He kept my legs pinned to the bed with his large hands, easily keeping me restrained with his vampire strength as I thrashed in his hold.
"One more time for me, baby," he urged as he slowed his tongue, now licking me at a leisurely pace. Every inch...
I am so sorry for the wait on this 😩this is not edited because I really just wanted to get it out to y'all... but it's masquerade time!!! Who's up for some fun? 😏
This chappy is dedicated to my best friend: tna727, the very muse of Cleo herself and the woman who helped me get this book off the ground. We talked about the masquerade ball before I even wrote the first word, so this one was a long time coming.
I love you Tay! Thanks for being my biggest cheerleader, always.
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I'm not quite sure what I was expecting the inside of this mansion to look like, but I have to admit... it wasn't this.
This seriously has got to be the biggest house I've ever seen.
While it's a known fact that the host is very well off, I can't say that I imagined the golden paneled walls, that shine such a bright white that it's almost as if the stars themselves had been mixed into the paint coating them, to be his style.
He seems to be more contemporary. Futuristic even. A far cry from the regal aesthetic of his less than humble abode.
Not that I'd know. I've never met him and I don't even know his name. But the last few years, the masquerade ball venue had been much more simplistic and sophisticated. This is the first time he's held it at his own home, and now I can see why he would.
The grand staircase alone made my jaw hit the floor, never mind the domed ceiling that have literal cherubs painted on them in excessive detail. I forced my attention from the impressively lavish–castle, I decided to call it–and took in the crowd around me.
So many people.
Some slow dancing to the classical music playing overhead, some sipping on champagne as they conversed with other guests. But they all had one thing in common. All were dressed to the absolute freaking nines.
The women's gowns were so grand–so exquisite–that I felt severely underdressed in my four-figure priced ensemble. The men were clad in tuxedos and bowties, mostly black suits with the occasional stray white, blue or grey here and there.
It was hard to tell if I knew any of the people here, given everyone had their masks on.
James and I rode together, agreeing to meet up with the rest of our group when we arrived. I checked my phone to see if I'd missed any texts or calls from the girls, but nothing showed on my screen. Slipping the device back into my clutch, I let out a gentle sigh and glanced over at James.
He looked devilishly handsome in his black and white Armani tux. The designer suit clung to every inch of his muscled arms and broad chest, tailored to fit him like a second skin. The black mask he wore only covered the top portion of his face, the bits of gold detailing–that matched my own intricate mask–glinting in the light of the ballroom as those cerulean eyes scanned over the sea of people.
