The moment she nodded, I picked her up and carried her over to the bed. We could have just walked, but I needed my hands on her. Before I lowered her on to the mattress, I bent my head to brush my lips across hers. It was the most chaste of our kisses, but it still sent an electric tingle through me.
Damn.
I was glad I'd decided to tie her up, because I needed a few minutes to regain my self-control. That, I thought, was part of the draw. I loved being in charge, but recently, much of the thrill had waned. It wasn't until I met her that I realized part of the problem was that most of the challenge was gone. I still enjoyed the BDSM side of things, and the sex itself, but nothing much beyond the physical. The women I fucked were beautiful in a variety of ways, but there was no seduction, nothing...special.
This woman though. Something about her drew me, made me want her like I hadn't wanted anything in a long time. One time hadn't been enough, and as I finished fastening the last restraint, I wondered if this time would satisfy that need inside me.
I wasn't going to think about that now. Not when I had a beautiful, half-clothed woman tied up and waiting for me to make good on my promise to show her just how close to the edge I could push her.
Her eyes were wide as I looked down at her, but there was no sign of fear in those pale depths, only trust and desire. I ran my fingers up her calf and over her knees as I knelt between her spread legs. As I reached her thighs and hips, I spread my hands out so that my whole hand moved across her ribs, and then up to cup her breasts, before moving back down again.
"Yes," she breathed as I stroked her soft skin, as my thumbs and fingers found her pebbled nipples.
As I teased her sensitive flesh, I watched her face and found that I wished I could see more of her, that I could see every bit of her expression as I brought her pleasure, that I would know exactly what she looked like when she came.
I hooked my fingers in the cups of her bra and pulled them down. Fuck. She had the most gorgeous breasts. I couldn't resist lowering my head and flicking my tongue across the tips of her nipples. She swore, a shiver running through her, and then swore again as I circled the darker flesh with the tip of my tongue.
I pulled my shirt over my head and tossed it to the side, then stripped off my pants. My erection was tenting out the front of my boxer briefs, and when her tongue darted out to run along her slightly swollen lips, I almost came right then.
For a moment, I wasn't sure whose control was being tested.
Then I had my mouth on the underside of her breast, sucking hard enough to leave a mark before moving up to her nipple. She began to gasp and twist as best she could, but the only sounds were ones of pure pleasure, so I kept going, working teeth and tongue and lips until I could feel her pulling on her restraints.
I raised my head and seriously considered ripping off both of our masks right then and there. My lovely sub was so close, I could see it in her eyes. I locked her gaze with mine, then pressed my knee between her legs. Her panties were soaked as I leaned into her, letting my leg put the right amount of pressure against the places she needed it the most.
"Fuck." Her eyes rolled back even as her hips began to move against me.
I let her have a couple moments working herself against my knee, and I enjoyed watching every one of them before I backed off. She made a sound of protest that almost had me giving in, but I knew it'd be worth it to follow through.
"I've got you, gorgeous," I said as I stretched out between her legs. "But it's not time to come yet."
"Please," she begged.
I turned my head and pressed my lips high on her inner thigh, sucking the sweet smelling skin into my mouth. After I marked her, I turned my attention to the place I'd been dreaming about from the first moment I saw her. After teasing her through the thin fabric of her panties for a few seconds, I pulled on them until they gave with a loud tearing sound. Then I buried my face between her legs and drove her to the edge.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Until I was the one who couldn't take it anymore, and I let her tip over into a screaming orgasm that made me grateful the room was soundproofed.
Then I was inside her again and it was like everything good I'd ever known in my life rolled together into this time, this place, with this person.
And I wasn't sure I could let her go.
I should have been relaxed, sated, after what we'd just done, but as I watched her dress, my stomach began to twist. Not because of what we'd done, but because this was it, the moment where I had to decide what I wanted. The two of us could go our separate ways, maybe hook up again once or twice more in the future without ever knowing who the other person was. Or, we could remove our masks, exchange names, and find out if this was something we wanted to explore.
I couldn't deny that I found some liberty in the fact that she didn't know who I was, that while she might guess that I had money, it couldn't have been a true deciding factor in her choosing me that first night. But as soon as I said I wanted us to take off our masks, everything would change.
And none of that was enough to keep me from wanting to see her face, from knowing who she was. I didn't know if the connection between us would last without the mystery, but I wanted to try.
"If you're still interested, I'd like to know who you are." The words sounded casual enough, but I wasn't sure she bought it. My own heart was pounding so hard in my chest that I was certain she'd be able to hear it.
I'd never thought of myself as a shallow person, and my biggest fear at this moment was that seeing her would prove me wrong. I'd never be able to live with myself if she showed me who she was and my attraction to her disappeared when I saw her face. Personality conflicts and that sort of thing would be understandable, but if I didn't find her attractive and I didn't want to be with her because of that, I'd hate myself.
She straightened, hands trembling as she smoothed down her dress. That gesture alone was enough to heighten my anxiety, but I reminded myself that she didn't know who I was, so she was probably just as nervous as I was about the whole situation. Her gaze flicked to my face and then away again.
