Masquerade Page 8

  “It’s my turn,” she said, and then she took him in her mouth. She wanted to do this. Wanted to show him that she, too, could stoke his flame. She worked his shaft with her hands as she wet the tip of him with her tongue. He groaned, leaning into her, his eyes focused on every move she made. She took him deep and he groaned again, once more, growing even harder in her mouth. Then, he withdrew, gasping.

  “You’re going to make me come,” he murmured, voice low, pupils wide, the want on his face evident. She could see his mounting desire, feel the restraint in his stiff fingertips. She wanted him to let go, wanted him to go wild. She’d make him, too. She reached out with her hand and clasped him.

  “That’s the idea,” she growled, arching an eyebrow. “You need to come.”

  He pushed her down on the bed as he ripped open the condom package, and rolled the thin latex down the length of him. “No, no, ma chère. You, first.”

  “I—” But he was already on top of her, his mouth on hers, and then with one strong thrust was inside her, filling her, stretching her, taking her breath away. She arched her back into his movement, his delicious weight on her chest. She clawed at his back, groans of pleasure escaping her mouth, as his tongue once more found hers. He was in control, ever in control, the pace, the depth, all him, even as she rocked her hips to meet his, as she tried to take him ever deeper. She wanted to swallow him, own him, make him cry out with need.

  And then, he’d rolled to the side, and she was on top of him. He clutched her heavy breasts, stroking a thumb possessively over one nipple. She arched her back once more as he clutched her, holding on tightly. She loved the feel of his hands on her, loved the strength of them. Their eyes met, and for a second, she fell into that stark blue ocean. An ocean of want. Of need. For her.

  He spoke French in her ear, and it felt like a caress. So sexy. So fluid.

  “Come for me, Asha,” he told her in English, a soft command. “I want to see your face when you come. Burn. Burn bright.”

  She’d never done such a thing before. Hell, never had the chance, as she’d never had a man’s cock make her come before. Could she even do it? He pressed deeper into her, raising his own hips, and she rocked harder, faster. She felt desire build in her, as it had built in the past, though she’d never made it to the end, never found a way to push through. Would she tonight?

  “Your body belongs to me tonight,” he reminded her, sending electric pleasure through her veins. She liked that idea. Being his. Just for one night. His fingers found her clit then, as she rocked on top of him, his expert fingers teasing her, flicking her, making her lose her mind. He played the perfect rhythm as she found herself rushing to the edge of the waterfall, in a raft she could no longer control. She hit the lip and descended downward in a white rush of heat. Her head jerked back, and her mouth fell open as she cried out, riding him ever harder and deeper until the rush faded. She collapsed on top of him, her hair splayed across his bare chest, gasping for air.

  “You’re going to kill me.”

  “If you can die of pleasure, then, yes, I will,” he murmured into her hair. “You belong to me, remember?”

  “Just for tonight,” she told him. That’s all she could give.

  He pulled away, searching for her eyes. “Yes,” he managed, eventually. “Just for tonight.” He pushed her off him. “And tonight, I will explore every part of your body.” He ran his finger down her side, and across her bare hip. His fingers roamed between her bare legs. “I will have you every way I can,” he promised. And then he’d set her up on her hands and knees, and he was behind her, his flesh heavy against the back of her legs, the promise of much more to come. He entered her with a hard thrust and she gasped, as he squeezed her hips. It felt primal, animalistic, the way he drove into her, but she loved it. Loved how he took control, how he seemed to grow ever bigger inside her. Her breasts bounced with each rocking movement, heavy. Just when she thought she might come again, he switched positions once more, tossing her on her back, and pulling her to the edge of the bed. He took her legs and lifted them, putting them up against his shoulders.

  She was helpless on her back, her feet in the air, his hands clutching her ankles. She’d never done anything like this before, never done much out of the way of missionary and occasional cowgirl. For all her tough talk, she’d not had much experience in the bedroom, not with a man like this, a man who seemed to know every position of the Kama Sutra, and wanted to show her every one.

  “You are mine,” he told her, as he worked inside her, ever harder, ever deeper.

