DIANA
The stranger runs a thumb slowly over his full bottom lip, drawing my attention to his mouth. And what a mouth it is. I want in there. I want to dive between those lips and taste him.
If I had any hesitation about coming here tonight, I don’t anymore. I’m in control, in character, and the consequences of my earlier actions are the furthest thing from my mind.
The man in front of me is exactly what I need.
I knew it the moment I saw him standing behind me downstairs.
His friends were hot too—really hot, now I think of it—but this guy…
this guy gives off a sexual energy that vibes with mine and gives me tingles.
We’ll be absolute fire in bed together. And the fact that he’s American?
That’s good too; if he doesn’t live in London, there’s even less chance that I’ll see him again.
And thankfully, he hasn’t questioned my accent. I’m obviously very convincing.
We’re still standing in front of the lift. Any moment now, the doors will open again and more people will spill out, separating us.
I don’t want that to happen.
With a flick of the wrist and without answering my question, he invites me to step further into the room ahead of him.
I edge past his outstretched hand; if he wanted to, he could cover my entire face with it, or wrap it around my throat.
A pleasurable shiver rolls down my spine as I imagine those hands on my hips, my arse, those long fingers dipping inside me.
I need to masturbate more often. Maybe I wouldn’t be salivating over a stranger like this if I did.
Or maybe I would.
Anyway, I’ve decided. He’s the one. He looks like he takes care of his body and knows how to use it; he’s a man who understands his own impact.
He’ll give me a good night, and that’s all I want.
But he doesn’t seem entirely convinced.
Pausing beside an empty table, one lone candle flickering atop it, I play my trump card. “Your friend would have said yes.”
Over the top of his mask, a hint of a furrowed brow appears beneath the fringe of his hair, and I know I hit the right spot. A tension-filled silence buzzes between us, drowning out the sound of other people. We might as well be alone with how he captivates my attention.
His brow smoothes as he trails his gaze up my legs, my hips, stomach, breasts, and all the way up to my face, where he lingers. “My friend knows what he wants,” he says, voice low, each word carefully enunciated.
“And you don’t?” I tut. “You look like a man who knows. How disappointing. Maybe I got it wrong this ti—”
“You didn’t.”
Oh, yes. Here we go. “What do you want then?” I ask, affecting my most seductive expression. Honestly, I don’t know why he hasn’t thrown me against the wall and—
He grips my hip and tugs me into him. “You,” he growls, sounding almost pissed off about it, but I couldn’t care less because the heat that ignites through my entire body when he’s pressed against me, is unbelievable. “I want you,” he repeats.
I’m engulfed in his scent, which might as well be liquid gold, it smells so expensive. He’s warm and solid, hinting of muscles hidden beneath his clothes.
I’m wet. Immediately.
I don’t think this has ever happened before. Not this fast. I picked a winner tonight.
My heart thumps, and I resist the urge to squirm out of his arms and fist-pump the air.
Fuck, yes. I am about to get exactly what I need.
I close my eyes and pucker for a kiss, waiting for those full, masculine lips to hit mine, but it doesn’t happen. Opening my eyes, I find him staring down at me.
“Hi,” I murmur, fluttering my lashes in the hope it makes me look more like a swooning Disney princess rather than a pouting fish, lips all puffed out and waiting for that kiss.
A slight smirk tugs at the corner of his full mouth.
Crap. I must look like the fish. This is not in the plan. Maybe if I slowly retract my lips, he won’t notice.
His smile widens. “Hey there, stranger,” he says, seeming genuinely amused by me, which I find both flattering and delightful.
But I can’t have him deciding I’m funny and rather than an absolute smoke show, so I grab his hand and tug him through the bar, dodging through the tables where people are settling into drinks.
It’s the facade of civilisation before we cross the threshold into the den, where it all kicks off in the most wonderful display of high-society depravity.
I need to get in there, and I need him to come with me before he changes his mind.
We shove through the dark wood double doors, and we’re immediately swathed in the dim light of the room; a half-darkness where anything goes, punctuated by grunts of pleasure and decorated with naked bodies writhing in the corners of the room.
On a raised podium in the centre of the room, naked women are dancing, touching each other, bare skin sliding over bare skin.
He glances over my shoulder, his eyes widening just enough to let me know he’s never been in here before.
This incredible man is a Delirium virgin.
He pulls me into him, letting his hands glide over my body just the way I’ve wanted.
The buzz his touch ignites is insane.
He manoeuvres me until my back hits something solid; somehow, he’s managed to get me up against a column near the side wall. His hand slides beneath the hem of my tiny dress, rising up my thigh, which he hitches over his hip.
We could fuck like this, right here.
But not yet. I’m taking control. I shift closer, rising on my toes, and kiss him.
Our lips touch, mouths melding to one another. Soft and warm and hungry.
Deep in the recesses of my mind, a warning flares. This feels too good.
He breaks off, his voice strained as he whispers, “How often? How often do you come here?”
His hands are still on me, and it’s hard to concentrate on anything else, but I manage a pithy response. “Very often, if I have the right partner.”
His dark eyes flicker behind the mask. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters.
He sounds… bothered. Vaguely, I wonder if there’s an answer that wouldn’t have bothered him, and then I decide I don’t care.
He kisses me again, his fingers tightening on my thigh. “I need to see you,” he growls against my neck. “Take off the mask.”
“No.”
He skims his lips across my throat, and I tip my head back.
To our left, a couple starts fucking. Loudly.
She’s screaming a name I can’t make out, her naked tits swinging as a man in a suit takes her from behind.
It’s distracting, but my guy doesn’t look away from me.
