The mask hid half my face, but not the heat in my cheeks.
Room 77 was dim, golden light dripping from the chandelier, sheets so black they almost swallowed the bed.
The door clicked.
He stepped in—tall, broad-shouldered, wearing the same black silk mask. No greeting, no hesitation. The rules here didn’t allow for that.
He crossed the room in three strides and had me against the wall before I could catch my breath. One gloved hand slid up my thigh, under the slit of my dress, fingers curling like he’d already memorized my body.
No name. No small talk. Just a low murmur against my ear “Turn around.”
I did.
He pressed me to the wall, the hard line of him against me. His hands gripped my hips, pulling me back just enough for him to slide the hem of my dress higher, higher, until cool ai
