Page 3 of Tuned To Break
He steps closer again, and this time when I step back, I hit the wall. Game over. He’s got me exactly where he wants me, and we both know it.
He moves quickly, bringing his hands up to cage me in with his arms. His body is so close I can feel the heat radiating off him. When I lift my head to meet his eyes, what little I can see of them through the mask, the air gets sucked right out of my lungs.
Even with the dim lighting and the mask, I can tell he’s gorgeous. The kind of gorgeousness that makes sensible women do very stupid things.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” His voice has dropped to something rough and intimate.
“I don’t know.” It’s a complete lie, and we both know it.
“Yes, you do.” The corner of his mouth lifts in a knowing smile. “What is it you’re here for tonight?”
“To get drunk.” Which was the truth until about thirty seconds ago.
“And?”
The alcohol has apparently dissolved my filter completely. “To get laid. I need to get laid. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had an orgasm? Like, months. An orgasm that wasn’t courtesy of my own hand or a battery-operated friend.”
The words tumble out before I can stop them, and I immediately want to crawl into a hole and die. But instead of looking shocked or running away screaming, something that sounds suspiciously like a growl rumbles from his chest.
“I like a girl who knows what she wants.” His lips are now close enough that I can feel his breath on my skin.
“I’m sure you do,” I manage to sass back, though my voice is shaking.
His hand finds my hip, fingers trailing up toward my neck with deliberate slowness. Every point of contact sends electricity shooting through my nervous system. When he tilts my chin up slightly, I’m completely lost.
Then his lips crash against mine, and my brain short-circuits.
He tastes like coffee and something else I can’t name. His scent wraps around me and I lose all sense of where I am. Myhands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer, needing more contact, more pressure, more everything.
He kisses like he’s claiming me, his tongue taking control of my mouth with a confidence that makes my knees weak. The masks make it awkward, but somehow that just adds to the excitement. This is raw and desperate and completely insane.
When his hand drifts down to the hem of my skirt, I let out a sound that’s part whimper, part plea. But it’s when his other hand wraps around my throat that I completely lose my mind.
He doesn’t apply much pressure—just enough to let me know it’s there, just enough to make every nerve ending in my body light up like a Christmas tree. It’s something I’ve fantasised about but never trusted anyone enough to try.
This is completely mental.
He’s a stranger I met sixty seconds ago, and he’s got his tongue down my throat and his hand around my neck while his fingers skim higher up my thigh.
I should be running.
I should be screaming.
I should be doing anything except melting into him like I’m made of chocolate and he’s the sun.
But the thrill of it, the sheer recklessness of not knowing anything about him, makes the ache between my legs intensify to the point where I can barely think straight.
His fingers tighten slightly against my throat, it’s not enough to restrict breathing, just enough to make me remember they’re there. I lean into the pressure as his other hand slides up the inside of my leg with agonising slowness.
We’re tucked away in a darkened corner where his body blocks us from view, but the knowledge that we could be discovered at any moment only adds to the excitement.
When his fingers reach my panties, I gasp against his mouth. He cups me through the fabric, and I nearly come apart at the seams.
“Fuck, darl, you’re so fucking wet.” The words are rough against my ear before he captures my mouth again, kissing me like he’s trying to devour me whole.
His fingers tighten slightly around my throat again—just enough pressure to make me remember who’s in control here. I lean into it as his other hand slips beneath my panties, fingers sliding through my folds with practised ease.
