He held the knife out toward me, the handle pointing in my direction. At least he was practicing safety, right? I grabbed the knife and lowered it to my side.
“Yeah, they probably would if they had a gun.” My eyes were glued to his package that I could have sworn had just twitched in his pants.
“Well, I see what you’re staring at, and I just want you to know, that’s not a gun in my pocket. Frisk me.” He grinned as he put his arms straight out beside him and widened his legs.
“Are you kidding me? This is getting weird.”
“Just do it. I don’t want you to be nervous. Here, I’ll help.” He took off his jacket and started unbuttoning his shirt.
“What are you doing?” My palm curled around the knife.
“Getting naked! Showing you I don’t have any weapons on me so that you can scout me out some more if you’d like.” He cocked his head to the side and flashed me another devilish grin. He knew exactly what he was doing.
“Aren’t you afraid someone will come in and see you? See us?”
“Being risqué is all part of the fun. Besides, no one will come down that hallway.”
I didn’t bother to ask how he knew that for sure. I was too mesmerized by his striptease. I nibbled my bottom lip as he tossed his shirt aside, and a six … ten … eighteen-pack smacked me in the face. I let out a little sigh and dropped the knife. It clanged against the stone floor. He continued, undisturbed, unbuckling his belt, loosening his pants, and letting them fall to the floor.
Fuck! I felt the tingling in my panties again.
He watched me watching him as he stepped out of his boxers. His “gun” sprang up, cocked and ready to go. He stood in front of me, arms outstretched to his sides and completely stark-naked—except for the mask that hid half of his face.
“And what about the mask?” I took a step closer to him.
“Do you want to take all of the mystery out of it?” He put his finger under my chin and tilted my head up, searching my eyes.
“No,” I breathed out. My hands fumbled in my purse. I would have to remember to thank Lisa. Otherwise, this very epic encounter would not be happening. “Take it.” I handed him the condom and dropped my clutch on the floor as I tried to wiggle out of my boots and leggings.
“Wait! Leave it on,” he growled.
I hesitated, not knowing how this worked or what I was supposed to do. All I knew was that I was getting fucked by the sexy, ripped Phantom in Victor Beaumont’s guest house on Halloween night. I let my hands fall to my sides and waited on him to make the first move, which he eagerly did as he pushed me toward the counter and bent me over the ledge. His lips nibbled on the back of my neck, my shoulders, my spine, my thighs. He worked his way down until he was on his knees behind me, pulling up my skirt.
“What a sweet pussycat. Mind if I make you purr?” He bit my hip as he slowly ran his index finger up and down the crotch of my already-wet leggings.
I usually didn’t wear panties with leggings—or yoga pants or jeans. I hated panty lines. And thongs? Screw that. Anyone who said they liked thongs was a big liar. I was not a fan of a piece of floss rubbing up against my bunghole all day. No, thanks. I would rather go commando, and today, that had been a good idea.
“Meow,” I answered.
He gathered my leggings in both of his fists and pulled, ripping a hole through the middle.
“Oh!” I gasped, reaching down to run my hand along my bare ass and check that he had indeed done what I thought he had.
“I’ll buy you new ones,” he muttered into me as he pushed my legs apart and slid himself between them.
I turned around so that I could look down to watch him. His hands gripped my hips as his tongue flicked straight up my middle. That was one way to make me purr.
I tried to stifle my moans as I slid myself back and forth across Phantom Man’s lips. With each roll of my hips, I pushed his mask up and up, little by little. I wondered what he looked like under there. The lower half of his face was banging, but what if the top half wasn’t? Oh well. I would never know. I would happily get my jollies off with mystery man and be on my merry way. That was what everyone did these days, right? One-night stands? No strings attached?
He slipped a finger inside me and then another. I braced myself and ran my palms along the counter, looking for something to hold on to as he pushed into me deep. I began to drip. I felt his lips part in a smile against my inner thigh as he kissed it and crawled back up to me.
“Such a delicious kitty,” he said, tugging at my tail. “I want to see that gorgeous face of yours.” He turned me around and lifted me up and onto the ledge. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, lightly tracing his thumb over my cheek.
I cupped that sharp jawline of his in my hands and pulled his lips on mine. I couldn’t hold out any longer. I needed his cock inside me. The taste of myself on his lips had me ravenous. I wasn’t a kitty anymore. I was a tigress on the prowl.
“Fuck me, Phantom Man!” I hissed as he stepped into me.
His thickness spread me wide and made me wince. It was a good kind of pain. So. Damn. Good.
“Hold on tight.” He circled me into his arms. His biceps flexed as he gripped me into a tight embrace.
I wrapped my arms around him, too, digging my fingertips into his shoulder blades. I had no idea what he had in store, but when a man with a big dick told you to hold on tight, you held on tight.
He lifted me off of the counter and carried me over to a recliner while he still kept himself inside of me.
Impressive, I mused, still clutching him.
He hovered above me, lowering to kiss my lips as he slammed into me slowly … so very slowly. My hands slid down the ridges of his muscular back until I gripped his firm ass cheeks and shoved him deeper inside me. My hips lifted to meet him as he rubbed against me. The familiar tremble bubbled up from my toes and worked its way up and between my legs.
I was getting close to unloading two years of built-up sexual tension. That didn’t include the times I’d had to rub one out because I’d read too many romance novels. I mean, I wasn’t exactly a nun, for goodness’ sake.
His breath became heavy. Grunting, he began to move faster. My legs wrapped around him, and just like he’d commanded, I hung on for dear life. My legs began to shake, sliding down the slick of his heated back.
“I’m—I’m—I’m—” I couldn’t get any more words out. It hit me all at once. The only sound that escaped my lips was a high note I’d never hit before—like in an opera—Phantom of the Opera.
I must have sounded sexy enough because the second I opened my mouth to sing, Mr. Phantom Man sang back. Except his song was much more macho—and more of an animal sound, but not like a roaring lion or a growling cheetah, unfortunately. No, he sounded like a baboon that had sat on a fire ant hill. I guessed one flaw in this perfect statue of a man was okay. He could monkey around with me any day.
“That was surreal,” he said, collapsing in a sweaty heap beside me.
My makeup had smeared all over his white mask.
“You’re going to need to clean that. My makeup is all over it.” I tapped his mask.
“I guess I can’t go back to the party with you on my face, now can I?” He pushed himself back up.