Stefanie London - Unmasked / Inked

“Why?” Her hands came to his chest.

Beneath the thick cotton of his dress shirt, he felt like sculpted stone. Hard and unyielding. Powerful. She had to remind herself to breathe, not to lose herself entirely and let something slip. Like his name.

“Because imagining things is a waste of time. Why spend energy on something that isn’t real?” His hand slid around her back, pulling her closer.

“Life doesn’t always measure up to a fantasy.” Her voice was barely a whisper now, thin and soft and unnatural. The rest of her body struggled to function with all the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

“That’s sad, Ariel.”

“It’s the truth.” Not just that, it was the story of her freaking life. The world she’d created in her head—the world that matched the romantic stories she loved so much—was way better than reality. If real life truly lived up to her fantasies, then she wouldn’t be wearing a mask tonight.

His head lowered to hers, hovering for what felt like her life three times over, before he ended the torture. He crushed her to him, his lips landing on hers and opening in a hot kiss, delving and exploring and tasting. Making her head spin and the world shift beneath her feet.

God help her, she was done for. Ruined for all other men. For all other kisses.

His lips were soft and full, the taste of champagne and the scent of something earthy and male lingering in her senses. Heaven. Her hand found the back of his head and her fingers thrust into his hair, pulling him closer, hoping it might stop her from levitating in his arms. From floating up into the night air.

When his hand slipped up her thigh, parting the slit in her dress, her body sang out: yes, yes, yes.

She ached everywhere. In her head, in her heart, between her legs. For him. Because of him.

His palm was hot against her skin, his thumb moving in slow circles against her inner thigh. Inching higher, then retreating. Moving forward and back in a maddening, teasing dance that left her breathless with need. She tightened her grip while her tongue ran along his lower lip. She nipped at him, dragging a groan from deep in his throat. The sound rubbed her nerve endings raw, heightening her sensitivity.

He kissed her as if all of his pent-up lust and attraction and protective urges spilled forth at once. As if he’d fantasised about this for the past decade just as she had. This was everything she’d wanted, and holy hell did it live up to expectation.

“My God,” she groaned into his mouth, thrusting her body forward so their chests pressed together.

He backed her up against the railing, keeping one arm around her waist and pushing his other hand up higher so he could slide it around to cup her ass. Warm air caressed her everywhere, the tiny scrap of lace masquerading as underwear covering only the necessities. He moaned into her mouth as he grabbed bare flesh.

“You feel so damn good,” he gritted out as his teeth scraped along her neck. “And you taste like heaven.”

“Touch me,” she whispered into his ear. “Please.”

He traced the lines of her body, the curves of her hips, and felt for the heat between her legs. Pinpoints of light danced behind her shuttered lids as he finally brushed his fingers over her sex. The thin silk and lace of her underwear hid nothing. He crushed his lips against hers, kissing her rough and hard and dirty. With teeth and tongue. Ferocious. Demanding. Every cell in her body fired as if fighting for life. Fighting for survival. Fighting to hang on for that one moment of pleasure.

“Please,” she whimpered. “I need more.”

“The next step is you coming against my hand, princess.” The growl in his voice rippled over her skin. “Because once I start, I won’t stop until you’re shaking with my fingers inside you.”

“Yes,” she gasped as he toyed with the edge of her underwear, the back of his knuckle rubbing against her sex.

“Be sure.” His teeth were at her neck, scraping the line from her jaw to her collarbone.

“I am.” Her eyes fluttered shut. “I couldn’t be surer. I am so sure right now.”

He chuckled against her neck. “I like a woman who knows what she wants.”

“And I like a man who’s good with his hands.” She arched her back as he pushed her underwear to the side, biting down on her lower lip to keep from crying out.

The last thing she wanted was to attract the attention of the people milling below. But it was hard not to let the groans fall from her mouth as he stroked her. Played with her. His fingers pressed into her, dragging the moisture from inside her sex and rubbing it over her clit. Her whole body throbbed.

“That’s it.” He dragged one of her legs over his hip to open her further. “Let me feel how wet you are.”

His hand moved against her sex, his thumb strumming the swollen bud of her clit like he knew exactly how to make her fly. The edge of release rushed toward her, tremors starting in her thighs and spreading out, until it felt like she was going to fall. But his other hand held her steady, cradled her with a gentleness that belied the demanding fingers between her legs.

“It’s too soon,” she gasped, trying to hold on—to draw it out—but he knew her body too well. Way too well.

“It’s perfect, princess.” He pressed his lips to her temple. “Don’t fight it.”

She couldn’t, even if she’d wanted to. Release rose up from her depths and blanked everything out—sound, sight, smell. It was all lost. Nothing but the electric feel of the orgasm rocketing through her.

Her hands clasped his head, her nails biting into his scalp as she tried so very hard to muffle her cries against his neck. His voice broke through as the intensity ebbed, soft and low. A whisper.

Princess.

She melted in his arms, liquid in the wake of her pleasure. But he had her. She wouldn’t fall.

“That was so fucking beautiful,” he whispered, grabbing her hand and bringing it down to his cock. He was like marble, hard and rigid beneath her trembling fingers. “You got me all worked up.”

She righted herself, smoothing her dress down with one hand and keeping her other on him as his body pinned her to the balcony railing. “I did?”

“Those quiet little cries as you came are going to haunt me for the rest of my life.”

She swallowed. This man...he was everything she’d known he’d be. Her body and soul were alive, filled with a satisfaction so vibrant, she wondered why she’d never realised that she was only half-awake before.

But when she opened her mouth to respond, the sound of footsteps froze her.

“Ahem.” Three men stood at the edge of the balcony, all in tuxedos and without masks. “Looks like we’re interrupting something,” the one in the middle said.

Lainey wanted to shout that they were and tell them to get lost. Her perfect moment with Damian had been interrupted, and for what? So these beefcakes could judge them? She had to fight the urge to slap the smarmy smirk off the middle guy’s face.

“Looks like you are,” Damian said.

“Can I see your ticket?” one of the goons asked.

Lainey’s heart leapt into her chest. She hadn’t counted on being asked for her ticket once she was inside the venue. Crap. How was she going to explain that issue away?

“We’ve had a report of someone sneaking into the event,” goon number two added. “We take the privacy of our guests very seriously.”

Damian slipped his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket and handed his invite over. Mr. Damian Edward McKnight was written in scrolled font across thick cream paper. Lainey would bet money they’d spent more on having the invites printed than she forked out for rent each year.

“Damian McKnight,” he confirmed. “My apologies to have to interrupt you, Mr. McKnight. I’m sure you understand that we have to take these matters seriously.”