Masked Glove Sparks Forbidden Heat
Hanna’s fingers hovered over the black silk glove abandoned on the polished ballroom table, its smooth fabric still holding the faint heat of the stranger’s hand. The glove’s seams traced precise lines across her palm as she lifted it, the material whispering against her skin like a promise of restrained power. She imagined the width of the palm it had covered, the way those fingers might close around her throat or pin her wrists without effort, every stitch mapping the hidden strength of the man who had worn it. Lower, beneath the layered silk of her ball gown, she was already wet, her thighs pressing together against the slow throb that had started the moment she’d watched him peel that glove from his hand across the floor.
Raiden lingered in the shadows at the edge of the crowd, mask in place, watching the way her thumb stroked the inner lining. His cock stirred and thickened behind the fly of his trousers, straining at the seam at the sight of her touching what belonged to him, the glove now an extension of his grip on her body even before he claimed it. He wanted his fingers in that wet heat between her legs, wanted to feel exactly how ready she’d made herself just looking at him.
The music swelled and the masked dancers shifted around them. Hanna set the glove back on the table, fingertips reluctant to release it, but her gaze kept finding the tall figure whose shoulders filled out his tailored coat. Each near-collision on the floor sent another pulse of heat slicking her inner thighs; she pictured those bare hands shoving her skirts to her waist, prying her open, pressing the broad head of his cock against her until she had no choice but to take all of it. Raiden tracked the rise of her breasts with every breath, calculating the angle that would trap her against the nearest wall, the precise pressure needed to keep her legs parted while he buried himself balls-deep in her cunt.
She snatched the glove back off the table as she rose, curling it tight into her fist, and slipped from the ballroom into the dim corridor. He followed, silent, his footsteps measured behind hers, close enough that she could feel the heat of him at her back before she ever turned. The corridor narrowed, sconces guttering low, and her pulse hammered in her throat with every step deeper into the dark. By the time the library alcove swallowed them both, her breath had gone shallow, her nipples drawn tight beneath her bodice. Shelves loomed on either side, the air thick with leather and dust. Hanna turned, offering the glove. “You left this.”
Raiden took it and tucked it into his coat pocket without breaking his stride toward her. Instead of stepping back he advanced, the mask hiding everything except the hard line of his jaw. His body crowded hers until her back met the bookcase. One bare hand caught both her wrists and dragged them above her head, his fingers locking them in place against the wood. The other dropped to her hip, fisting the heavy fabric of her skirt and hauling it up her thigh, baring her to the cool air. He found the thin barrier of her underwear and tore it aside in one sharp pull, the seam giving with a snap. Then he wedged the bunched silk high against her belly and pinned it there with the press of his own hips, trapping the heavy layers between their bodies so they couldn’t fall, before his hand went to his own trousers, freeing his cock, rigid and already slick at the tip. He notched the blunt head against her dripping folds and worked it just inside, her entrance giving around the first thick inch of him.
Hanna’s breath caught at the first burn of his entry, her inner muscles clenching down hard around the head of him, her whole body straining on the edge of being filled.
Raiden drove forward, his full weight slamming Hanna’s back into the bookcase, his cock sinking the rest of the way until he was buried to the root. The hard spines of leather-bound volumes dug into her shoulder blades as his hips locked her in place, the crushed silk of her skirts caught fast between their bellies, his thighs forcing hers wider until her feet barely touched the floor. Her wrists were pinned above her head by one of his hands, the other gripping the underside of her thigh and yanking it higher so her cunt was spread open around the thick length of him.
Hanna’s breath punched out of her. The stretch burned, her inner walls clenching tight around the rigid heat of him, every inch forcing her cunt to yield. She couldn’t move her arms, couldn’t shift her hips; his body crushed her against the shelves, the pressure constant and unyielding. Her mask stayed in place, but she felt the edge of it dig into her cheek as her head tilted back.
Raiden’s jaw flexed under his own mask. He felt her cunt pulse and squeeze, hot and slick, gripping the base of his cock like it was trying to pull him deeper. Her thighs trembled in his grip, but she had no leverage; his chest pinned her torso flat, his pelvis grinding her clit with every thrust. The bookcase creaked behind her. He drove in harder, feeling the way her cunt stretched tight around him, every drag of his withdrawal met by the greedy clutch of her walls trying to keep him inside.
Every thrust jolted her shoulders against the protruding spines. Hanna’s cunt fluttered, the friction relentless as his cock dragged along her inner walls, thick and insistent. She couldn’t look at him. Pleasure built too fast, too sharp; her eyes squeezed shut, lids pressed tight, refusing the sight of his masked face or the way his body owned hers completely.
Raiden felt the change in her. Her cunt clamped down in helpless spasms, soaking his cock as her body locked up. He kept her thighs spread wide, driving through the tight clench, his weight keeping her immobilized while her orgasm crashed over her. Her walls milked him in rhythmic pulses, hot and wet, but she kept her eyes shut, breath ragged behind the mask.
He followed seconds later, cock pulsing deep inside her cunt as he came, flooding her with thick spurts. His grip on her thigh stayed iron-hard until the last twitch faded. Then he pulled out, let her leg drop until her feet settled flat on the floor, and stepped back. The sudden absence of his weight left her sagging against the bookcase, the freed silk falling heavy over her hips, cum already sliding down her inner thigh. He tucked himself away and refastened his trousers, adjusted his mask once, turned, and walked out of the alcove without a word.