Pearl And The Masked Man

Pearl's POV

"You are such a stubborn woman!" He growled, his breath heating my face. "I like my women subservient—"

"Then maybe you should leave me alone!" I spat.

"—but there is something about you," he continued, as if he didn't hear me. His lips moved, trailing a heated line from my ear, down my neck and back. His hand was still around my neck, holding me in place. Excited goosebumps were spiralling down my body at this point.

"You need to be punished." He said suddenly, letting go of my neck.

The force of his words left me speechless for a second. "Punished?" I whispered.

"Yes." He replied. "For being so feisty."

And with one sweep of his arm, he lifted me in the air and placed me to sit on the sink.

Kiss me! I screamed in my head with a strange, unfamiliar need, completely captivated by him. I was staring openly at Everett Langford's Cupid's bow mouth now, utterly mesmerized, and he was looking down at me, his gaze hooded, his eyes darkening.

He was breathing harder than usual, and I had stopped breathing altogether. I’m in your arms. Kiss me, please, I pleaded inside of me. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then settled himself in between my legs.

Suddenly he pushed forward, pressing me against the mirror behind me. Before I knew it, he had both of my hands in one of his in a shackle-like grip above my head.

Holy shit.

His other hand grabbed my hair and yanked down, bringing my face up, and breathing into my mouth.

I couldn't take it anymore.

Reaching forward, I took his mouth in a kiss.

The man froze for a moment, utterly surprised, then relaxed. I moaned into his mouth, giving his tongue an opening. He took full advantage, his tongue expertly exploring my mouth.

I had never, ever been kissed like this.

My tongue tentatively stroked his and joined his in a slow, erotic dance that was all about touch and sensation, all bump and grind. He brought his hand up to grasp my chin and held me in place, then pulled back.

Staring down at me, he growled, “You have no idea how much I want you, Kitten."

Kitten?!

I inhaled a deep breath, absorbing both his words and his spicy male scent, then nuzzled his neck. He felt good, he felt right. I didn’t want to be scared. I didn’t want to think about the reasons this might be a mistake.

In the bathroom of a public space!

I curled my legs to my chest, wrapped my arms around my knees and watched his every move. And he let me. I was so small that the sink could hold me up.

He stared at me with such heat and desire in his eyes that I knew this was going to be a delicious escape. An escape I wanted.

With him.

I wanted to kiss a path around every single inch of his muscular body.

My gaze lowered, a soft moan all but escaping my lips. His dick jutted forward in his navy blue pants, long and hard, promising more pleasure. It thickened under my inspection, and I bit my lips. If I could have crawled on my knees and fallen beneath it, licked the glistening pebble of liquid on the tip, I would have.

My gaze went to his. “Put your legs down, Kitten.” He commanded.

I swallowed, realizing he wasn’t moving. He was standing there, watching me as I was watching him. Which seemed a fair enough trade. Slowly, I lowered my legs, pressed my hands to the sink, my body exposed to his hungry stare that traveled lower.

He went down on his knees in front of me but didn’t touch me. “Open for me, now." He ordered softly.

That he wasn’t touching me somehow made the order more erotic. Slowly, I did as he said. I inched my thighs apart, spread my legs for him. His eyes seemed to caress and touch every inch of me.

“Beautiful,” he said hoarsely, arousal lancing the one word that pulsed through me like a vibration. Heat spread through my limbs, expanding within my chest, set my heart to racing. I was panting. Panting and the man was not even touching me. Nor I him. It was as if he’d settled a barrier between us, an erotically charged barrier that only he could break. I had never experienced anything like it in my life.

“Mr Langford,” I said, all but pleading. “Please.”

His gaze riveted upward to meet mine. “Please what?”

“Touch me.”

“Where?” he asked.

“Everywhere,” I whispered.

“Show me where. Show me how.”

Vulnerability assailed me. “Mr Langford,” I pleaded again. The truth was, I’d never touched myself for a man, not even Alan. I had never even considered it. Certainly, I knew my body, felt comfortable in my own skin. But touching myself for a man had always felt like giving away a piece of myself reserved for me and me alone.

“I won’t take you anyplace you don’t want to go, woman,” he promised, his eyes holding mine. “Anywhere you touch, I’ll touch.”

I swallowed against the sudden dryness in my throat. Could I touch myself in front of him?

I'd never done that with a man. Never felt comfortable enough, free enough. He would touch where I touched, he said. And I wanted him to touch me. Wanted it far more than I wanted control, I realized with shock.

This total stranger felt safe. This man, whom I’d tried so hard to demonize in my head, to make him the enemy. I'd tried so hard to make him look unreachable, untouchable, but he was slowly feeling familiar. It was insanity to me.

I reached up and loosened the halter strap of my dress, letting It fall away, exposing my braless chest. Then I touched my breasts, filled my hands with them, pinched my nipples. Watched him watching me. I felt my womb clench at the intense look on his face.

My fingers twirled my nipples. I moaned softly. “You like it when I do this?”

“I do,” he said. “But you’re going to like it even more when I do it.” His voice lowered. “Show me where to touch you. Show me where to taste you.”