Page 66 of Masks and Mishaps

“I can stand here and fuck my hand and stare at you, baby, but I’d prefer to have you. I need to hear it.” He offers a probing thrust, barely breaching my entrance. “Tell me why you wanted to do this with me. Tell me why you need me. Tell me why I’m the only cock you ask for.”

“I willbegfor it,” I warn, wiggling my hips to invite his intrusion.

“Say it.”

I’m starting to sweat. I’m starting to quiver. I’ve never been horny like this, and my body is panicking. “You’re sick.”

“I am sick—shamelessly so. And I can fuck you far dirtier than this, but you’re never going to know until you say it.” He catches my wrist when I try to reach for his cock. “Say it and I’ll give you all the cock you want, but say—”

“Because I want to make money,” I finally blurt out, wrenching my hand from his grasp. “There—there, you giant asshole. I love how much money we can make together, and I want you to throw me around like a fuck doll for tips. I want to put a camera on my asshole and film you eating it. I want to do every depraved thing there is to do and to make peoplepay us for it.”

Dalton watches me, eyes fixed on mine through the eyeholes in his mask. He hasn’t moved once since I started speaking.

I prop myself up onto my elbows. “Even before Halloween, I loved the payouts, I loved taking money from men, and I wouldneverlet an opportunity like you pass me by.” I roll my eyes. “I can think of ten ways to make a grand off your cock right now, and I wouldn’t even have to use my hands.”

A smile spreads across his face. “You like making money,” he says—and it’s not a question. “You’re obsessed with it, aren’t you? It’s practically a kink to you.”

I nod—and I don’t stop nodding. “Please. Please, please,please, I need it.” I claw at his arms. “Put your cock in me. Let me bounce on it. Don’t you want to see my pretty tits shake? Please—”

“Will you take it raw?” he asks, jerking himself lightly.

“Yes. No condoms—ever.”

Without hesitation, Dalton enters me, gritting, “You can take it, can’t you, baby?”

I can. It’s just an inch of him—hardly anything for a regular dick, but Dalton’s is spectacular. It stings, and it aches, and it’s gloriously raw—and my body wants more.

“Another,” I encourage, grabbing his forearms and bringing him close. “More inches. More of it. I want more.”

“More,” he murmurs. “More.” And with a second stroke, his cock fills my pussy—and god, it’s so much.

“How much is left?” I question, breathless, straining to see the junction where our bodies meet.

“Three?” he responds, eyebrow high. He smirks. “Show me how you like to fuck if you want them.”

“You,” I urge, wrapping my hands over my knees and opening them, baring myself for him like a spread little slut. “I want you to do it.”

His expression takes on heat and resolve all at once. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs, pushing more of those elusive inches into my body, giving me more of the harsh stretch I crave. I like it when it’s painful like this—when my body feels tested. I like when the thin line between decadence and discomfort melds into the mere milliseconds between a thrust and removal, being filled and emptied. With Dalton, those milliseconds feel devastating.

I never want him to leave. I want to feel the stretch of this cock in me for as long as he’ll loan it, and I rise my hips to meet his strokes.

“You like making money,” he states, pulling out. “Just.”Thrust. “Like.”Thrust. “I.”Thrust. “Do.”

“I do,” I promise, gripping the edge of the desk with a flat palm and clawed fingers.

He pinches my nipple, holding it tight while he angles his hips, delving back into me. Again. Again. The sensation leaves me panting and desperate. “I missed you, baby,” he murmurs, speaking through his teeth.

“We were apart for ten hours.”

“I missed you,” he reiterates. “Are you going to show me how much you missed me?”

“Tell me what to do,” I reply. “Make me take you.”

Dalton pulls his cock out of me, and before I can protest, he brings it to my lips. “Spit on it,” he orders.

I don’t hesitate. I spit loudly—without grace—right onto his wet cock. He shoves it back into me. “I’m going to do whatever it takes to get you ahead,” he promises. “Streams. Tips. I’m going to do all of it for you. His hand wraps around my jaw and turns my face. “Look at the camera. Look at yourself getting fucked.”

And I want to give everything to this man who understands my needs unlike any man has—who defined them for me. He feels indescribably sinful inside me, and the way hot sensation passes through me borders on spiritual. The coals of a climax warm my core, growing bigger, searing, forming an inferno as more of his body enters mine. I’m moaning, I’m sweating—I’m demanding his hands and his lips and his hair in my fist—any place I can weave our bodies together, I take it.

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