Page 32 of Masks and Mishaps

“I would be fine.”Completely fine.

“For four weeks, I would live between your legs, filling your perfect, wet pussy with everything from my fingers to my tongue to my cock. Your gorgeous legs would be draped over my shoulders and shaking, and you would drench the mattress from top to bottom. I still wouldn’t stop unless I was positive I couldn’t work another one out of you.” He cants his head, again waiting for a response.

I still don’t cave.

“I’d make it fit,” he continues, dropping his eyes to my legs again. “My cock. That cock you were gaping at like you couldn’t believe it was bigger than you imagined. Don’t deny it—I saw you drooling over it. And before you say you already know I fit in your pussy, don’t misunderstand me: I’m not talking about your pussy.” He smirks. “So how would that go? Would we play Monopoly together on family vacations knowing I once fucked that tight ass while you begged me to let you come?”

I’m completely fine.“I’m sitting in your office days after you came on my stomach. It’s not weird.”

He clicks his tongue, his eyes thin minutely, and I can see it—that quintessential Dalton Cavendish predilection for pandemonium. “And what about ten years from now? Are you going to introduce me to some cuck who thinks he can fulfill you as a husband even though I once fucked you airtight, Essie? Because I would. I’d stuff every one of your holes at the same time. You’d take my cock in one, of course, and then maybe a dildo in another. Maybe a vibrator. Could you handle all that? I bet you could. I think it would have you sobbing and pleading for release, but those pretty cum holes of yours could take it.”

Shit. He’s not bad. His dirty talk is already professional-level, which only makes me want this more. I layer an annoying, coy expression. “I’m sure you won’t be thinking about any of my holes. Hopefully, your future wife can distract you from the stepsister you screwed a couple times.”

His lips flatten into a line. “It’s a no, Essie.”

“The alternative—what you’re proposing—is that we never fuck again.”

“Then we never fuck again,” he says with obvious reluctance. “Stop tormenting me.”

I let out a sigh. “Fine. I didn’t want it to come to this, but you told me months ago that I deserve everything I want. Do you remember?”

“I was talking about your career.”

“And until I get a full-time offer from Hannington-Hale, camming is my career,” I remind him while I take out my phone. Watching him, I open my messaging app. “Consider this a last resort.”

Fourteen

DALTON

Myphonelightsupwith a message from the girl sitting on the other side of my desk. Her hair is in a neat bun above the nape of her neck, and her silk blouse skims elegantly over the curves of her body—curves I touched for the first time this weekend.

No good is going to come of this.

“Open it,” she instructs when I don’t move.

“Say please,” is my response.

Essie almost does it, but she stops short.Good girl.

Because she was so good, I unlock my phone and open my messages, where there’s a video from Essie waiting for me. “What is this?” I ask, glancing up to find her watching me with interest.

“You should put your earbuds in.”

Interesting. The sweet, responsible girl I’ve been friends with for two years has always had these flashes of shrewdness, but right now it’s in full force.

I’m so damn intrigued.

Heeding her advice is easily one of the worst decisions I’ve made in days—a feat because yesterday, I smoked a fat joint and then met Valeria to do Muay Thai, and she beat the shit out of me—but I’ve never been mistaken for a guy who makes great decisions.

Play.

The video fills my screen. It’s dark, but I can make out Essie’s head resting on a pillow. She’s looking at the camera, eyes lidded and heavy, and pans the phone down her body.

She’s naked.

“Essie,” I hiss, pausing the video.

Stock still with her arms over her chest, Essie doesn’t react, but she’s wearing a look of smug resolve on her face. “Finish it,” she encourages.

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