I did not retreat. Instead, casually, I pushed my hips slightly forward. My cockhead, wet with precum, touched the black fabric of the mask covering her cheek, leaving a shiny, wet smear.
That touch was like throwing gasoline on the fire of Ophelia's anger. A searing sense of humiliation exploded. She was Ophelia Blazewalker! How dare this lowly man—
But beneath the anger, an undeniable physical reaction occurred. The warm, wet sensation of the cock tip pressed against her skin—even through fabric—sent a jolt straight to her core. The strong, musky, unmistakably masculine scent filled her nostrils, and for some reason... it was alluring.
Her tongue moved inside her mouth of its own accord. The tip licked her suddenly dry lips. A primitive, almost instinctual urge told her to taste it, to feel it.
