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He sought her mouth and kissed her, their lips parting in unison and their tongues meeting halfway. Curling her fingers around the base of his shaft, she began to jerk it upward, intuitively knowing just how he liked it. They both groaned when they began a slow, endless rhythm, his fingers sliding in and out of her sex, her tight grip moving up and down the length of his hardness. They moved in perfect accord, their tongues playing wildly inside each other’s mouths while their hands moved over their sexes in a blissful, blessed rhythm.
He climaxed in her hand, spilling his semen over her knuckles, and she came in his palm, her desire spurting in his hand in orgasm. Their mouths remained locked together as tremors rocked their bodies for what seemed like an eternity, until they fell back on the seat, limp and breathless.
For the remaining ride to the Four Seasons Hotel and its sumptuous Cosmopolitan Suite, they rode so close together their bodies occupied only the slightest space on the long leather seat.
Fully relaxed now, Holden closed his eyes and rested his cheek against her velvety blonde hair, while Lucy pressed her face to his chest and held his hand above her lap, her little fingers entwined with his.
Suddenly tempted by the tiny piece of heaven that was her hand, the one that moment’s ago had driven him so damned crazy, Holden lifted it to his lips and turned it, pressing a kiss on the center of her palm, and before he knew it he was kissing each fingertip, each knuckle, every inch of skin in between. Lucy was giggling, weakly attempting to break free.
“A little ticklish are we, Miss Divine?” he asked gently as he grazed his lips over the heel of her palm and began to trail a path of kisses up the sensitive skin on her arm.
“Yes!” she squealed, writhing over the seat and futilely pulling on her arm. “Stop, Holden…let go!”
But of course, Miss Divine didn’t realize Holden had no intention of letting her go. Ever.
The event space was noisy and crowded by the time they arrived, and Lucy was blissfully overwhelmed among such decadent splendor. Light beech-paneled walls and magnificent backlit onyx panels surrounded the room, the ample space further enhanced by high ceilings boasting dozens of modern dark-iron chandeliers. The round tables bespoke of elegance, with their glinting silver place settings and sumptuous floral arrangements overflowing with exotic blooms. Long, white tapered candles flickered daintily as a band at the far end of the room played a soft rock song to which couples danced on the crowded dance floor. The guests and benefactors—who had paid two thousand dollars a head for their dinner tonight—wore an assortment of amazing costumes, from medieval kings to swaggering pirates to werewolves, maids and witches.
Lucy knew none of these people, and yet her rebel devil—who’d conveniently lost his only devil prop by now—seemed to know them all, and it seemed as though everyone knew her rebel devil.
“Mr. Holden.”
“Patrick Holden, how are you this evening?”
“Good evening, Patrick.”
“Holden, my man!”
Lucy heard his name dozens and dozens of times in a vast array of voices. She didn’t really mind, of course, for it was her very favorite name in the whole world now, but after a while she wished these people could leave them alone. He was her devil tonight, after all.
After someone had abducted him for an eternal two minutes to greet someone else, he returned to her side, glowering.
“Remind me to decline next time,” he said gruffly, making her smile.
A pimp-like character with gold chains, fur coat and a cigar approached, patting Holden on the back. “Congratulations on Skytek. Good move, Holden.”
Lucy agreed. That had been a good move. Great move, in fact. But she didn’t blurt it out, for all the partygoers seemed to have one thing in common—they ignored Lucy’s presence completely. The pimp was no exception so she dutifully waited, like a good Nine of Pentacles would have waited for her bird. Calmly.
By the time a tall, breathtakingly beautiful Dorothy, including basket and plush Toto, walked up to them, Holden had just turned his attention back to Lucy and he seemed ready to bolt.
“Why hello, Patrick,” she said in an oddly familiar voice. She was the only person at the whole bash who seemed interested in Lucy—inordinately so. Her blue eyes took in every aspect of Lucy’s appearance in one swift, single motion.
“Hello Miranda,” Holden said, wrapping his arm around Lucy’s waist and pulling her to his side. “Lucy Divine, Miranda MacFadden.”
He spoke his introductions matter-of-factly, as if there was nothing odd about this situation and nothing uncomfortable about the fact that he’d cancelled his date with Miranda to attend with Lucy. Naturally, the women’s eyes clashed and their smiles as they looked at each other were so false they could have been glued to their lips.
Lucy greeted her out of pure politeness, something that apparently Miranda wasn’t taught when she was a little girl.
In answer, Miranda’s eyes swept over Lucy’s dress slowly, deliberately, and Lucy inwardly winced at the blatant disgust on her face. “What on earth do you call that costume? Old Maid?”
“I’m the Nine of Pentacles,” Lucy said proudly, as if it were obvious.
If she’d refrained from speaking at all, Miranda MacFadden would have ignored her equally.
“Patrick?” She turned and blinked at him, her lips twitching at the corners. “Isn’t she your secretary?” She spoke the last word in the same tone one would use to say “excrement”.
Before Lucy could open her mouth, Holden said, “As a matter of fact, no. She’s the new head of mergers and acquisitions at Holden and Investors. Now if you’ll excuse us, I owe Miss Divine a dance.”
And with that, he dragged her onto the dance floor and pulled her into his arms just as the band began a slow ballad.
