Page 33 of Masks and Mishaps

I gape at her at first, but I finally manage a vacant chuckle and say, “You’re so fuckingevil.”

“Finish it,” she repeats, giving me a smile that redefines innocence. “Please, Dalt?”

I’m kind of obsessed with how outright manipulative this is, and it’s a side of Essie I’ve frankly always wanted to bring out, even before she asked me to help her get into finance. I thought banking would do the trick, but apparently my cock is the best persuasion.

I resume the video and take in her body. Literally everything is on display, and as usual, Essie’s not shy. She does this daily—shows off every inch of herself—and if I had perfect tits and an ass that clearly disrespected gravity, I’d do the same. But this isn’t like one of her streams: She’s maskless—and there’s something written on the back of her hand.

I squint—it’s my name in black marker.

DALTON

“I hate you,” I murmur.I love her.

Essie is smirking now. “Keep watching. This next part is my favorite.”

In the video, she drags her fingers over her stomach through something pearlescent.

“It’s your cum,” she fills in before I can ask—and that’s the moment when I realize I must not be operating in reality anymore. What the actual hell is going on. Like, seriously—what the hell is going on?

The video ends, and I don’t know where to begin. Clearing my throat, I put my phone face down on the desk.

DALTON

“Did you finish?” The question is the last thing I should be asking, but it kind of leaps out of my mouth.

Essie’s eyes meet mine, and she shakes her head.

“Why not?”

She raises her shoulder.

“No,” I warn. Her brow tightens infinitesimally—and I know why. That simple no, those two letters, didn’t come from her friend Dalton. They came from Dalton Franklin Richmond Cavendish the Fourth—senior VP at her bank. “Answer the question,” I press, speaking slowly now—forcefully. “Why didn’t you finish?”

“I wasn’t in the mood.”

“You don’t send a video of you fucking my cum into your holes and then play coy. Clearly, you have something to say, so say it.”

“Next time I come, you’re going to be the one to work the orgasm out of me,” she replies, her tone rising from a whisper until she’s at regular volume by the end of the sentence. “That’s the only way I’ll take it.”

I breathe out, practically feeling it—the ghost sensations of Essie’s pussy tightening around my fingers when she came. I want it. I need it. I—

Well, shit. This was a masterclass in manipulation.

“You know how cunning this is, right?” I reply, making my vocal chords work overtime to hide the admiration from my voice.

Essie’s expression is smug. “You know how naïve you were to assume I wasn’t cunning, right?” She leans forward. “You’re going to fuck me on camera, Dalton.”

“Possibly. But I want you to think very hard about what you’re asking. You’re asking for adeal. Regular Dalton doesn’t make deals. You get that, don’t you?”

“I can take it,” she replies, bobbing her chin.

I breathe out through my nostrils. “Fine,” I say, well aware I’m going to say yes. But making her wait gives me leverage; I want leverage. “Let me think on it.”

“You’re going to say yes,” is her response.

“I have to save the bank now,” is mine. “And I have a long night ahead of me. You should go.”

“Can’t wait,” she says. She strolls out of my office and I watch her go, examining the immaculate sway in her hips. So damn calculating.

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