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“Can I touch you too?” I said. “I’d really like to.”
She stopped. For a second the whole room waited. Then the corner of her mouth went up under the velvet.
“Good,” she said. “You asked. That is exactly the right thing to say. Yes.”
I stood up. I took her by the waist and walked her backwards until her bum met the dressing table, and she hopped up onto it, scattering candle stubs, and spread her thighs. The black satin rode up. She wore nothing under it. She was shaved smooth and glistening.
I knelt. I kissed the inside of her knee, and her thigh, and then I licked her, one long flat stroke, and she swore. I did it again, slower, then closed my lips round her clit and sucked, two fingers sliding into her, curling forward the way you’d feel for the tight spot in a faulty lift. She grabbed my hair. “There,” she said. “Oh, fuck. There.”
She came on my mouth with a cry that rattled the silver brushes. Then she pulled me up, rolled a condom over me, turned and braced both hands on the mirror.
I took her from behind. The mirror showed everything: her mask, her open mouth, my face, her breasts swaying, her eyes catching mine in the glass. She came again, hard, watching herself do it, and I followed her, growling into her shoulder.
She turned and kissed me. “Highwayman,” she said. “You’re allowed back.”
Ending 6 of 16: Mirror Work. Go back and try a different choice for the full happy ending.