Page 8 of Masks and Mishaps

Finally, I let my shoulders drop. “Be honest. Do you not want me anymore?”

His lips part. “Essie…”

I rarely let my emotions get the best of me, but my entire body feels uneasy with the worst kind of tingles. “You told me you wanted me. You told me for an entire year,” I remind him, taking a step closer. “You told me I had to wait, and I did.I did.First you told me to let your parents’ divorce finalize. I did. Then you told me to wait until I got a banking internship. I did. There was always something—like you were looking for reasons not to be with me. Do you know how many times our friends asked why I wouldn’t sleep with you? Do you know how many times I lied?”

“I know,” he admits, dropping his head and letting out a long exhalation. “I know. I know I screwed up, but you have to understand—”

“If you wanted me, why didn’t you do something about it?”

He lifts his chin, and I know that expression. I raised three younger brothers; I know a guilty face.

I breathe through my nostrils, steadying myself.I’m completely fine. Dalton and I have never fought before, butI’m completely fine. I’m completely, entirely fine.I force a softer expression. “I get it. Admitting you didn’t actually want me would have been awkward, you know—since our friends are coupled off and constantly sucking each other’s faces like the world is ending or they have a quota to meet, but—”

“No,” he interjects, tightening his features into a frown. “Don’t ever think I didn’t want you. Do you remember what I said the night we met?”

Of course I do. If Dalton knew how much I’ve thought about his words, he would have never asked such an inane question.

“Say it,” I request, taking another step forward and putting myself too close for this to stay platonic.

Dalton hesitates. He even tilts back a fraction of an inch, giving himself more space to take me in. I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing I am:What the hell am I doing?

I’m not sure.

Tentative, I put my hands on his pectorals—as high as I can reach. With only a thin button-down separating our skin, Dalton inhales slowly. “This isn’t going to do us any good—”

“Tell me what you said,” I urge, curling my fingers and indenting his muscles. “If you won’t, I’ll remind you.”

Slowly, his hand rises and covers one of mine. “I said,” he begins, “I’d never seen a more beautiful woman in my life, and I would do monstrous things to fuck your sweet little pussy deeply, thoroughly, like it deserves to be fucked.”

Two years later, the words still send the most marvelous chills down my arms. I’ll always remember the night when I first looked up at Dalton Cavendish in a bar, convinced I had encountered the closest thing to a god among mortals.

I was going to fuck him that night.

Ding!The elevator arrives in the lobby once more, and without taking his eyes off me, Dalton slams the heel of his palm against the ten button again.

The intensity of his focus coats my body with need, transfusing urgency into my bloodstream and submerging me in the radiant energy emanating from Dalton. The charisma, the fearlessness, the way he can flip from entirely unserious to commanding on a hairpin turn—it’senergy, pure and simple.

“What are you still waiting for?” I ask, breaking the silence.

“We can’t.”

“We can. Just once.” I stretch my arm higher to reach the back of his neck. “I’ve been waiting two years for it. Our parents are getting married in four weeks, so let’s do it while we still have a chance. We can…” I shrug. “…get it out of our systems.”

His eyes widen. “Did we body switch? There’s no way you’re the one suggesting something this reckless.”

Ding!Tenth floor. He presses the lobby button again and faces me.

“Dalton—”

“Essie, sweetheart…” His gaze is pleading. “I know you’re pushing this because you’re aware I have, like, zero impulse control, but—”

“I’m offering it to you,” I continue, conjuring all the seduction techniques I’ve honed since I started camming four years ago—practically the minute I turned eighteen. The situation feels unprecedentedly dire. If I can’t have Dalton once, I’m literally going to combust. “My body. Use it however you want.Pick a hole.”

“Jesus,” he grits, pulling his head back and detaching my grip from his neck. “Who the hell are you?”

I let out a slow breath. “I’m sorry,” I murmur. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“I’m not,” he grunts before he looks away. “I’m—”

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