Page 9 of My Masked Shadow
“Well,” I begin, getting up from my desk chair and throwing myself onto my bed. “My favorite colors are black and pink.”
“Mmm,” he muses. “That’s certainly a contrast.”
“I’m into creepy-cute.”
His laugh is warm in my ear. “Nothing creepy about you. You’re all cute.”
“Hey,” I protest. “I’ll let you know I can be quite scary. You haven’t seen me on Halloween.”
“Oh, yeah? Do they sell sexy zombie costumes?” he teases. I can hear him getting up and walking somewhere, too. His bed? The thought makes me cross my legs.
“How’d you figure I go for sexy?”
His answer is smooth as always: “I have you all figured out, little bee.”
We continue the conversation for long minutes, and I eventually put my phone on speaker so I can file my nails. I hate just lying still and not doing anything when I’m talking.
“So, that Venmo handle?” he murmurs after a while, clearly not giving up.
With a sigh, I tell him. “It’s at notyourbarbie.”
I love the way he laughs. Each time he does it, I feel it travel from my eardrums, over my skin, and land straight in my pussy.
“You’re amazing,” he says. “Not just beautiful, but funny, smart, interesting… Just amazing.”
My heart stutters at his words. I can feel my face getting hot. Damn, he better not be a serial killer. Because I can’t remember the last time I fell for a guy this hard, this fast before. And I don’t even know what he looks like.
“You’re not bad yourself,” I breathe. “Charming. Witty. Built like a Greek god.”
“Baby, you’re built like a Penthouse centerfold,” he murmurs. “I’m looking at the selfie you sent right now. Can’t believe those kids get to look at those tits all day.”
My eyes bug out. “I’m wearing a buttoned-up sweater! It’s completely appropriate!”
“My thoughts aren’t though,” he growls. “I’ve been hard all day, ever since you sent it.”
Oh.Oh.Is it going to be that kind of call?
“Are you hard right now?” I ask boldly.
“I am rock hard for you, little bee. Listening to your voice. Looking at your picture. Damn. You drive me insane.”
The dark edge in his voice drivesmeinsane, and I flip over to my back so I can squeeze my boobs, pretending it’s his strong, veiny hands on them.
“Maybe you could show me,” I suggest, dying to see what he’s working with.
Please, don’t let him have a micro penis, please.
“Naughty girl,” he hums, but I can hear him moving around. There’s a rustle of clothes, then the sound of a camera going off. He takes a couple of pictures while I wait impatiently. “You think you can handle this?” he asks just as my phone buzzes.
I scramble to pick it up, careful not to hang up by mistake. When I open the message with the picture, my jaw drops.
“Jesus,” I breathe. Am I drooling? It feels like I’m drooling. His dick is just… so pretty. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a dick I could say is pretty. The skin looks pale pink in the dim light of his bedroom, and his hands aren’t the only thing with yummy veins. There’s even a shiny drop at the tapered tip, like he squeezed it out just for me. It looks just the right length in his hand, and thick enough to feel for days.
“Good or bad?” he asks, and he almost sounds shy beneath the bravado.
“I want to have it for dinner,” I say quietly, my hand already snaking under my waistband. “It’s delicious.”
His growl makes me arch into my palm, and I gasp at the pressure of my fingers on my clit.
