34. Cinderella at the Ball
CELESTE
It had beena long time since I had this much fun. Maggie had a way of bringing out my joy, making me forget all the stressors that were constantly weighing me down, so I could just be a carefree woman out on the town. What did it matter that my mama’s legacy was literally falling apart around me? Why did I care that my shattered heart no longer operated? Who else paid attention to the love of their life ghosting them on the worst day of their life? Certainly not me!
Music thumped loudly around me, the bass high and settling in my bones. Hours of standing on my feet at The Comfy Cushion day in and day out had prepared me to dance the night away now. Even in the too high heels Maggie forced on my feet, I barely felt a thing as I swayed my hips to the rhythm of the beat. Iris would have been proud of my skills.
I was simply proud that I managed not to break an ankle in a pair of heels that laced up my ankle with glittery, glass beads. Cinderella, indeed.
Maggie’s costume caused more than one rowdy pack of guys to buy us a round of drinks. Everyone thought it was hilarious to see a grandma get down on the dance floor. I had a delightful buzz, and even though I declined every offer to dance, all of the attention was flattering enough to forget my misgivings over my too-short dress.
“Yo, that man at the bar hasn’t taken his eyes off you for a second!” Maggie shouted in my ear. She nodded her head over my shoulder, directing my attention to a man in a tailored tuxedo with a white mask covering most of his face. He donned a top hat and a swordsman cape with his costume, but that wasn’t what made my heart flutter. It was the intensity of his smolder that instigated the goosebumps erupting down my arms and made my thighs clench together. No one had looked at me like that since Wesley.
The worst part? I didn’t exactly mind.
There was something about the man that seemed familiar, but as much as I wracked my alcohol-addled brain, I couldn’t place him. Back in the day, The Comfy Cushion was a hotspot for tourists, so it was possible he had been one of our earlier patrons. Yet he didn’t look any older than me.
Our eye contact prompted him to guzzle the rest of the drink in his hand before sauntering over.
He didn’t say a word, simply held out a white gloved hand as if presuming I had already agreed to dance with him.
I rolled my eyes at Maggie. She returned my look with an evil grin, glancing suggestively at his waiting hand.
“Welcome wagon!” she mouthed.
After we found our costumes earlier, Maggie had dragged me to her old salon, where she was still good friends with the owner. They let us use one of the spare booths so Maggie could do our hair and makeup before squeezing me into the waxer’s appointments. My skin was smoother than silk on all areas of my body, much to Maggie’s delight.
Her reminder now only made me flush. I glanced at the man, who did not seem to mind my hesitation. His hand never wavered as he waited patiently for my acceptance.
Wesley’s face burst so clearly in my mind when I slid my hand into this stranger’s that I stopped short. It wasn’t my first hallucination of him, but definitely the most intense.
The man smiled. Clasping my hand firmly, he led me further onto the dance floor. Everyone parted for him easily as though he had the god given right to be in the middle of the throng. Right as we reached the center, the song changed over to a slower melody. “I Will (When You Do)” by Avery Anna and Dylan Marlowe started playing, their crooning challenge to one another echoing the challenge in my heart. I couldn’t cheat on someone who hadn’t been present in over ten years.
So why did it feel like I was?
Maybe because there was something about the stranger in the mask that reminded me of Wesley. His eyes had the same power over me, though it was impossible to tell their true color in the smoky lowlights of the room with a mask and hat shadowing his features. The tiny bit of hair I could see underneath his top hat was so slicked back with hair product that it looked nearly black. He was taller than I remembered Wes being, but then again, memories faded with time.
The stranger spun me out, then back in, stopping me just before I collided with his chest. He dipped me back low and his head fell into my cleavage. I could feel his warm breath between my breasts as I slowly returned upright, his nose grazing my skin the entire time. Just to get my bearings, or perhaps to tease him as much as he was doing to me, I turned so that my ass was pressed into his groin, wrapping one arm up around his neck. The man leaned down, letting his mouth meet my earlobe. He briefly nipped it before murmuring, “You are a vision.”
It was so low I could barely make out the words, but they sent lightning straight between my thighs. All of the drinks were hitting me at once. Desire flooded my senses, the tequila coursing through my veins amplifying the sensation.
Just once, I wanted to forget Wesley Madden like he had forgotten me. Just once, I wanted to throw caution to the wind and do something reckless like every other woman did in their life. Days were flying by in a monotony of dark grays and black; the trajectory of my life on a loop for which there was no escape.
