Evangeline Anderson
The Man in the Black Leather Mask
The Man in the Black Leather Mask

Ellora's Cave
October 2009
ISBN-13: 9781419966187
ISBN-10: 1419966189

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Jacqueline Emerson dreams of a love that is neither gentle nor soft. A high-powered attorney during the day, she fantasizes of nights filled with passionate surrender to a deliciously cruel Master who demands her total submission. Fearing her dark fantasy is sick and twisted, Jacqueline resigns herself to a life of more conventional, vanilla sex.

Until she’s tasked with mentoring a new attorney at her firm, Ryan Cutler.

Ryan is tall, muscular and undeniably desirable. He’s also ten years younger than Jacqueline. But spending Halloween night at the mysterious Club S together leads her to reveal more than she should and soon her forbidden fantasy of rough love sets them both on fire.

Jacqueline is sure once their lust is quenched, she and Ryan can go their separate ways. There are far too many differences between them for a long-term relationship to grow. But she doesn’t count on Ryan falling for her—or on losing her heart to the man in the black leather mask.

The man in the black leather mask ties my hands above my head.

“Are you going to be good this time or do I have to spank you again?” His voice is deep and sensual as he murmurs in my ear and his threat is unmistakably erotic. If I struggle or try to fight him he’ll be more than happy to bend me over his knee. He’s done it before, lighting my ass on fire with his big hand, making me moan in pain and desire until he decided I’d learned my lesson. When he finally let me go my pussy was so wet and hot I thought I was going to melt into a little puddle of pure lust. Before that, I never knew I could get off on being spanked. But I’ve learned a lot of things about myself from the man in the mask lately. Things I might be better off not knowing.

“I’ll be good,” I tell him, not meeting his eyes—eyes I know so well it makes me blush to think about it. So I don’t. When we’re together this way I don’t think about my other life at all. I try not to, anyway.

“I’m glad to hear you’re going to behave, Jacqueline,” he says softly, still speaking in my ear. He makes sure the red satin ties at my wrists are firm but not painful and then slides his hands down my arms to cup my breasts and pinch my nipples.

I can’t help moaning again as I watch him touch me. His skin is a warm tan—almost a caramel color. It is a shade or two paler than my own light mocha tones. The contrast of his skin against mine, his tan fingers stroking my berry-dark nipples, is an incredible turn-on. This fundamental difference between us is another thing I never thought I could spark to—but he’s proved me wrong time and again and I can tell he’s about to again tonight.

I ask my favorite question. “What…what are you going to do to me?” I whisper, hoping my voice doesn’t break and betray my fear and desire.

“Whatever I want to, sweetheart.” He leans down and sucks one of my ripe nipples into his mouth, using just enough pressure to make me arch my back and gasp.

“Please…” I tug uselessly at my bonds. He never hurts me when he ties me up but he makes sure I can’t get loose on my own. I am completely dependent on him for pain and pleasure and no matter what he decides to do to me I have no choice but to let him.

He looks up at me, letting my nipple slip from his mouth. “Are you wet for me, Jacqueline?” he asks, his hands stroking lower, petting my belly and upper thighs. “Are you ready to have my cock inside you? Inside your hot little pussy? Or do you need me to finger you first?”

I catch my breath at his dirty words. I love how he can say the coarsest things in that deep, sensual voice and make it sound like music. I’m absolutely molten from the waist down but I don’t tell him that. I can’t—it’s too embarrassing. I just shake my head and look down at the warm red and gold tones of my bedspread.

“I guess I’ll have to find out for myself,” he says. “Spread your legs for me now, Jacqueline. Or do I have to spread them for you?”

I shake my head again and clamp my knees together. This is part of it—the struggle for dominance. The sweet pleasure of submission. The ability to say no and actually mean yes. I never had that before him. Now I’m addicted to it.

“You’re not going to let me in unless I make you, are you?” he murmurs. He is kneeling in front of me on the bed, still fully dressed while I am completely naked. He has seen me before but somehow letting him look between my thighs and see how hot and wet and slippery he’s made my pussy is too much for me. I always fight him. And he always wins.

“Please,” I whisper again as he places his hands on my knees. He has beautiful hands—long, finely molded fingers like a piano player. I’ve had them all over my body by now, not to mention deep inside me, but it still turns me on to watch the way he touches me with them.

“Spread your legs for me, Jacqueline,” he commands, his deep voice becoming stern. His warm brown eyes behind the mask are demanding as he opens my thighs. I do my best to keep them closed but he is much too strong for me. He can force me if he wants to and we both know it. Instead he waits. Looking into my eyes, he murmurs softly, “Do I need to punish you again?”

Mutely I shake my head, biting my lower lip in apprehension.

“Then spread your legs for me, Jacqueline. Spread them wide and show me your pussy.”

“I-I can’t,” I breathe at last. It’s too hard. Too much. I want to submit but part of me needs to fight too. Needs to resist his touch. Somehow he understands—he always does.

“Can you relax and let me spread you open then?” he asks, his deep voice gentle and stern at the same time. “Can you trust me that much, baby?”

Finally I nod. Yes, I can do that much. I take a deep breath and let it out, releasing the anxiety inside me, feeling the tension relax in the muscles of my thighs.

