One Night With Him

The thing about the dark is that it makes everything louder. His breathing. The rustle of the sheets. My pulse hammering in my throat like it wanted to confess for me. I took one step, then another, until the backs of my knees met the edge of his bed, and his hand found my wrist before I could decide whether to run.

“Vivian?”

He said it like a question, uncertain in a way he had not been an hour ago, testing the name against the dark as though he needed to hear it confirmed before he let himself believe it. I could have answered with silence and let the question hang there unclaimed. I chose to be selfish instead. My voice was the one thing that could give me away, so I kept it locked behind my teeth and let touch do what words could not.

I climbed onto the bed and over him. My knees on either side of his hips, and he pulled me down into a kiss that was nothing like the ones I had imagined. It was sloppy and starving. His tongue pushed into my mouth, tasting of champagne and something bitter underneath, and his hands dragged through my hair, tilting my head to take more. I kissed him back with years of silence behind it, and he groaned like it hurt.

I unbuttoned his shirt with shaking fingers, one button at a time. When I pushed the fabric off his shoulders, his skin was fever hot under my palms, his muscles flexing as he breathed. I dragged my nails down his chest to his stomach, and he hissed, his hips jerking up against me.

“Take this off.”

His fingers found my zipper and yanked it down, peeling the dress from my shoulders, leaving me in nothing but a lace bra and panties.

“I want to feel you.”

His mouth was on my neck before I could breathe, biting and sucking hard. He unhooked my bra with one clumsy hand and flung it away, and then his palms were on my tits, squeezing, while his thumbs dragged across my nipples until they hardened and ached. When his mouth closed around my left nipple, it was wet and hot, and I arched so hard my nails scraped his scalp. He sucked, flicked with his tongue, and then bit down just enough to make me gasp, before switching to the other and doing it again.

Careful, I told myself, dizzy. Quieter.

But the way he groaned against my breast, like I was something he had been starving for, cracked something open in my chest. He was doing this to me. Except he thought I was her, and that thought sat between us like a third body in the bed.

I reached down between us and found his belt. He went still when I pulled it open. I unzipped his slacks and slid my hand inside his briefs, my fingers closing around his cock, thick, hot, and heavy, already slick at the tip. I stroked him slowly from base to head, smearing the wetness over his cock’s head with my palm, and he threw his head back with a broken sound.

“Fuck, don’t stop,” he rasped. “Just like that.”

I felt powerful, and also like a thief. I stroked him harder because of how I was feeling. His hips rolled into my fist, his breath ragged, until he caught my wrist and dragged it away.

“Not yet.”

He flipped us, rough and clumsy, my back hitting the mattress. He tore my panties down my legs and settled between my thighs, his breath hot against my skin. I understood a half second too late what he was about to do, and clamped a hand over my mouth as his tongue dragged flat and slow over my pussy.

Oh my God. He ate me like he had been given permission to ruin me. Long, filthy licks from my entrance up to my clit, then his lips closed around it and sucked, flicking the tip of his tongue until my thighs shook on either side of his head. He pushed two fingers inside me and curled them, his fingers stretching me. My hips rolled up into his mouth on their own. I was riding his face and I could not stop, and the wet, obscene sounds of it filled the room. I was close, so close that my whole body was pulled tight as a wire, and he stopped.

“Not yet,” he growled against my thigh. “I want to hear you beg for my cock first.”

I nearly sobbed. I lay there with my clit throbbing and my pussy clenching around nothing, furious and desperate, and understood that even drugged half out of his mind he was still the man who made everyone wait for what they wanted. It was infuriating. It was also the hottest thing that had ever happened to me.

I could not beg, not out loud. So I shoved him onto his back instead, and he let me, laughing low and dark. I kissed my way down his chest, over the ridges of his stomach, and pulled his briefs off. His cock sprang free, thick and flushed, and I wrapped my hand around the base and took the head into my mouth. His whole body jolted.

“Christ. Christ, yes.”

I sucked him slow, letting my tongue swirl over the tip, then took him deeper, hollowing my cheeks, letting my hand work what I could not fit. He fisted my hair and his hips lifted, fucking gently into my mouth, and the sounds he made were unguarded in a way I had never heard, low and cracked and needy. I had spent years wondering what it would be like to make him lose control, and here he was, coming apart under my mouth, and he did not even know it was me.