  And she forgot in that moment to add, for tonight. Because in that moment, she was his. Her body was his to control. And she knew she’d come again. Because he’d will it.

  “Yes,” she gasped, because she couldn’t help it. He’d made her his. Completely.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ASHA WOKE THE next morning to a ray of sunlight streaming in through the gap in the curtains of Durand’s hotel suite. She reached out her hand across the enormous bed but found it cold and empty. She sat up, blinking, realizing she was naked in Durand’s bed, alone.

  “Durand?” she called, but no one answered. Where was he? They’d spent almost the entire night exploring each other’s bodies, and he’d made her come—again and again. He’d shown her positions she hadn’t even thought about, much less tried, and she’d realized with certainty that she was not frigid on the inside at all. She was a ball of flame ready to ignite the second he touched her. All her adult life, she thought she’d been the problem. Now, she realized, she’d just never met a man with enough experience to please her, enough care to learn how her own body worked to satisfy her.

  But now, that man was gone. She pulled herself from bed, noticing her dress from the night before hanging in the adjoining closet. Her stilettos on the floor beneath. There were no other clothes there, though. She was too groggy to wonder why, as she dragged the white cover sheet from the bed and wrapped it beneath her armpits, in case she wasn’t alone. On bare feet, she padded to the bedroom door, which she found closed, and opened it, accosted by even brighter sunlight from open windows. She blinked, wondering what time it was. A clock on the wall in the sitting room said nearly noon. She’d slept six hours or so. Six hours since the weak light of dawn had filtered into their bedroom, when Durand had curled up behind her, spooning her and nuzzling her neck. Had it all been a dream? Surely not.

  No. The delicious soreness between her legs told her none of it had been a dream.

  “Hello? Anyone here?” she called to the other rooms of the suite. She could see the open dining room and part of the bar. No one answered, and she heard no sounds, and realized she was alone. A pit formed at the bottom of her stomach. Durand had told her he’d own her for one night. And, it seemed, he meant it. There was no sign of him. She ran to the closet near the bathroom and opened it wide. Even his clothes were gone. Not a single piece of luggage, either. She was surprised she felt so...empty. So disappointed. How had Durand managed to do all this and leave without her hearing? Then again, she knew how: she’d been exhausted, her body pushed to its limits by Mathis Durand.

  Had he even planned to say goodbye? She’d been the one to agree to one night. No more than a night. She’d never in a million years imagined he’d be so good at making her body respond to his touch, never imagined a man existed who could make her come so easily, so fully...and so many damn times in a row. Until she’d been with Durand, she hadn’t even realized she could be multiorgasmic. She’d thought women who did that were simply faking. Now, she realized, they weren’t.

  But the man who’d done that, who’d lit her fire, was gone. She already felt like mourning him, and that wasn’t like her. Since when did she ever let a man truly get under her skin? Sure, she’d flown halfway across the globe to humiliate Connor, but that wasn’t because she truly cared about him. That was just a matter of principle, about protecting her brand. She wanted
to see Durand because her body craved his touch. Because she wanted to hear his sexy voice in her ear, smell his spicy scent.

  Asha walked onward, cotton sheet dragging behind her, to the dining room. She expected to see the remnants of their dinner last night, but instead, the table sported a brand-new tray with a simple breakfast of a croissant, a soft-boiled egg in a stand, and a pot of coffee next to a white cup and saucer. A single white rose sat in a vase on the tray, and next to it, a white square box large enough to fit a pair of shoes, tied with a red ribbon. A card sat near it, signed by Durand. It read:

  Merci beaucoup for an amazing night, chérie. I look forward to seeing you in Berlin.

  Berlin? What did he mean? She ripped off the bloodred ribbon of the box and eagerly opened it, feeling like she used to as a child on Christmas morning. Inside, she saw a golden mask, and beneath that, an official invitation to the Sphinx Society’s next party in Berlin in two weeks’ time. Her mind whirled and she felt her thighs warm. He’d invited her to the next party. She’d see him again. Maybe it wasn’t just one night after all.