But this masked stranger, with his hungry stare, and impressive dance skills made me see color for the first time in years. Suddenly, I was back at the Georgia Aquarium, eyes wide to the brilliant fish and sea creatures around me. It was the same sort of sensation, where the real world was a muffled backdrop against the bright joy surrounding me. I wanted to feel like that again. Weightless and carefree.
So I chased that feeling. I leaned up and kissed the masked stranger.
The moment our lips met, all I could see or feel was Wesley. Memories of our last kiss consumed me, bringing back all of the love and bliss I used to feel in his arms. My eyes shot open, and I gasped in surprise.
For his part, the man looked equally as startled. His gloved hand brushed his lips in the wonder I knew was echoed in my own expression.
“No names. Just tonight,” I panted before launching myself at him once more. This time, his lips opened to greet me, his tongue sweeping through my mouth as though committing the taste to memory. Strong arms wound around my waist, sealing off any air between us, and I had the errant thought in the back of my mind that it had been years since I last felt this safe. It was a ridiculous thought—this man could very well be a serial killer for all I knew—but the omniscient assurance that he was going to make me happy overrode any concern of danger.
Maggie’s whoop of delight behind me drew my attention, hyper aware of the hundreds of people around us. The man offered me a small smile, keeping one arm encircled around my waist before steering me away from the crowd. We reached a darkened staircase that led up to the VIP lounge, and with a simple nod to the bouncers, the velvet rope opened to us. However, rather than leading me towards the dancers and bar area in the VIP section, the man kept a firm grip on my waist and pulled me towards the outdoor balcony overlooking downtown Savannah.
Party goers were decidedly more drunk in this part of the event. An outdoor bar was lit up with blacklights and neon painted boards created alcoves for couples to have a veil of privacy. Another DJ was set up in the corner, but the dance floor consisted of people gyrating on one another. There was far more skin exposed with these dancers than the ones inside.
The man went to the corner of the bar and grabbed two glasses with a glowstick inside the drinks before returning to me. He placed one in my hand. Rather than guiding us towards the rest of the revelry, we headed towards a wood wall with slashes of neon paint glowing ominously in the blacklights. With a forceful shove, a panel of the wall opened to a narrow hallway of sorts as the hotel’s typical lattice privacy fence stood on the other side. Once he pushed the temporary wall back into place, we were enclosed in darkness, the bass from the music still rattling the floor. Stars were just barely visible overhead as they mingled with the streetlights below and the blacklights to my left.
Our glasses clinked, a sign I interpreted as an instruction to drink. Knocking back the alcohol burned my throat far more than anything I’d tasted yet. The man pulled my drink’s glow stick, a neon blue that gave off very little light, from the glass and swirled it around the swell of my breasts. Alcohol dribbled down my cleavage, and before I could suck in a breath, the man’s tongue was there, licking the alcohol off my skin as his hands crept up the backs of my thighs. I leaned back against the lattice fence of the hotel, using the branches of whatever flowery shrub that grew there to support myself, as my knees were quickly giving way to his attention.
A long finger slipped down the corset, circling my nipple. The rest of the man’s fingers pushed their way in, forcing my tits up and over the steely ribbing, so that his tongue could work its way around my erect nipple. I moaned, the sensation sending a flood of lust between my thighs.
“Shh,” he urged me in a whisper.
But there was no way anyone could hear my cries over the loud music pounding through the speakers.
The man directed his attention to my other nipple while a hand crept up to my panties. Despite my better judgement, Maggie insisted I wear a thong tonight, claiming a sexy costume demanded sexy underwear. The scrap of lace at my entrance should have dissolved from the wetness pooling there, and when the man’s fingers swept across, he groaned around my nipple.
Without warning, two fingers were shoved inside me, plunging deep. My muscles clenched tightly at the foreign intrusion. I hadn’t ever even used a sex toy for fear of Iris discovering it, so my body was no longer acquainted with the feeling of penetration. Now, though, instinct propelled me forward, letting my knees fall open as a hand snuck down to meet his and pick up the pace. His thumb joined my index finger on my clit, swirling rapidly as the two fingers pistoned in and out of me. One of his digits curled, hitting the elusive G-spot Maggie alluded to, and I saw stars. If this was what she meant I had been missing, I would kill her for downplaying its significance.
Kisses were trailing across my breasts as the man sucked hard enough to pucker the skin. There would be marks for weeks, some part of me realized, but I was lost in the growing pressure low in my belly. When the man’s mouth worked up to my neck, licking along the edge of my jawline before nibbling on my earlobe, it only took three little words for me to shatter.
“Cum for me,” he whispered.