He palms my knees and strokes the outsides of my legs for a moment, looking into my eyes. Then at last, he opens me, pressing my legs apart until my knees touch the mattress on either side. I can feel my pussy opening too, my puffy outer lips spreading for him, showing him my slick folds, the throbbing button of my clit. Shame and pleasure mix in me until I can barely breathe. I can feel his eyes on me, drinking me in, and I have never felt so vulnerable, so exposed. And yet somehow he manages to make me feel this way every time.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmurs, smiling at me. “Such a good girl to let me spread your legs and look at your pussy. Your wet little cunt.”

I catch my breath between my teeth. God, those dirty words in his soft, deep voice! That alone would be enough to make me wet and ready but the way he’s stroking my inner thighs with those long, clever fingers of his doesn’t hurt either.

“You have such a beautiful pussy, baby,” he whispers, stroking the swollen outer lips of my sex. His light touch is driving me wild and he knows it. But he refuses to rush things.

“Please don’t,” I whisper, meaning Please don’t stop.

“Don’t what?” He sounds amused. “Don’t pet your soft little pussy? But I have to, Jacqueline. I need to see how wet you are. Need to see if your cunt is hot and slippery enough to take my cock all the way to the hilt. See, I need to be deep inside you tonight, all the way inside your pussy when I come in you.”

“Oh God!” I turn my head to the side, eyes squeezed tightly shut as he begins stroking my inner folds with his fingertips. I can feel him tracing the shape of my clit, touching so lightly and expertly that I am instantly on the edge of orgasm. How does he know how to do this? He touches me the way I touch myself—caressing the right side of the little bundle of nerves and letting his fingers drift very lightly across the swollen bud every third or fourth stroke. No other man I’ve been with has had a clue about that—when they touched me there it was like they were trying to thread a needle with a hammer. But his touch is perfect, not too light, not too rough—exactly what I need.

“Look at me,” he demands in that soft, intense voice. “Watch me finger your cunt. I want you to see my fingers going in and out of you, exploring you.”

I force my eyes open and despite the embarrassment, or maybe because of it, I have never been hotter. The sight of his warm caramel-colored fingers caressing my slippery mocha slit is almost too much for me. My clit is throbbing, aching with need and I’m so wet even my inner thighs are shiny with my juices.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs and enters me with two long, strong fingers. I watch as they slide inside me—I can’t help it—and moan when he presses against the bottom of my channel. He pumps into my wet depths, watching my face as he does, watching the emotions I am helpless to hide play out in my expressions.

“God,” I moan as we both watch him finger-fuck me.

“I want to go down on you,” he whispers, just loud enough for me to hear him. “I want to spread you wide open and eat your cunt until you moan and cry and come all over my face. I want to feel your pussy trembling against my tongue while I suck your clit and make love to you with my mouth.”

“Oh…oh God. Please…please…” I am reduced to begging as I always am. I am so damn close I can taste it and he knows he has me on the edge.

“Please what, Jacqueline?” he asks, his deep voice teasing. “Tell me what you’re asking for and maybe I’ll give it to you.”

“Please,” I gasp again. “I…I’m so close. Please just let me…”

“Say it.” His eyes behind the mask are suddenly intense and he leans closer and looks at me. “Ask for what you want. Say ‘please make me come’.”

I have no resistance left. “Please,” I whisper, “please, I need it so much. Please make me come.”

“The magic words.” He smiles at me, his full mouth curving into an expression I know well. He has a devilish sense of humor and it comes out sometimes when he’s teasing me. Tormenting me until I can’t stand it anymore and will do anything he asks, endure anything he commands.

He thrusts his fingers deep and hard inside me—there is nothing gentle about this touch but there doesn’t have to be. His very roughness pushes me over the edge. When he presses the pad of his thumb to my throbbing clit I feel as if someone has set off a string of fireworks inside me.

“Oh God!” I gasp, my back arching as I thrust back against his invading fingers. “I can’t help it…oh!

“I don’t want you to help it,” he tells me, thrusting harder, watching my reaction to his touch with a hungry look in his dark chocolate brown eyes. “I want you just like this, Jacqueline—out of control and riding my fingers or my tongue or my cock until you come again and again. I’m going to fuck you hard tonight. I’m going to spread your legs and ride your pussy, fill you up with my cum until you beg for more.”

As the sweet rush of pleasure ebbs enough for me to think, I know he’ll do it. This is only the first orgasm of the long evening to come. He will touch me and taste me and take me—will do anything he wants to me. Except we both know that no matter how much I protest, I want it too. Badly.

You shouldn’t be doing this. This isn’t right and you know it. The thought invades my head, souring some of the pleasure. I try to push it away but it is becoming more insistent. In the beginning it was an experiment—something to try just once. I wanted to know what it was like to have my darkest fantasy granted and he was willing—more than willing—eager to help. But he’s like a drug for me now, making me want him even when I know I shouldn’t. I need him like I need air to breathe and water to drink. It’s getting harder to concentrate on matters outside the bedroom, harder to separate the two halves of my life—what happens in my bed, and everything else.

This taboo ritual, this forbidden pleasure I am so hopelessly addicted to has been going on for much longer than I ever imagined it would. It wasn’t something I ever thought I’d get to experience and he was the last person I thought I’d experience it with. I tried not to think of him that way, tried to keep any sexual thoughts or fantasies wrapped up under lock and key. But the night of the Halloween party, they just came out. And now there doesn’t seem to be any way to put them back again. Even if I wanted to—and I am terribly afraid that I don’t.

Since I don’t know how to stop it, I think about how it began. How I started down this path that I can’t seem to step off of, no matter how wrong it is…