Page 17 of Masked Don

“Don’t move.”

I freeze, trembling.

“Good. You take direction beautifully.”

The praise goes straight through me, hotter than his hand. I’d do anything to hear it again.

He starts again, slow circles around my clit, then one thick finger sliding inside me, curling, finding a place I didn’t know existed. “There. Right there. Tell me how it feels.”

“Good. So good. Don’t stop.”

“I’m not going to stop. But you don’t come until I say. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

I don’t even think. “Yes, sir.”

He groans against my neck like I just undid him. “Fuck, that mouth. You have no idea what you do to me.”

He adds a second finger, stretching me, filling me, his thumb working my clit in steady, merciless circles. He tells me how tight I am. How sweet I sound. How he’s going to have me shaking before he’s even inside me. How he’s going to ruin me for every boy who ever thought he knew what to do with a body like mine. He takes me right to the edge, so close I’m sobbing, and holds me there.

“Look at yourself,” he orders. “Look how beautiful you are when you’re desperate for me.”

I look. Flushed, wide-eyed, wrists bound, his hand between my thighs. I’ve never seen myself like this. I’ve never let anyone see me like this.

“Now,” he says against my ear. “Come for me, Bella. Let me hear it.”

I shatter. It rips through me so hard I cry out, my wrists straining against the silk without breaking it, and he holds me up through every wave, murmuring filthy, gorgeous things in Italian against my neck.

“There she is. There’s my good girl. So perfect. So fucking perfect for me.”

He frees my wrists. Turns me in his arms and kisses me, deep and slow, then slides his wet fingers into my mouth. “Taste how sweet you are.”

I do. He watches me, eyes burning behind the mask.

“On the bed. On your back. Legs open for me.”

I obey. He stands at the edge of the bed for a moment, just looking, naked except for the mask, stroking himself slowly while his eyes travel over me.

“That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he says. “And I’ve seen a great deal.”

Foil tears. He holds the condom out to me between two fingers.

“Put it on me.”

I sit up and do it slowly, rolling it down his length with both hands while he watches, his jaw locked, his breath going ragged. When I’m done, he presses me back into the sheets, and the mattress dips with his weight, and his body covers mine, heavy, hot, perfect.

He pins my wrists above my head with one hand.

“Tell me what you want.”

“You.”

“Be specific. I want to hear that pretty mouth say it.”

My face burns. “I want your cock inside me.”