He’s never been here, and there are lewd displays of sexuality all around us, but I’m the one who has his attention.
The thrill of it shoots through me like a static shock.
“Why not? Are you famous?” he asks.
Even through the fog of lust that’s swiftly descending, my heart gives an awkward pitter-patter. I’m not famous, but if he follows celebrity gossip, he might have seen me. Something tells me this guy doesn’t spend his lunch breaks reading the Daily Mail Online.
“I like anonymity, that’s all.” He makes no comment, continuing his attentions to my neck, so I add, “Anonymous sex, specifically.”
He steps back, slowly lowering my leg to the floor. A sinking sensation sweeps through me. Is he not into anonymity? Is he going to be a stickler for the mask removal? Please don’t let him walk away.
Just as I’m wondering what I did wrong, he reaches for his mask and takes it off.
My heart comes to a screeching halt. Fuck me.
This man is not just good-looking, he’s movie star handsome.
Absolutely drop-your-panties-gorgeous. Defined cheekbones, straight nose, and eyes that are dark yet bright, like a starry sky.
I reel like he’s struck me in the face with his offensively perfect bone structure.
I knew that jaw was good, but this… fuck me.
Literally, with any luck.
“Wow,” I mutter, and he arches an eyebrow, so I stammer, “You’re really—” I’m about to say hot, but also old—he has fine lines around his eyes and a ruggedness that can only belong to a man north of thirty-five—but I catch the words just as they’re about to trip off my tongue and finish with, “Handsome.”
His expression barely flickers at the compliment. “Your turn,” he murmurs, tucking his mask into his pocket.
“No.”
His eyebrow lifts again. “You’re going to keep it on all night?”
“Yes.” Normally, I would share nothing more, but the intensity of his expression and the gravity of his tone have a full answer spilling out.
“I came here tonight because I had a really shitty day, and I want to get laid. I want someone to fuck me so hard I can’t think anymore.
I want to come so hard I’m seeing stars.
I want to ache tomorrow. I want every step I take to remind me what a great night I had, and that sometimes life isn’t a great big pile of steaming crap.
Just for tonight, I want to let loose. I want to forget.
I want to escape.” He frowns, and I know he wasn’t expecting me to unload on him like that. “Can you let me do that?”
“Yes,” he agrees without hesitation.
Relief softens my body. “Good. But I won’t take off the mask.”
Another slow nod. “Unless I come on your face.”
“Exactly.”
He fists a hand and presses it to his lips, not breaking eye contact for a second. “Tell me your name, at least.”
Why is he so hung up on this? Normally, men are happy with the no-strings, no-names sex option. It’s the whole point of the masquerade night. “Knowing won’t make the sex better.”
“It might.”
I reach for him, sliding my fingers into the waistband of his trousers, tugging him closer.
He yields easily, engulfing me once more in his warmth.
Hopefully, his lack of resistance signifies that the name thing isn’t a deal-breaker.
“It won’t. And I don’t want to know yours either.
We don’t need to know anything about each other.
For one night, nothing outside of these walls matters. ”
“It matters if it drove you here.”
Something around my heart twinges. “It doesn’t matter to you.”
He appears to contemplate this, then nods in acceptance of my boundaries. I’m sure he has his own too.
He leans in, brushing his lips over the shell of my ear. “When I make you come so hard you shatter on my cock, whose name are you going to scream if you don’t know mine?”
I gasp, a ripple of heat coursing through me. This man knows exactly what he’s doing. “No names,” I confirm.
His lids flutter shut, jaw clenching like he’s holding onto the final thread of restraint.
The shared silence, broken only by the music pulsing from the speakers inset into the ceiling and the occasional intrusive groan of nearby lovemaking, feels heavy with unspoken words.
I can sense his resistance. For whatever reason, he’s torn.
I’m a sure thing—he knows I’d spread my legs for him—and he’s still not convinced.
It makes me feel like I need to try harder.
Be more. Be… whatever it is he’s actually looking for, because it’s clearly not a nameless twenty-one-year-old in a short skirt and pair of high heels who’ll suck his dick in the dimly lit corner of an exclusive sex club.
Or maybe I’m exactly what he’s looking for, and he’s not ready to accept it.
He splays his hand on the column behind me, lowering his forehead to rest against mine. “How old are you?”
Ah. So that’s what’s bothering him. I give him my confrontational back-chat voice, while simultaneously sliding my hand over his dick, which is rock solid and huge.
“Old enough to legally drink, drive, and fuck.” Removing my hand from his dick, I press it against his chest instead, feeling the hard muscle of his pecs beneath it.
I run my thumb over his nipple and his breathing hitches in response.
“Young enough not to need Botox.” Our faces are so close our noses touch.
“Also, it’s none of your fucking business. ”
“Okay.” He exhales, fanning warm breath all over my face, our lips dancing on the edge of another kiss. If I cared, I’d ask him how old he is, but I’ll never see him again, so it’s irrelevant. “If I walk away, are you going to have sex with someone else?”
“Yes.” I flick my tongue over his upper lip. “Maybe I’ll find your friend. He seemed interested.”
He straightens, gaining an extra inch or so. Six foot three. Four, maybe. “No.”
His instant response makes me want to smile, but instead I pout and say, “You don’t get to choose.”
Something serious darts across the mellow brown of his irises.
“It’s me or no one.” His voice is gruff, but the warm hand he slides around my lower back is gentle.
I feel dizzy with his proximity, barely able to catch my breath as he pulls me close.
I melt into him; his heat, his strength.
I knew I picked him for a good reason. “What’s it going to be? ”
There isn’t a beat of hesitation before I whisper, “You.”