Page 21 of My Masked Savior
But first, this.
I pay and stand, offering my hand. She takes it without hesitation, and we walk into the December night.
The cold bites at my skin, but I barely feel it. Morgan stays close, our arms brushing as we navigate the sidewalk to where I parked. Every few steps, she glances up at me, then away. Nervous. Excited.
She’s quiet in the car, but her breathing quickens when we turn onto my street.
I unlock the building’s entrance and hold the door. She walks through, and I follow, hyperaware of every movement she makes—the sway of her hips, the way she tucks her hair behind her ear, how herfingers flex at her sides.
Third floor. My apartment door.
I key in the code and push it open.
Morgan steps inside, and I watch her take it in—the clean lines of my furniture, books organized by height on the shelves, weights stacked precisely in the corner. Everything in its place.
“Neat freak?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper.
“Something like that.”
I close the door behind us. The lock clicks, and the sound echoes through the silence.
She turns to face me, back to the wall, chest rising and falling faster now. The vulnerability in her eyes makes my cock harden. She came here willingly. Wants this.
Wants me.
I cross to her slowly, deliberately, giving her time to change her mind. She doesn’t move or look away.
When I reach her, I brace one hand against the wall beside her head.
“Last chance to leave.”
“I don’t want to leave.”
The words snap whatever control I’m holding onto. I cup her jaw, thumb brushing her lower lip.
Then I kiss her.
It’s not gentle. My mouth claims hers with the intensity of every moment I’ve held back, every second of restraint crumbling as her lips part against mine. She tastes like vodka, and I pull her closer, deepening the kiss until the world narrows to just this—her softness against my hardness, her breath mixing with mine.
When I finally break away, we’re both panting.
“I’ve imagined this,” I tell her, voice rough. “Your lips on mine and wrapped around my cock. Those pretty eyes looking up at me while I fuck your throat.”
Her breath hitches.
“You want that, princess?”
“Yes.”
“Then kneel.”
She sinks down without hesitation, hands braced on her thighs, looking up at me exactly like I pictured.
Perfect.
I unbuckle my belt, the metal clinking in the quiet apartment. My cock strains against my jeans, aching for her mouth.
“Like a good girl,” I murmur, freeing myself. “That’s exactly right.”