"I'd like that." Her voice was soft, but no less determined. "Are you sure?"
I almost frowned at the question, wondering what had prompted it, but I was more interested in learning her identity than I was in chasing a question. I knew if I started digging at her intentions like I had everyone else in the past, I'd talk myself out of something that could end up being the best part of my life.
As an answer, I reached up and pulled off my mask. I waited for a response for a split second before realizing she was taking off her mask as well. Very slowly, it lowered, revealing large eyes...nose...lips...chin.
It was her.
I swore, vilely and loudly.
How in the hell had I not known I'd been fucking Savannah Birch?
In the next moment, I realized that she wasn't freaking out. If anything, the look on her face was slightly sheepish.
"You knew." I didn't make it a question because I didn't need to. It was written right there on her expression. "You knew it was me." It sounded like an accusation this time.
She nodded and licked her lips. "Not the first time. When I walked into your studio the other day and you weren't wearing a shirt." Her cheeks grew pink. "I recognized your tattoos."
My stomach churned, bile rising up in my throat. "Tonight?"
Her face grew more red. "That's why I suggested we take the masks off."
"And when I said I wanted to wait, why didn't you stop me?" I curled my hands into fists. "You should have told me before we..." I ran my hand through my hair. "Shit, Savannah. This...we...damn it all."
"I wanted..."
She didn't finish the sentence even as her face turned impossibly red, but I didn't need her to say what it was she wanted. I had a pretty good idea, because I'd wanted it too. And that just pissed me off even more.
"You should have told me." My voic
e was harsh enough to make her eyes widen in surprise, but I didn't let that affect me. "The moment you realized who I was. And how the hell did you get in to Gilded Cage in the first place?" I shook my head and held up my hands. "Never mind, I don't want to know. It doesn't matter anyway. We fucked. That's it. And if a single word of it makes its way into your article, or any form of media for that matter, I'll take legal action."
She stared at me for a few seconds, and I waited to see if she'd try seduction or crying, since those were pretty much the only two weapons I'd ever seen a woman wield. She didn't do either.
"Fuck you." The words came out flat and cold, with a hint of disappointment in them. "No wonder you're so alone and miserable. Don't worry, Mr. Randall, your secrets are safe. I don't want anyone knowing I fucked such a bastard."
As she turned and walked away, a seed of doubt perked up its head, and I began to wonder if I'd made a mistake, if maybe she was better than the women I'd known in the past. Better than I'd ever expected any woman to be.
Not that it mattered now. Even if I was wrong, I'd still completely fucked up any chance I ever had with her.
Fifteen
Savannah
I was still reeling as I made my way through the club. I wanted to run, to get away from this place – and Jace – as quickly as I could. Not because I thought I was going to cry, but because the combination of anger and embarrassment coursing through me made me want to hit something or someone, and I doubted giving Jace Randall a black eye would do anything positive for my career.
I considered throwing my mask onto the bar as I passed, but I didn't want to run the risk of someone I knew spotting me and asking awkward questions. No matter how much I enjoyed sex with Jace, or how much I'd learned about my own sexual desires during those two encounters, I didn't want anything to remind me of what happened. Maybe I'd explore this part of my sexuality again at some point in the future, but for right now, I planned to stay as far away from men as possible.
In fact, I was going to spend the weekend finishing up everything in my article except the critique of the art itself. Once that was done, I'd forget about Jace until next month when I'd see his show. Since I'd have everything else done, I wouldn't even need to talk to him that night.
And that would be for the best.
This was the first time – and would be the last – that I compromised my journalistic integrity. If I ever found myself attracted to a subject again, I'd have this moment to remind me just what a horrible idea that was.
The mask came off as soon as I'd moved a few yards from Gilded Cage, so all I got from the cab driver was an appreciative look. I stared out the window as the city went by, trying not to think about anything, especially not the fact that I wasn't wearing any underwear because Jace had literally torn them off of me. My pussy and nipples were throbbing from the attention he'd paid them, my skin still tingling from his touch. Every cell in my body was screaming for me to go back and beg him to take me again.
"No way in hell," I muttered. I'd pushed down my pride once to sleep with him in the hopes that maybe he'd want more than a couple anonymous encounters. I wasn't fool enough to make that mistake twice.
By the time I reached my apartment, I was exhausted. All I wanted to do was take a hot shower and go to bed. Fortunately, Everett was still out, so I was able to settle into my bed before he got home. Sleep wasn't so easy in coming, especially after I heard Everett and Cal trying to be quiet as they went to Everett's room. The intimate hushed laughter made my heart twist painfully, and I swore to myself that I was going to focus on work from now on. No more hot, kinky sex with masked strangers.
That seemed like the sort of promise I should be able to keep.
"Motherfucking bastard," I muttered as I pushed back from the table and ran my hands through my hair.
"Anyone I know?" Everett asked as he strolled out of his room. The smug smile on his face told me he'd had a far better night than the one I'd just experienced.
"Just a bit of writer's block." I wasn't completely lying. I was having a hell of a time putting my thoughts into words. Well, words that would be appropriate for public consumption anyway.