I detonated. The orgasm barreled through me as the stranger in the mask nuzzled into my neck. I clung to the vines for dear life as ripple after ripple of pleasure left me shaking. His thumb continued to circle my clit, working me down from my high.
I didn’t stop to think as I dropped to my knees. His belt was unsnapped in the blink of an eye and his massive erection unfurled from his boxers. Letting my jaw relax as much as possible, I took as many inches in my mouth as I could. I loved the way his cock tasted and how good it felt hitting the back of my throat.
He let out a guttural cry, bracing himself on the fence behind me as I worked more of his dick down my throat. I was a snake, unhinging my jaw, willing to cut off my own oxygen supply if it meant I could continue sucking on him like a lollipop. My hand cupped around his balls, applying a light pressure of massage. Tears were starting to leak out the corner of my eyes from how hard I fought my gag reflex, but I couldn’t stop.
The stranger took charge, thrusting his hips forward to fuck my mouth. He set a rapid pace, and the tears fell in earnest. I couldn’t breathe, I was choking as his rigid shaft stretched my throat to the max, and as I hummed my approval, he spasmed ropes of cum in my mouth.
By the time I finished swallowing, which was difficult from how sore my throat was, the stranger pulled me up by the elbows. It was too dark to see his facial expression and I was too shy to break the silence. He placed a chaste kiss on my mouth before looping his hand through mine. We both took a moment to rearrange our clothing, then exited the way we entered.
Back inside the light of the hotel, I offered him a shy smile, grateful the lacy mask still obscured my face. His breath caught at the sight of my smile. Without another word, he tugged at my hand, leading us towards the elevators. I snagged a shot glass off a passing waiter’s tray and gulped it down. If we were going to his hotel room, I needed all the liquid courage I could get.
Once we reached the elevator, the man swept off his top hat. His gloves had long since gone, probably when we were out on the balcony. Dark tresses fell down in a silky sheet around his face, and he swept off his tuxedo jacket in one fluid motion. The moment the elevator doors closed, the stranger descended on my mouth like he needed the oxygen in my lungs to function.
I swore on Mama and Daddy’s graves I would never drink this much again, but everything about this strange man’s touch set me on fire. I grinded against him, chasing relief between my legs that could dull the throbbing ache that formed there. The air charged with the current between us and I welcomed the feel of it. We only had tonight after all, so I needed to make it count.
The elevator doors opened on a suite rather than a hallway, something I was far too drunk to notice in the heat of the moment. As soon as the stranger pulled me inside, he began stripping out of his clothes, carelessly tossing them on the marble floor. The back wall was made entirely of glass looking out on the Savannah harbor. It was the kind of lovely view that normally would have held my attention for hours. I so loved the water.
My companion had other ideas for the view, however. We collided again, the primal need to physically connect taking over our actions, as he pulled me back towards the window. He shoved the corset down, breaking the metal ribbing inside the fabric, then pressed my breasts together with a gleeful moan. Sinking onto the sofa facing the window, I climbed on his lap to straddle him. My nipples were aching to be touched, and he pulled one into his mouth with a ravenous sigh. I let my head fall back, enjoying the drunken stupor and unearthly pleasure flowing through my body. One of my hands slid under the skirt to push my thong to the side.
“Have a condom?” the stranger panted. His rigid cock was straining so hard against his pants that it was going to break through the zipper. I would have guessed he was in agony based on the growling timber of his voice.
I shook my head. There weren’t exactly pockets in a dress this tiny.
He nodded. “Hold on.”
Setting me on his side, the man rose and jogged down a long hallway, where there were several other closed doors. He darted inside one.
I was left feeling foolish with my tits hanging out and the euphoria quickly wearing off. Righting the corset as much as I could, I wandered over to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of the red wine chilled in a galvanized bucket. The taste gagged me—I was not a wino—but I hoped it would help enough to take the edge off the anxiety I started to feel.
This whole night had been reckless and wild and I hoped I never forgot it. Every woman needed just one night to go to a party in a pretty dress and pretend to be someone she wasn’t. Cinderella without her curfew should be a life goal for every woman over the age of 21. And whoever the masked man was, he came right at the moment when the universe knew I needed to let go.
I didn’t realize I stopped at the couch again, wine glass in hand, until the man’s firm chest and warm presence met my back. Two arms circled my waist again, pulling me close, as he nuzzled into my neck. My hair must look similar to a bird’s nest by now, but all the hair spray and glitter Maggie applied would keep it in place until Doomsday. That didn’t stop him from winding one stray curl around his finger and whispering, “Ready?”
