Gone was my kind, funny boyfriend. In his place sat a man who radiated menace. With the mask on, it was like he’d become someone else. Or maybe that wasn’t right. Maybe he was still the same Josh I’d grown to care about so deeply, and wearing the mask allowed him to bring out a darker side of his personality that he kept hidden during the day. One that craved my fear as much as my desire.
He lifted the knife and pointed it at me, head tilting sideways in an unnerving, almost alien way because it was such an un-Josh-like gesture. I checked him over again to reassure myself that it was, in fact, my boyfriend and not a different masked stranger who’d broken into my house. The bruised ribs confirmed his identity, but my heart raced on.
“Spread them,” he said.
I glanced down to see the sheets pooled at my waist. I still wore the matching black satin tank and shorts I’d gone to bed in, and for that, I was grateful. It was bad enough that I’d slept through being tied up, but if I’d slept through being stripped, I would have had to book an appointment with a sleep clinic to see what the hell was wrong with me.
The Faceless Man’s tone brooked no argument, so I propped myself up on my elbows and slowly parted my bent legs. He leaned forward just enough to drag the sheets off them, torturously slow, and my skin was already so hypersensitive that I felt every inch of cotton slide over me like wandering hands.
What was he about to do to me?
He stood in a fluid motion. The red light must have been set on the floor somewhere near the foot of my bed because he bisected the beam, his massive form outlined on my far wall like some kind of kinky bat signal.
Turn it on, and he will come – pun intended.
The thought made me want to smile, but I had a feeling that it would only get me into trouble, and I was deep enough as it was. Now wasn’t the time to taunt the man who’d tied me up. Maybe after this was over and I knew what his retribution entailed, I would start acting bratty, but until then, I was too chickenshit to pile any more punishable offenses onto my plate.
He twirled the knife again, and my gaze dropped to it. So far, we’d only briefly talked about our shared bedroom fantasies, but we hadn’t gotten around to outlining just how far each of us was willing to take them, and the realization that he and I might have very different stopping points suddenly made me nervous.
No safe words, I reminded myself. If he pushed me too far, I could simply tell him to stop. After everything we’d been through, I trusted him enough to keep his word that he would.
He slid a knee onto the bed between my spread legs. The hand not holding the knife landed by my hip, and he leaned forward, braced over me. Fuck, he was big. His shoulders were so wide they blocked my view of the ceiling. Muscles rippled across his chest and down his torso as he balanced in place. Somehow, being around him so much recently had numbed me to our size difference, but looking up at him now drove home just how large he was.
A flash of metal had me dropping my gaze to the weapon he held. I was tied up, with a knife-wielding masked man looming over me. This was a fantasy I’d had for months, but the reality of it was much different. Yes, I was turned on. I wasn’t wearing panties beneath my silk shorts, and I could already feel the fabric of them soaking through with my desire. But I was also more afraid than I thought I would be. All I had to go on was my instinct to trust Josh and his insistence that he didn’t want to hurt me. That it was the moment my fear turned to lust he craved. If I was wrong, this could go so, so badly for me.
It only made me wetter for him.
The sharp edge of fear tipped my desire into the realm of darkness and heightened my other senses, making my skin so sensitive that every inch of me was turning into an erogenous zone. The Faceless Man lifted his knife and dragged the tip up the inside of my thigh, and I shivered beneath him, fighting back a moan.
He studied the blade's progress before lifting his soulless eyes to mine. “You’re beautiful when you’re scared.”
God, that was fucked up.
I loved it.
Only the threat of the knife kept me still beneath him. If not for its presence, I would have been writhing. My pussy throbbed, and I needed something to ease the ache, friction against my clit, or better yet, his monstrous cock filling me up. I’d never forget the initial sting of stretching around it, trying to take something so large and hard into my body. I was still a little sore from our first tryst, and I knew it would make this second time so much better – more painful at first, but then pure bliss when he was buried to the hilt, and I relaxed into pleasure.
He sucked in a breath above me, no doubt seeing the desire writ across my face. I used to think it was bad to wear every emotion so openly, but the way he reacted to them made me never want to change.
The knife slipped another inch upward, sharp enough to sting but not hard enough to break the skin. I held my breath as it got closer and closer to the apex of my thighs, my gaze moving over his straining muscles, twisted tattoos, and back to the bottomless black of empty eye sockets again. This was the hottest, most terrifying moment of my life, and holding still through it was absolute torture, which was likely his intent. I should have known my punishment would be as mental as it was physical.
“Don’t move,” he said.
I froze, going so far as to hold my breath when the knife swiveled against me, blade up as he slipped it beneath the hem of my shorts. There was a tug around my upper thigh as the fabric went taut, and then a soft sigh filled the room as he pressed the blade up, slicing through the satin. It sounded disturbingly close to a scalpel opening skin, and it sent my fear ratcheting up another notch.
I glanced down to see the right side of the shorts fall away. He pivoted the knife to my other thigh and cut that side free next. Only a small square of fabric was left covering me, and as I watched, he used the knife tip to drag it down until I was revealed to him. Cool air brushed against the heated, wet skin of my folds, making me shiver.
With a flick, he spun the knife to hold its blade pointed down, his fist wrapped around the handle. Then he braced his fist beside me, shifting his weight to it as he lifted his free hand. That hand went straight between my thighs, cupping my pussy. The urge to grind against him was so strong that I let out a whimper as I fought it back. His hand was so warm, so close to where I needed it.
“You’re soaked,” he bit out, sounding as tortured by my arousal as I was.
I tried to lift my arms, wanting to touch him, but I was so out of it with need that I’d forgotten about the goddamn restraints and landed flat on my back. As soon as I hit the mattress, he plunged his fingers inside me. I was so shocked by the sudden intrusion that my spine arched off the bed, and a gasp tore from my mouth. He gave me no time to adjust, shoving his fingers as deep as they would go, the heel of his palm grinding into my clit as he used his hand to fuck me.
I writhed, half trying to get away, half trying to get closer. It was so much, so soon, but as sudden as his invasion was, it was already making something tighten deep inside me. No. There was no way I was close to coming already.
He added a third finger, wet, slippery sounds filling the room, almost loud enough to drown out my continued gasps. His movements were harsh, relentless, thrusting so hard that my tits bounced, and my heels scrabbled against the sheets as I looked for some way to brace myself. He was fucking me like he was mad at me, like this wasn’t about getting me off, but spinning me as high as he could as fast as he could, and it made me nervous for what would come next.
The last edging nearly killed me, and he’d been in a playful mood then. I couldn’t imagine how torturous it would be when he was hell-bent on teaching me a lesson.