I want you,” I tell him, and his arms stiffen under my touch. “Wait. Let me say this.” I roll back on my heels to see him better. “People look at me. I’ve made my money off of people looking at me, but hardly anybody sees me. You’ve always seen me though, haven’t you?”

“As much as you’ve allowed me to,” he replies, and the faint dew from a tear lingers on his eyelashes.

“No, you’ve always seen me. Even the parts I was afraid to accept, you saw—and you loved them.” I swallow, moving closer. “I want you,” I repeat. “And no matter what, I’m going to want you for a long, long time. Do you believe me? Do you believe me when I promise I want you more than anything?”

Dalton shuts his eyes and releases a labored breath through his nostrils. His expression remains stony, but his jaw eases. He dips his chin and blinks his eyes open. “I’ve wanted to hear you say this forever.”

“I know you have. Eight hundred thirty-one days,” I recite. “Or two years, three months, and eight days. Or nineteen thousand, nine hundred forty-four hours.”

The corner of his mouth rises. “Since the night we met.”

“Since the night we met,” I confirm.

He leans forward, touching our foreheads together. “I want you too,” he says, sighing. “It’s, like, the most painful thing ever—”

“The wedding is off.”

Dalton pulls back, crashing his brows together in a strained pinch. “What?”

“It’s over.”

“No. No. That’s not what I wanted,” he mutters, expression horrified. “I didn’t want to ruin this for Mom. I wanted her to—”

“Wait,” I interrupt, cradling his cheeks. “It’s okay. She’s actually really happy.”

“She is?”

I nod vigorously. “She even told me to find you and tell you.”

The look of relief passing over Dalton’s face touches every single one of his features. “Well, why the fuck didn’t you lead with that?” he questions loudly before he crushes his lips against mine.

And the kiss is unlike anything we’ve shared before. It’s teeth and tongue, the twining of our breath, a mutual devouring as we both open wide, and a rush to strip Dalton. Our hands fumble—we’re a complete mess—but at this point, it’s our standard.

Naked, Dalton hoists me in his arms and pins me against the wall. The wood is rough and unforgiving, bordering on uncomfortable, but I don’t care. I welcome it. I move and I grind, doing anything and everything to touch as much of his body as I can.

“Fuck,” he murmurs when he notches his cock at my entrance. “Look how creamy this pussy got while you were looking for your Daddy. Did you prep?”

I shake my head, but I know I can handle it. Even if the stretch hits my limit at first, I always adjust to him. “I need to feel the whole thing.”

He knows I can handle it too. “I love you,” he grits before he rolls his hips and sinks into me with slow, controlled movements. My body flares around him, spasming with the early signs of a climax simmering in my core.

“I want to feel it,” I encourage, wiggling against him, gasping against the harsh pull I feel every time I take this man. “I want you to stretch me. Do it hard, Daddy.”

Dalton’s fingers work my nipple while his other hand slides between us. His thumb finds my clit, and he massages. “You feel so fucking good,” he murmurs. “You’re going to feel me tomorrow.”

“I feel you every day,” I admit, groaning as the lusciousness of a rapid stroke blazes into relief, easing my tightly coiled muscles fighting the winter chill. “I love it. It makes me feel like yours.”

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