I shuddered at the way one simple word sent a bolt of electricity to my core. Instantly, my panties were wet and the wanton freedom came surging back. It was time for the masked man to liberate me.
Rather than respond, I turned my head and opened my mouth to him, guiding his hands back to the sweetheart neckline of my dress. He freed my swollen breasts immediately, then continued downward to pull the skirt up around my waist. The thong was all but useless now, far too small to capture the arousal pooling there. It snapped with one hard yank and the man’s fingers went straight to my clit to pinch the tingling bud.
I cried out, more from shock than actual pain, and the man hummed his approval. The rustling of a condom wrapper came from behind and he pushed between my shoulder blades so that my torso was hanging over the back of the couch. I had a momentary lapse of panic where I realized for all intents and purposes, I was basically a virgin, having only had sex one time a decade ago, but before I could find the words to convey that to him, the crown of his cock met my entrance.
“You’re so tight!” he growled. He began strumming my clit like a guitar string, deftly working his fingers to loosen the muscles that refused to let him in. I inhaled sharply and let out a long, deliberate exhale, urging my body to relax like it had out on the balcony. Long fingers caressed my tits, kneading them to add the small bite of pain with my pleasure that allowed my pussy to welcome him in.
I was stretching so much that it reminded me of giving birth. There was no way a human cock was this big, nor could I take that much inside me. Standing on tiptoe in the high heels, I angled my ass up to give him deeper access.
That somehow flipped a switch, and he slammed into me hard. My knuckles went white from gripping the back of the sofa. It felt so incredible that my whole body could have gone white and I would have begged him for more. Hitting it from this angle gave him a direct line to my G-spot.
“More! More!” I could barely form the words because my brain was so muddled.
He pounded into me, moving one hand into the curls piled on my head and pulling my torso back upright.
The effect was instantaneous. Crests of an orgasm sent shockwaves through me, over and over like I had been storing them up in all of my years of forced celibacy. Eyes rolling into the back of my head, I slumped forward, totally spent.
With a guttural yell of triumph, the stranger followed, coming so hard that the condom moved. He let out a contented sigh before collapsing on top of me.
Feeling and awareness were slow to return to my body. I started flexing my toes and fingers, letting the blood circulate, before bending my knees. The man came down from his own post-coital high and stood upright, taking his still semi-hard cock with him.
My dress was in shambles, with the tulle of the floppy petticoat bent and sticking out in all directions. There would be no salvaging the corset top as it had torn in his haste to free my tits from their jail. What had once been an elegant mass of curls was now tumbling down the back of my neck, with bobby pins sticking into my skull. I welcomed their sting because it brought me back to reality with a vengeance.
“Here.” The man threw his button up shirt from earlier over my shoulder. “I’ll go grab you some sweatpants.”
There was no way a pair of his sweatpants would fit me, but I appreciated the kindness all the same. I needed to right myself and get the hell out of here to face the inevitable shitstorm my mind was cooking up. Not to mention Maggie and her game of Thousand Questions before we could go home to River’s Run.
It was in this sort of mindless daze that I buttoned up the shirt, not paying an ounce of attention to the fact that my entire lower body was on full display. When the man returned with a pair of dark gray sweatpants, I didn’t hesitate to bend over and pull them on, causing him to gasp.
“Sugar bee?” he asked incredulously.
On my eighteenth birthday, Maggie and I had gone out and gotten tattoos, as most kids determined to prove they were adults did. While I intentionally selected the outside of my hip to prevent anyone from ever seeing it (there was no way Desiree would have forgiven me for a tattoo), it was still a momentous occasion that I used to honor my daddy. I had missed him more than ever on that birthday and getting a minimalist design of a bumblebee landing on a pile of sugar felt oddly fitting.
No one had ever seen it before, though, not even Maggie. I had been too tearful afterwards to show her, so we returned home where I could cuddle toddler Iris and watch Mickey Mouse while I bawled my eyes out.
Letting a random, one night stand—someone who couldn’t ever possibly mean anything to me—not only see the tattoo but recognize what it represented rattled me. It was better than any other form of sobriety, and I darted to the elevator in a mad scramble. The sweatpants were still too long for me to properly move in, but thanks to the glossy floors, I slid into the elevator more than I walked.
“Hey, WAIT!” the man yelled behind me.
It was only as the doors closed on him that I realized he had removed his mask, revealing an angular, clean shaven face that would have made angels weep. It was the kind of face that belonged on billboards and commercials, and without the conscious part of my brain to make the connection, I surprised myself by talking to my mirrored reflection as the doors closed between us.
“Wes?” I breathed.