  She studied the thick, embossed invitation, and saw that she was, indeed, a guest. This wasn’t an offer of full membership, but an offer to the party. She guessed she’d take what she could get, especially if it gave her an excuse to see Durand again. Asha sat at the table and poured herself coffee, plotting about what she might wear in Berlin, mentally rearranging her schedule to accommodate a trip to Germany. She felt a brightness in her chest. Could she wait the two weeks to see him again? Or would she need to see him sooner? The wheels of her mind turned as she crossed her legs, reminded of the delicious soreness there, remembering how Durand had possessed her, had made sure he’d explored every millimeter of her body.

  Already, she could feel the passion grow in her lower belly, the passion for him. Her want. She took a bite of the croissant, plotting about what she might be able to do to see him in the meantime. Yes, she would figure it out. Because she wasn’t a patient woman. When she wanted something, she went after it.

  She heard the automatic key open the lock of the main door of the suite with a telltale beep and sat up, back ramrod straight as she dropped the croissant on the plate. Asha grinned to herself, thinking that maybe Durand couldn’t wait, either. Maybe he couldn’t keep his vow of one night. The idea that he’d come running back to her this same day, just as eager as she, warmed her. She stood, dragging the sheet with her, but then deciding perhaps what Durand should see was her half-naked, Asha dropped the sheet to her waist as the door swung open.

  And a beautiful blond French woman wearing a tight-fitting pin-striped gray suit walked in.

  Shocked, Asha tugged up her sheet, but not quite in time. She’d given the woman an eyeful.

  The woman seemed unfazed. “You must be Ms. Patel?” she asked, her French accent faint, just like Durand’s. She seemed unperturbed, her beautiful poreless face mostly unreadable.

  “Uh...yes, and who are you?” Asha tightened her grip on the sheet beneath her armpits, her face burning with embarrassment.

  The mystery woman smiled, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I am Madelyn. Mr. Durand’s assistant. I am here to tell you that you are welcome to stay. Until 4 p.m., but after that...” She let her voice trail off. “I’m afraid you will no longer have access to this suite.”

  “Oh.” Asha tried to regain some of her dignity. It was embarrassing enough getting caught half-naked by Durand’s employee, a situation made more embarrassing by the fact that she seemed to be here to kick her out. Her manner was ice-cold. Did Durand intend this less than warm welcome? Asha glanced towards the bedroom, where she knew her clothes were neatly hanging in the hotel closet. “That’s fine.” She clutched the sheet to her chest, expecting Madelyn to leave. But she didn’t. She walked further into the room. Bold wiry thing. Asha noticed her waif-like body, as opposite of her curves as one could get. The kind that fashion magazines and casting producers loved. She wondered if Durand also liked her delicate frame, sans body fat, and sans curves.

  Asha watched, stunned, as Madelyn brushed past her, not caring that she was wearing nothing but a sheet, as she bustled into the room, sat down on the couch, and pulled her laptop from her case. She set the laptop on the coffee table and booted it up, even as she laid out a few pages on the glass table.

  “What are you doing?” Asha asked her.

  “I’m working,” Madelyn said, curtly, very much a woman staking out her territory. “This is the office while we’re away, and I need to send a few messages.” She glanced up at Asha, stark blue eyes cold.

  “You can’t work in your own room?” Asha asked, her blood pressure starting to rise.

  Madelyn didn’t answer at first, choosing to focus on her laptop. Then, after a beat, she glanced up. “I realize this might be awkward for you, but not for me. I’ve worked for Mr. Durand for years, and I know his...” she gave Asha a slow sweep with her judgmental gaze “...proclivities. This isn’t the first time I’ve worked in a hotel room with a naked woman in it.”

  Madelyn’s words hit home in a way Asha didn’t expect. They felt like a sudden blow that stole all the air from her lungs. Sure, she knew a man like Durand no doubt had lovers. A man didn’t get that talented without experience. But hearing the cavalier way Madelyn talked about former conquests made her feel small. And Asha hated feeling small.

  “I’m not just any woman.” She wasn’t, either. What they had, she knew, wasn’t just like any other hookup. It had been special. She knew it in her heart. Plus, no one had the gall to talk to her like this: dismissive. Not since boarding school.

