Masquerade Submission

The mask hid her face, but not the way her breath hitched when his fingers brushed the small of her back. The masquerade ball was a swirl of dark silk and glittering half-truths, and she’d been watching him since he walked in—broad-shouldered, commanding, his silver-trimmed domino doing nothing to dull the hunger in his gaze. “You’ve been staring,” he murmured, his voice rough even under the music. His gloved hand trailed up her spine, deliberate, possessive. “Tell me why.” She should’ve lied. Should’ve played coy. Instead, her thighs pressed together as she admitted, “Because I want to know what you’d do if you got me alone.” His grip tightened, pulling her flush against him. She could feel the hard line of his cock already straining against his trousers. “Alone’s overrated,” he said, steering her toward a shadowed alcove. One push had her back against the wall, his knee sliding between her legs. His free hand yanked up the hem of her dress, fingers finding her soaked through her panties. “Let’s see if you can stay quiet.” Her moan was smothered by his mouth. The party raged on—no one saw, no one knew. Just his touch, his control, and the promise of more.

The alcove was a pocket of darkness tucked between towering velvet drapes and a marble pillar, barely wide enough for two. The distant chandeliers cast fractured light through the mask-clad crowd, flickering over his shoulders as he pinned her in place. Cold stone pressed into her bare back where the dress had ridden up, a sharp contrast to the heat of his hands. Music pulsed from the ballroom—strings and low laughter, the clink of champagne flutes—but here, the air was thick with the scent of her arousal and the leather of his gloves. His fingers worked her through damp silk, relentless, while his other hand gripped her throat just hard enough to remind her who was in charge. “Look at them,” he growled against her ear, nodding toward the oblivious guests. “All those pretty fools, dancing right past us.” His thumb circled her clit in slow, taunting strokes as his knee pressed higher. “And here you are, already wrecked.” A gasp tore from her lips as he bit down on her shoulder—just enough to sting. The party blurred beyond the drapes; all she could focus on was the cruel, perfect rhythm of his fingers and the way her body clenched around nothing, begging for more.

His fingers hooked into her panties, dragging them down her thighs with a slow, torturous pull. The damp silk clung to her skin, resisting for a fraction of a second before tearing free. She shuddered as the cool air hit her exposed flesh—already slick, already desperate. "You asked what I’d do if I had you alone," he murmured, pressing his palm flat against her stomach, pushing her harder into the wall. "But this is better. Knowing anyone could see, yet no one does." His hand slid lower, fingers parting her without hesitation. Two slid inside her in one smooth thrust, curling just right as his thumb kept circling her clit. The stretch burned—not enough to hurt, just enough to make her whimper. His mouth found hers again, swallowing every choked-out sound she made. When he broke the kiss, his breath was ragged against her lips. "Still think you can stay quiet?" Her hips jerked against his hand, thighs trembling as pleasure coiled tighter. She bit her own lip to stifle a moan, but the way her body clenched around his fingers betrayed her. A low, satisfied laugh rumbled in his chest. "Liar."

The stretch of his fingers inside her was obscene, the glide slick and effortless as he pumped them deep. Every drag of his knuckles sent sparks up her spine, her body greedily tightening around him. Her hips rolled helplessly, chasing the rough pressure of his thumb grinding circles into her clit—each pass deliberate, calculated to fray her control. Cool air licked her exposed skin, but she burned everywhere he touched. His breath was hot against her throat as he murmured, "Feel that? How fucking wet you are? You'd drip down my thighs if I let you." She could hear it—the filthy, wet squelch of his fingers moving in her, the damp slap of skin as he drove them deeper. The noise alone made her thighs shake. His free hand fisted in her hair, yanking her head back to expose her throat. "Look at them," he commanded, nodding toward the glittering crowd just beyond the drapes. "They'll never know what you’re taking from me." Her vision blurred as pleasure crested, her body bowing against his. Every muscle tensed. *Almost there.* His grip tightened. "Not yet."

He pulled his fingers out with a slow, deliberate drag, letting her feel every ridge of his knuckles as they left her clit swollen and aching. Before she could protest, he shoved her harder against the wall, turning her to face it, his hips pressing flush against her ass. The thick heat of his cock strained against his pants, grinding into the curve of her backside. One hand pinned her wrists above her head while the other yanked her skirt up, exposing her completely. His palm landed sharp against her ass—once, twice—leaving a stinging bloom of heat. "Quieter now," he growled, fingers digging into her hip as he freed himself. The blunt head of his cock pressed against her, teasing, spreading her slickness in rough circles before pushing in with one relentless thrust. She gasped, back arching as he filled her, the stretch burning just right. He didn’t give her time to adjust, setting a brutal pace immediately, each snap of his hips driving her closer to the edge. "Fuck," he hissed, his breath ragged against her ear. "You take it so well." Her moan was muffled against the wall, her body clenched tight around him, already trembling on the brink. His fingers tangled in her hair again, forcing her to meet his gaze in the mirror across the room—wild-eyed, flushed, wrecked. "Watch yourself come."