“Enough,” he gasped, dragging me up by my hair. “I want to be inside you. Now.”

He rolled me under him and pushed my thighs apart. I felt the head of his cock drag through my wetness, teasing my entrance, rubbing over my clit until I shook. I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him toward me with my heels.

“Impatient tonight.”

His voice cracked on it. “You feel different.”

My heart stopped. I dragged his face down and kissed him, deep and greedy, and he groaned and probably forgot whatever he had wanted to say. He pushed inside me in one slow, relentless thrust.

“Oh... fuck—“

He was so thick I felt every inch of him stretching me open, and I gasped into his mouth as he sank to the root. For a second neither of us moved. I felt him pulsing inside me.

Mine, I thought, and the word terrified me. For this one night, mine.

“Fuck, you’re so tight tonight,” he groaned, his forehead against mine. “Your pussy is squeezing me so hard.”

He pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in, and again, and again, building a rhythm that shook the bed. He pinned my wrists above my head. The other gripped my thigh, hitching my leg higher so every thrust dragged his cock over the spot that had me seeing white. The wet slap of our bodies echoed off the walls, and I bit my own shoulder to keep from screaming his name.

“Turn over,” he panted, pulling out. “I want you on your knees.”

I obeyed, and he dragged my hips up and back, then slowly, he dragged his cock along my pussy lips, before pushing into me from behind.

“Urghhh—“

We both groaned together. He filled me so deep I felt him against something I did not have a name for, and I buried my face in the pillow and moaned into it. His hand tangled in my hair and pulled my head back, and the other landed a sharp slap on my ass that made me clench around him.

“That’s it,” he grunted, thrusting harder. “That’s why I love you so much.”

“Harder,” I breathed, before I could stop myself, my voice a ragged whisper, and he obeyed with a groan that shook through his whole frame. He reached around and found my clit, rubbing it in up and down, tight circles while he drove into me, and the pressure he had wound in my belly all night finally snapped. My pussy clamped down around his cock as the orgasm ripped through me in violent pulses, my arms gave out, and I cried out into the pillow while tears slid into the sheets. He fucked me straight through it, groaning at how tightly I gripped him, until I was oversensitive and trembling and pleasure had blurred into grief.

Slowly, he pulled me back hard against him, drove deep, once, twice, and buried himself to the hilt with a loud growl against my shoulder. I felt him spill inside me, hot and heavy, throbbing until he had nothing left, and some distant, practical part of my brain thanked the pill I had swallowed every morning for the last two years.

He collapsed beside me, dragging me into his chest. In less than a few minutes, his breathing slowed as if he was already asleep. I lay in his arms for a long time, feeling his release slide down my thigh. I had gotten everything I ever wanted, or maybe just a tip of it.

In the thin hour before dawn, I slid out from under his arm one inch at a time. My thighs ached, and his release was still slick between my legs. I dressed in the dark with shaking hands and tucked Vivian’s mask into my bag.

I stopped at the foot of the bed.

He was sprawled across the sheets like the drug had finally let him rest all the way, one arm thrown over the pillow where I was lying just seconds ago. His face was slack and unguarded in a way I had never once seen it in daylight.

My throat locked. My eyes burned so hard the edges of the room blurred. I pressed the heel of my hand against my mouth so the sound wouldn’t escape.

The whole of my body was screaming to crawl back under the sheets and bury my face against his neck one last time. I wanted to wake him and force him to look at me without the mask. I wanted to stay so badly my knees nearly gave out.

Instead I just stood there, shaking, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, knowing that by tonight I would be gone from this house forever and he would never know I had been the one he held.

I crossed the floor on my toes, holding my breath at every creak. Sixty seconds of dark. One turn of a handle. The girl who walked out of here would be a girl who had never been inside.

My fingers closed around the handle, and the metal felt cold against me. And for one stupid, glorious second I believed the dark had kept its promise.

Then the sheets moved behind me, slow and deliberate like someone was waking up. Then I heard his voice—

“Rosalie.”