  “Really?” Madelyn glanced up from her laptop. “You zink you are special?” Her accent got a little thicker now. “You zink he has not had...an exotique like you before? Believe me, he has. Many times.”

  “Exotique?”

  “Yes, or as you say in English. Exotic, yes?”

  Asha’s belly burned with anger. Exotic was a word she hated—dismissive of her skin, of her as a person. Exotic was a backhanded compliment, the kind she’d get at those dances in boarding school, when the girls’ schools and boys’ schools would get together in gym. It was a word a boy would use to describe her, when he had no intention of ever letting her meet his parents. Exotic implied there was only one standard of beauty, and everything else fell into the category of foreign and strange.

  “Exotic is what you call a bird. Not a person,” Asha said.

  Madelyn laughed, bitter, sounding almost like a woman who’d been hurt by Durand herself. Had they...slept together?

  “Zhat iz not how Durand zees it.” She shrugged. Asha hoped Madelyn was lying. Durand didn’t seem like the kind of man who kept a tally of the sorts of bodies he’d had in his bed, treating his mattress like a color wheel that needed to be filled in. Asha knew some men like that. Men who whispered, “I’ve never had an Indian woman before.” As if she should be flattered.

  Durand wasn’t like that. Was he? He’d explored her body as if it mattered, as if it were important, as if it was something precious. Asha felt in her bones Madelyn was wrong. And yet...her words planted a smidgen of doubt in the back of her mind. What if she was wrong about Durand? What if he only did see her as “exotique”?

  “No matter,” Asha said. “You’re going to leave now, so I can get dressed.” She might be nearly naked. She might be just one of another of Durand’s many one-night stands, but she’d be damned if she’d let herself be ordered around and embarrassed by this rude and probably jealous assistant. Nobody treated her like that. Not those stuck-up girls at boarding school, or anyone else. She didn’t care about the judgment. She was a woman of power in her own right.

  Madelyn glanced up but didn’t move. “You are asking me?”

  “I am telling you.” Asha padded to the door in her bare feet, put her hand on the handle. “Or would you like me to call Durand? Tell him you are bo
thering one of his ‘exotiques’? He wouldn’t be happy about that.”

  The color drained from Madelyn’s face. Asha had hit a soft spot. Good.

  Madelyn packed away her laptop, stiffly, and jammed the papers in a file that she tucked under one arm. She stood on her expensive stilettos and walked towards the door. Asha swung it open for her, thinking that she hoped it hit her on the way out. As she swept by, sinking her heels angrily into the carpet as she went, Asha called, “See you in Berlin.”

  Madelyn froze in the hallway, her knuckles going white on the handle of her briefcase. Looked like she didn’t know about the invite to Berlin. Good, Asha thought. Point for me. She slammed the door with a flourish, and this time, she locked the safety latch across the door frame. No model-thin assistants were going to interrupt her again. Smiling to herself, she decided to draw herself a bath in the enormous bathroom offering the clawfoot soaking tub. She had until four, and she planned to make the most of it. Maybe room service, even. She wondered if they had caviar. Or, even better, more of that very delicious and very expensive champagne. She smiled wickedly as she plotted to run up Durand’s bill. Her smile grew bigger. Maybe she would decide when she would leave.

  Maybe she would send a message to Durand. If he wanted her out, then he’d have to come and tell her himself.

  Nobody bullied Asha Patel.

  Nobody.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE NEXT DAY, Durand sat in his personal gym, a sleek glass-and-chrome room above his office in Paris, and tried to focus on the bicep curls with his free weights. But all he could think about as he sat on the bench before the wall of mirrors was the night he spent with Asha Patel. The woman’s body was...exquisite. There was no other word for it. Perfectly curved, perfectly molded to seem to fit his own body, and the way she’d opened up for him, like a flower in the spring. She’d held nothing back, just as he asked, and watching her find herself was...truly amazing. Even now, he felt his groin grow tight at the memory, felt the want in him blossoming. He dropped the free weight on the ground with a loud clunk, exasperated. He did everything he could to keep his mind off Asha, but no matter what, his thoughts always found her. Her and her delicious body.