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The ballroom of the mansion was entirely vacant. All the hanging curtains from that night had been stripped down, all the luxurious leather and suede and velvet furniture removed, all the sweaty, writhing naked bodies gone. The line of tall, peaked windows, however, were all open, and ice-cold wind swirled dead leaves across the once polished wood dance floor. The only light in the ballroom came from the open doorway and the flicker of the fire-burning lamps in the garden maze that stretched out for half a mile below the balcony outside.
The light from the flames danced across the floor of the ballroom as he moved further inside. The echo of his footsteps filled the dark, cavernous space as the last hint of golden light on the horizon sank into a sea of deep blue. He stood in the center of the ballroom, and the silence washed over him like a cold wave capable of dousing the flames outside.
He heard heels clicking on the marble floors of the hallway outside the ballroom. The noise drew nearer, and goosebumps traveled down his spine. When he smelled her familiar scent, he didn’t turn around but instead let his eyes fall shut and listened to her closing the distance between them, the last resounding echo of her heels as she came to a stop behind him and her steady breathing just inches from the back of his neck.
Her voice was like the call of a siren when she said, “Walk.”
He sensed her just behind him as he walked toward the arching staircase at the end of the ballroom. Their shadows in the flickering flames stretched out from their feet, crawling up the wainscotted walls and straining toward the spider-like chandeliers above them.
“Go up the stairs.”
Her voice was pure seduction, and he knew he would leap off a cliff face if she commanded it. One foot in front of the other, he ascended the stairs, with her just behind him, tantalizingly close. But he wouldn’t turn around. Not until she gave him permission. This was her night. Hers to control. To have. To own.
They reached the landing.
“Down the hall,” she murmured.
He walked with purpose now, even as trepidation muddied his hope.
What if she was playing some sort of a game?
He’d deserve it. Whatever she had in store for him, he’d accept.
“Last door on the left,” she whispered.“Open it.”
He obeyed.
Pushing the door open, he revealed the room he’d brought Skylar to that fateful night. It looked the same: the four-post bed frame, the liquor cart against the wall, the gold-framed, full-length mirror he’d undressed Skylar in front of, propped up in the corner.The only difference was the fire burning in the fireplace.
“May I turn around?” he asked.
“You may.”
The door closed gently behind them. He turned, and his breath caught in his throat when he took in the sight of Skylar.
She stood just as she was that night in front of the mirror— completely naked save her black stilettos and mask of black feathers. Her honey-gold eyes sparkled as she plucked a single feather from her mask and extended it to Julian. With a pink tongue, she licked her burgundy-painted lips.
“I believe,” she purred, “we have some unfinished business.”
* * *
Oh,God, Julian was good. So good.
Skylar’s harsh pants and pleasured moans filled the elegant bedroom, the only other sound coming from the crack of logs beneath the dancing flames in the fireplace. Her fingernails dug into the posts of the bed as she tossed her head back and forth on the down pillows. Her desperate scratch marks would forever mark the beautiful mahogany. A fine sheen of sweat covered her chest as her nipples strained toward the dark, velvet canopy above her. The muscles along her inner thighs twitched, and her abdomen contracted as her increased whimpers became higher pitched.
She lifted her head enough to see Julian’s blue eyes almost entirely consumed by his dilated pupils looking across her exposed body as he hungrily lapped at her dripping wet pussy. A delighted groan slipped past her lips, and her head collapsed back against the pillows. She gripped the post even tighter as the strained muscles along her arms quivered.
She gasped when she reached the point where she’d stopped Julian all those months ago. That point where her control had slipped to such a degree that her orgasm loomed in front of her.
Her nails dug into the splintering wood, and her back arched off the sweat-covered duvet as Julian held down her bucking hips with his big, strong hands. His tongue circled her clit as she panted and gasped and writhed on the bed. Her chest was heaving, her breasts glistening with sweat, her entire body tight as a bow, arrow ready to be released.
This time she did not stop him. This time she did not scream the safe word. This time she let him have her, all of her.
She squeezed her eyes shut and screamed as his tongue alone made her come. Her body shuddered, and she drank in the waves of pleasure that crashed down upon her again and again and again as Julian refused to relent. When he’d wrung every bit of the orgasm from her, she collapsed onto the bed, shaking and gasping and hissing when Julian nipped at the sensitive skin alongside her pussy, but, fuck, it felt good.
So. Fucking. Good.
It took all the strength left in her to lift her head enough to watch Julian kiss his way up her naked body, pausing to circle his tongue around her nipples, suck at them, bite at them until they were so hard that even just his chest skimming across them made her moan and squirm.