"Did you finish your interviews?" he asked as he rummaged through the fridge looking for who knew what. "Maybe you need to get to know your subject better."
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him he knew damn well that I knew my subject intimately, but I bit it back. One, it wasn't entirely true. I had sex with Jace, but I wasn't so sure that actually counted as being intimate. And two, I didn't feel like listening to him tell me this was a conflict of interest.
Fortunately, Everett continued without seeming to notice my internal conflict. "Don't you always say that only using one source of information doesn't let you portray things in a truly unbiased light? I mean, I know you're mostly writing about the art, but shouldn't you see if what he's told you matches up with other sources?"
I sighed. He had a point. If I was going to treat Jace like I would any other subject, I needed to be just as skeptical about the truth of what he'd told me. Which meant I needed to dig deeper than I'd gone before, particularly about the parts of Jace's life I thought he glossed over.
"Thanks," I said as I got up to pour myself another cup of coffee. I was going to need massive amounts of caffeine to do this right.
When I started doing some backstory on Jace before I met him, I hadn't been surprised that there wasn't much to find. He tended to keep to the shadows, never making any sort of splash that wasn't related to his work. He wasn't a controversial artist, or one that made the news for getting into trouble. He was insanely wealthy, but stayed out of the limelight there as well. No drawing attention to himself with either entitled or overly philanthropic behavior.
There'd been very little about his relationship with his parents, but his father had been a very private person as well. After hearing Jace's story about how he'd fallen in love with art, I knew there had to be more that wasn't being said. Everything was simply too vague.
So I started to dig.
Online sources. Reaching out to contacts. Sorting fact from fiction and speculation until, by Sunday evening, I had a bit clearer picture of Jace's childhood. As far as I could tell, his mother was still alive. It wasn't her death that had prompted Jace to be sent to live with Benjamin Gooding, and it hadn't been Mr. Gooding's pursuit of custody either. From what I could tell, Gooding hadn't even known about Jace's existence for nearly a decade.
A decade filled with police reports of domestic violence between Veronica Randall and various boyfriends, never anything enough to warrant taking her son away though. Not until he was ten years-old, and she left him for an undetermined amount of time. The child services report stated that it could have been anywhere from five to seven weeks before someone noticed. Jace had been put in a group home for three weeks before his mother had returned.
I could find no record of her trying to regain custody of him. By all accounts, she simply showed up one day with Benjamin Gooding, announced that he was Jace's father, and then left again.
The thought of a mother doing that to her child made my blood boil. It didn't matter that Gooding had taken care of Jace from that point on. I was glad that he had, but I couldn't imagine treating any child like that, let alone my own.
And despite my own anger toward Jace for how he'd behaved, I found myself wondering just how much all of that had left its mark. If perhaps the walls he'd constructed to keep himself safe as a child were the same ones he'd put up to push me away. I knew it was dangerous thinking like that, and that I'd probably end up getting hurt even more deeply than I already was, but I couldn't stop myself from thinking that maybe he just needed someone to fight for him instead of walking away.
Sixteen
Jace
To say that I hadn't gotten much sleep last night would have been an understatement. When I hadn't been plagued by visions of Savannah's gorgeous body, reminded of her scent and the feel of her skin against mine,
I'd been thinking about the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that had come when I recognized her, the way my heart had twisted when her expression had fallen, then hardened. My own hot words echoed in my ears, followed by her icy ones.
I'd spent the last hour staring up at the ceiling, wondering if there was any possible way I could have been wrong. I went through it all in my head again.
She'd never been to Gilded Cage before that first night. I was certain of that. Aside from the fact that I would have recognized her prior to the masquerade, I'd seen the innocence in her eyes when she walked into that room with me. She hadn't been a virgin, and she hadn't been completely unaware of what the point of the room had been, but she was a newcomer to the life, that much had been clear.
Was I supposed to think it had been a coincidence that she'd come to see me, and then shown up at the club and come straight to me? I wasn't an idiot. She had to have known, somehow, that I would be there. Had to have recognized me. It couldn't have been random, and I refused to believe it was something like destiny or some shit like that. That kind of fantasy wasn't real. Instant lust, sure. I could agree to that. Hell, I'd been attracted to Savannah from that first moment. Maybe she picked up on that and then somehow figured out where I would be.
It wasn't cynical, to think that she'd gone to the club to look for me, to dig up dirt that she could use in her article. My friends and I had chosen Gilded Cage for its discretion. People were more accepting of this sort of thing, but none of the four of us wanted to be pushed into the limelight. We understood the importance of media, but that didn't mean we wanted to see our personal lives splashed all over it. The Heart of Art liked to regard itself as above tawdry celebrity news that other publications promoted, but they still had to get people to buy their magazine, and some salacious details would do that.
I never should have agreed to do the fucking interview in the first place. I'd never done more than answer a couple questions before, but I'd agreed to do this show to raise awareness and funds for a great cause, which meant I couldn't simply fly below the radar. So, I'd agreed to talk to the press, to do what I could to promote both the show and the sponsoring charity.