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“You feel so good,” he said hoarsely.
The determination on his face was so sexy. I had to touch it, and when I did, his mouth captured my fingers and sucked them as he rocked inside me, a whole new level of desire filling me. My legs wrapped around his slim hips and I moved with him, gripping his buttocks, careful not to dig too hard with my nails but loving the feel of his firm flesh in my hands. He never lost tempo with my body, even when the car turned. He said my name over and over again, until at last I felt him shudder and stiffen, his arm scooped beneath me, arching me into that sweet space I was coming to know so well. And then he brought me to a whole new place of bliss. I came again, my body pushing into his as I clutched him between my thighs. I could feel him release, too, and then, slowly, he lowered himself on top of me, holding one of my hands, our fingers entwined, mouths a few inches apart, though we couldn’t kiss each other anymore. We had to catch our breath. He pushed away gently, collapsing back on the seat opposite me as I lay gasping.
“I’m sorry if the limo felt a little rushed, but I wanted to rip your dress off when you were on the stage tonight. So I think I exercised some restraint, don’t you?”
“Glad you held back.” Feeling bold, I asked a few questions of my own. “Have you done this before? With S.E.C.R.E.T.? I mean, you’re kind of, um, an eligible guy. Why would you need to do something like this to have your sexual fantasies realized?”
“You’d be surprised, Cassie. Anyhow, I’m told I’m not supposed to say too much. Matilda warned me that you were the curious type. I could ask you the same question. Why would such an alluring woman like you need S.E.C.R.E.T.?”
“You’d also be surprised,” I said, sitting and gathering up my dress. I felt vulnerable and a little angry that Matilda had told him anything about me.
“Has it been everything you thought it would be?” he asked.
“S.E.C.R.E.T. has taught me a lot,” I said, securing the bodice, adjusting the back myself.
“Like what?”
“Like that it might be impossible for one man to fulfill all of a woman’s desires.” Why was I being so insouciant?
“You might be wrong about that,” Pierre said, sliding into his boxers and then his tuxedo pants.
“Oh?”
He reached across the seat, put his hand around my wrist and tugged me towards him, until I was kneeling in front of him. His eyes held mine for a few moments before he plunged his face into my neck and buried a firm kiss in the place where it curved into my shoulder. Just then the limo pulled up in front of the Spinster Hotel. He reached into the pocket of his tuxedo jacket and took out a gold charm. My gold charm.
“Ah, let me see. A Roman numeral six, with the word Confidence on the back. Very … charming.”
While he grinned at his play on words, I reached for the charm, but Pierre dangled it farther away from me.
“Not so fast,” he said, the light in his green eyes now ablaze. “I want you to know something, Cassie. When you’re done with this … thing you’re doing, I’m going to come and find you. And when I do, I’m going to show you that one man can fulfill all your desires.”
I didn’t know whether to feel overjoyed or overwhelmed, but I carried his good-night kiss, and my shoes, up the stairs and past Anna’s door on the second floor, where I noticed that her light was still on.
For days after the Ball, my mood careened from ecstatic to morose. I’d flash back to scenes with Pierre in the limousine, and I’d have to squeeze my legs together to contain my longing. Other times, I’d plummet, because the flip side of a fantasy is that despite how real it feels, and how fantastically it’s executed, it is not, in fact, real.
Still, it was hard to re
sist poring over the society pages in the Times-Picayune, one of those New Orleans mainstays in a city that loved its benefits and balls. There I was, photographed in the background, of course, because Pierre Castille was the focus of the evening. The caption described me as the “Cinderella Seductress” who “captivated the Bayou Bachelor.” This provided endless fodder even for Dell, who seemed more impatient with me than she was with Tracina.
“Hey, Cinderella Seductress,” Dell teased, “any chance you could look after table ten for me? I got a prince picking me up tonight in a giant pumpkin. Pulling up right here on Frenchmen Street. Got any shoes I can borrow?”
Tracina, on the other hand, had grown more subdued. She seemed withdrawn, though I often got the feeling she was coiling up, storing her venom until a future opportunity to sting me presented itself.
I was admittedly occupied with thoughts of Pierre. When I met Matilda for one of our post-fantasy talks, I immediately asked about him: would I see him again? Had he asked about me? But before she opened her mouth, I already knew she’d advise against seeing him again for fear that I’d reignite something. Because by this time, we were both aware my body was drawn to men my mind knew were not necessarily right for me.
“It’s not that he’s a bad man, Cassie,” she said. “He’s generous and intelligent. But he can also be dangerous to any woman who believes him to be capable of more intimacy than he is.”
“If Pierre’s so dangerous, why did you recruit him?”
“Because he was perfect for that particular fantasy. I was thrilled when he called me and said yes. We’ve been trying to recruit him for years. And I knew you wouldn’t be disappointed. Isn’t that the fantasy you wanted to experience?”
“Yes, I did. But—”
“No buts.”
I nodded, on the brink of tears. Oh God, I thought, don’t cry. There’s nothing to cry about. It was just a little fling. Some sex, great sex, but that’s it. Yet the tears flowed.
“Maybe I’m not cut out for this kind of thing,” I said, sniffling. I looked around Tracey’s to see if any of the men, the ones watching the game on TV, the ones eating their po’ boy sandwiches, had noticed. None had.
