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I whirl, hoping to see his face. And yet, hoping not to. If I don’t know who this man is, I can preserve the fantasy that Noah is here demanding every wicked act I’ve pondered deep in my psyche during the restless nights I wear out the batteries on my vibrator.

He stands there. Tall. Definitely over six feet by a few inches. Broad. No stranger to hard work or the gym or both. Shoulders so wide they eclipse the doorway to the foyer and any light that might shine through.

But no face.

He wears a ski mask with cutouts for his eyes, nose, and mouth. I know nothing more about him than I did before except that he has a wide mouth that makes me ache for kisses and he doesn’t have dark eyes. They’re pale and glittered with hunger that takes my breath away.

“Lick it off your lip,” he demands. “Taste yourself.”

Shyly, my tongue peeks out to swipe across my lip. Salty-sweet. Musky. A surprise.

A smile lifts one corner of his mouth. “Beautiful. Open up.”

He raises the two fingers that had been deep in my sex to my mouth. I swallow, my wide, uncertain gaze snagging on his. The firm encouragement there, the knowledge that the sight of his wet fingers on my tongue would drive him wild lay in those depths.

I part my lips, suck his fingers inside. More of my essence bombards my taste buds. I should probably be repulsed, but it’s hard to feel anything but a thrill when his eyes narrow and he hisses in a breath as if he teeters on the edge of restraint.

The idea of shoving him over the edge makes my pulse jolt with forbidden thrill.

I swirl my tongue around his fingers until I taste nothing but his skin. My gaze is locked on him, and I can’t look away as desire whips through his eyes, tightens his lips, makes his body taut.

“God, you tempt me.” His gravel voice rasps across my senses. “I would love to feel that sweet tongue on my cock, but I’m not going to be able to keep out of your pussy long enough tonight.”

Mr. Mysterious grabs me, tries to turn me to face the table again. I resist. The idea of tasting him races through my blood like potent wine.

“Wait. You promised I could see you touch yourself.” I’ve never been forward or vocal, and I feel wildly brazen now.

“And now you’re trying to kill me.” He shoots me a sizzling grin as he reaches for the snap of his black jeans.

It gives way under his deft fingers. His zipper descends in a slow rasp that cuts through the thick air and sends shivers racing over my skin. I grit my teeth, wanting to tell him to move faster. He would only deny me. Instead, I tense, balling my fists as impatience screams through me.

Finally, he finishes and pushes his jeans around his hips. His cock springs into his hands.

I wish I could see more than an outline of him. In shadow, he looks long and thick. I can just make out the shape of his hand slowly pumping, his thumb dragging along his length and nudging the crown.

But that isn’t enough. I want more, to touch him, take him into my hands, my mouth…

Reaching for him, I grasp his silken heat. I grip him tight—and still can’t get my fingers all the way around him. Oh, god!

He groans deep in his chest as he drops his hand to his side. I stroke the rigid shaft, my fingers finding roped veins running up and down the impressive, velvet-steel length.

It’s like holding thunder. I can feel the power pulsing in my hand every time I drag my fingers up his cock, then glide them back down. Friction and heat sear my palm. He moans again and, with a yank on my arm, pulls me closer, his mouth capturing mine, tongue thrusting inside and ravaging me. I shiver and moan as I meet the fire in his kiss, but I don’t just melt. I meet him with a blaze of my own and combat his ruthless demands by massaging his cock in long strokes. With my other hand, I cup his testicles.

They’re heavy and drawing taut as I fondle them. I relish holding him, his power, in my palm. He relishes it, too, pumping his erection into my tight fist and tearing his mouth from mine in an effort to breathe.

“God, I’ve dreamed of this. Of your hands on me.”

“You feel amazing,” I say on another smooth upstroke that makes him curse long and low.

“I’d rather feel amazing inside you, but if you keep that up, I’m going to come.”

My stranger grabs my wrists and snatches my hands from his cock.

“But—”

My protest finds no more voice than that before he props my ass up on the table and presses me backward, laying me out across the gleaming surface. The wood is cold against my heated skin. I hiss, but he pushes a hand to the center of my chest to keep me down.

“Hot and cold,” he murmurs in my ear. “Soft…” He skims his fingertips across my breasts, against my tight, aching nipples. “And hard.”