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She needed to get out of there.
“Princess. Where are you going?” he called out after her.
But she slammed the door shut without answering, gasping for air.
I hate him.
Who, though? Jay, the escort who wanted to fuck her? Or Rex, the man who was supposed to love her? She never should have agreed to this. She never should have let Rex take the power in their relationship. She never should have given up control. She never should have come here.
If she had only disagreed with Rex that this was their only option, then everything would be the way it had been. The way it should be.
But as she ran down the hall of the mansion, she knew she could never go back to the way things were with Rex. That bridge had crumbled behind her the moment she entered that bedroom, and the way back to the other side was gone. The chasm too wide to leap.
She stopped and placed a hand on her waist, a stitch in her side so painful she had to lean against the wall for support. Long ago, she’d accepted that she couldn’t come. It was just biology. It was just fact. And for years, that had been fine. She’d accepted it, and all she’d needed from Rex was for him to accept the fact as well.
That was what tonight was supposed to prove— fuck a sexy, alluring man, a man who was a professional and who specialized in the art of making a woman come. She either would or wouldn’t come. She’d figured she wouldn’t, but like Rex, a small part of her had held out hope.
Realization dawned, and with it came a broken heart. She’d thought having her fuck another man had been an honest attempt on Rex’s part to help her achieve an orgasm. But for the first time, she thought about what that really meant.
If another man could give her an orgasm and Rex couldn’t, how would the orgasm change things between them? Was the escort going to give Rex a blow-by-blow? Was he going to impart some magical wisdom to Rex that would make him now able to get her off again and again?
Had Rex—hadshe—really thought that if her body experienced climax once, it would be a simple matter to experience it without any reluctance ever again?
No. It all hit her like a shovel to the face.
What Rex had wanted was final proof shecouldn’tcome. Because with that proof, Rex could claim that her failure to come wasn’t his failure to get her to come. That no matter what Rex did to her, it wasn’thisfault that she couldn’t climax. Tonight had been his way of getting an “out” by proving to Rex and Rex alone that he was a good lover and all the blame was on her. He could stop trying so hard to please her. In his mind, it might even justify his having an affair in the future.
And with that realization, everything was ruined. Not only because the last vestiges of love and respect she’d clung to for Rex were now obliterated. But because Rex’s plan had backfired.
The handsome stranger with the green eyes and the gold mask hadn’t proven Rex was a good lover. Quite the opposite.
He’d only proven what Skylar had been missing all along.
And that somewhere, therewasa man—just not Rex—who could give her what she needed.
* * *
Frustration churnedinside Julian’s gut. He wasn’t entirely sure what the fuck had just happened. She’d run. The platinum blonde had screamed the safe word, thrown on her clothes, and dashed out of the room like he’d done her wrong instead of doing her right. He remained standing, her taste still on his tongue, staring at the bedroom door she had just slammed shut.
That was two times now that the woman had run from him; the first time had been a surprise, the second time infuriating. So was the fact that he hadn’t gotten her to come.
He’d never failed to make a woman come before. It wasn’t a boast. It was a statement of his dedication. Some women took less time; others, more. Some came from a mere brush against their nipples, and others would come only after an hour of stimulating her every pleasure center and whispering sweet nothings into her ears the entire time. Some screamed loudly, some cried, some left teeth marks on his shoulders, but, in the end, they all came.
She should have been no different.
In his mind, he ran back over the series of events that led him to this place— dumbfounded and confused and, quite concerningly,angry.
The night had started the same way they always did at the Masquerade Party. From the moment he’d walked in the door, women had been all over him. He’d have his pick, and he was in no hurry to find the woman or even women he’d bring to dizzying heights. He’d be fine if a woman wanted a friend or two or three in on the action.
And then he saw Skylar. That moment of connection had occurred, and her golden eyes haloed not by the light but by ink-black feathers sent energy charging through him. Then the drape fell back into place, cutting off his view. Breaking the magic. The next time he saw her, she watched him with cool confidence, a small smirk played on her red lips as her eyes flickered over the women at his left, his right, behind him, and even the one crouched between his legs. At that moment, he knew no rules would keep him from her. Finally, he’d seen her with her companion. Saw how the man she was with treated her with disrespect, as if that asshole had no clue she deserved to be put on a pedestal. Finally, finally, she’d given in to what she wanted. What sheneeded.
A good fuck. A climb-up-the-walls climax. A man who could give it to her hard because she was strong and soft and vulnerable and powerful all at once and because she deserved better than the man who’d ordered her a martini instead of champagne.
“Why did you run, princess?” he murmured to himself.
And why did he want to chase her down?
With all the other women, he was like a hammer, and the woman’s pleasure was the nail, and her coming was the nail buried in the wood, and so all he wanted to do was pound, pound, pound away. He’d started escorting in college, a pleasurable means to an end. College, particularly one as prestigious as Princeton, was expensive, and he had no family, few scholarships, and a drive to become one of the best journalists in the world.
