Page 15 of Masks and Mishaps

Shit. This is Valeria’s, I realize—and the crystal-clear memory of my own phone on the table at the club rises.Shit.It’s bad enough I stole a phone, but using it to text Essie would be damning evidence. I may have dropped out after my first semester at Harvard Law, but I still know evidence = bad.

Come on, Dalton.

I try the doorknob, and to my surprise, it’s unlocked.

Maybe should have led with that.

The condo is dark, but there’s a piece of paper on the floor right when I enter. Written in Essie’s neat, perfect handwriting are the words:Mask on.

My hand flies to the Ghostface mask perched on top of my head. Super weird.

Well, maybe not. I definitely told Essie I was going to wear a Ghostface mask. We were at Hannington-Hale, and she was eating this really depressing turkey sandwich with no arugula on it, and Essie loves arugula, so the thought of her eating a sandwich without it legitimately kept me up at night. So on Friday, I ordered her a better sandwich—one with arugulaandtruffle oil. When she came to my office to thank me, I told her I was planning on wearing an old mask I had laying around.

I mean, the situation couldn’t be clearer. Essie knew I’d be in a mask tonight and the last thing she said to me was,You know where to find me.

This note is obviously for me.

I pull my mask down and adjust the black cloth hood covering my hair, neck, and part of my chest—three of my best features (but if I’m being honest, all my features are good). Masked and ready, I straighten my spine and take a deep breath. This is finally happening.

Seeing in the dark is difficult with the mask, but there’s a line of blue light under the bedroom door. I push it open, revealing Cora’s bedroom—and Essie standing at the end of the bed.

Holy fuck.

She’s in costume, but there isn’t much of it. Acres of her immaculate body are on display beneath her short, silky green dress. A gold mask, the kind she wears when she’s camming, covers half her face. Usually, the mask hides her identity, but tonight she’s a glittery emerald fairy. Little branches extend from the corners of the mask, and Essie even took the time to weave strands of gold thread into her long brown hair.

And if all this—her tight body, her signature green, the gold details, and the way she shimmers—weren’t enough, Essie is also wearing wispy, translucent gold wings.

I know it’s a costume, but it’s apparent this woman is magical in every sense of the word, ethereal and entirely effervescent—and she did this forme.

We stare at each other.

Sort of.

She looks at my mask before taking in my arms, which are exposed in the old gym tank I’m wearing. Her eyes linger on my muscles, and her perusal is blatant. I know I’m being studied. Objectified. I’m more than okay with that.

When she comes over, she swallows audibly like she’s nervous, even though she shouldn’t be. I’m going to take such good care of her tonight.

Resting her fingertips against my abs, Essie rises on her bare toes, leans close, and whispers, “You’re a bastard for being late.”

I let out a scoff, but before I can respond, Essie’s hand fists my hood. She tugs me down.

“If you don’t fuck me like you promised, I’m going to ruin your life,” she murmurs before she steps back, unclips the delicate gold belt around her waist, and pushes her wings and dress into a heap on the floor.

And as I admire my best friend’s naked body, I remember my promise: “I would do monstrous things to fuck your sweet little pussy deeply, thoroughly, like it deserves to be fucked.”

Tonight, I’m going to keep that promise.

It’d be mypleasure.

Seven

DALTON

I’veseenalotof bodies—like, a lot. Possibly too many if I’m being honest (and definitely too many if I’m being puritanical). But Essie’s is, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the most mind-bogglingly exquisite body I’ve ever laid eyes on.

Her tiny brown nipples are even puffier in real life than they look on camera. They’re pearled and ready—utterly suckable—but they look so unbelievably soft. I can’t believe I’m about to put my lips on them. For two years, I’ve spent hundreds of hours fantasizing about grabbing and licking handfuls of these perfect breasts and keeping my face wedged between them, working them until she feels the sensation in her pussy.

But her pussy looks soft and puffy too, and even in the dim bedroom light, it shines with arousal. As ready as I’ve been to pledge loyalty to her tits, I’m also prepared to pilgrimage to and worship that pussy.

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