Chapter 30 Glass is fragile. It also cuts
Glass is fragile. It also cuts
While we wait on the porch, I straighten Max's black bow tie and try to ignore the desire building between my legs.
He looks like sex and danger in his tailored charcoal vest and black shirt.
Even knowing his gun is tucked into the back of his pants, hidden by his shirt, doesn't dampen my arousal.
An arousal that's stoked by Max's hot stare as he gazes down my body.
I'm wearing an ankle-length, body-hugging ivory gown.
A wide slit runs the full length of my leg.
The fabric crosses at my bust, sleeves hanging off my shoulders.
I wear my hair mostly pulled up, but with a few tendrils falling around my crown and for the first time outside of the ballet, I'm wearing red lipstick.
I part my lips to breathe and Max's gaze is instantly there.
I know what the menace is thinking. He's not subtle.
Innocently, Max presses his lips to my forehead. His arms find their way around my middle and squeeze me lightly. Rubbing his nose through my hair, he finds my ear. "Your lips look so fuckable."
With my heels on, I barely need to crane my neck to look at him. Fixing him with my most flirtatious gaze, I slowly trace my lips with my tongue. When his eyes drop to watch the show, I giggle. He laughs.
Yep. Nailed sexy.
Bronson appears by Max's side in a black bowtie, white shirt, black fedora, and black suspenders.
A glimpse into the intricate artwork that paints the canvas of his body is offered at his hands and neck.
I giggle. His choice of attire seems satirical and reminds me of the Chopper moustache he'd been displaying the day I'd met him.
He's since replaced that look with a manicured beard.
Max rolls his eyes at his brother. Bronson snaps one of his suspenders and winks at me. "Sister Cassidy, you look stunning."
"You look stunning yourself," I say and when he tips his hat, I giggle again.
We watch as the limousine pulls up, but none of us take a step towards it. Instead, we wait patiently for the rest of our party.
Bronson clears his throat. "Did you know we were supposed to become boxers like Dad?"
I shake my head, smiling.
"But we're just too pretty, hey Maxipad?"
Max stifles a grin and kisses my hair. Xander and Stacey are the last to join us. Xander is in a navy three-piece suit and Stacey is wearing a wine-coloured strapless gown. They're both effortlessly elegant.
Stacey halts when she sees me. "Ugh. You're so petite, Cassidy. It's not fair. I used to be the hot one!"
"It's five hours a day worth of training," I say. "And I'd prefer your big boobs and curves any day."
"Oh, get fucked," she says. "You have curves. Your whole little shape is perfect."
"I'd still like bigger boobs," I admit.
"Bite your tongue. Your tits are fucking perfection," Max growls in my ear and I giggle.
We climb into the car and it takes off, leaving the prestigious streets of Connolly as it heads towards Stormy River, where the auction is hosted. I want to ask questions. Instead, I stare at the flickering lights of the city on the thirty-minute drive to the outskirts of the District.
I know a little bit about what to expect when we arrive.
The diamond auction is an annual tender of Argyle Diamonds, known for its coloured and rare-to-acquire diamonds.
I was gifted a white Argyle by my dad on my sweet sixteenth, but its value is pennies compared to the pink diamond I'll be wearing for Jimmy.
As we pull up alongside a sleek black limousine, I watch several people step out wearing masquerade masks. They are dressed to the nines and buzzing with excitement.
Xander and Stacey slide on masks and step out of the car.
I turn to Max questioningly and he lifts his hands, sliding a mask onto my face.
I shuffle to see my reflection in the mirror.
The new addition to my outfit is ivory and lacy and covers me from my upper lip to the middle of my forehead.
My lips appear even more red and my usually hazel eyes glow almost gold in contrast to the fair colour of my mask.
I beam at Max. "Pretty. I like it."
A mischievous grin tugs at his lips as his eyes scan my face. "No straitjacket. No muzzle. This mask. That lipstick. Your mouth. My cock."
I grin at him. "Crude."
His face softens. "You look fucking beautiful."
I grin hard. "Sweet."
"And we all know I look beautiful," Bronson says as he opens the door and slides out of the limousine.
Words dance on my tongue. My cheeks burn at the thought of them, but watching Max's gaze drop to my lips again gives me the courage to speak. "Stick your tongue out. I'll give you a preview."
The grey in his eyes darkens as he sticks his tongue out. I take his tongue into my mouth and suck on it. He fists my hair hard, his grip biting at my scalp. Groaning into me, he reaches for my hand and presses my palm to his erection. His hips buck. My heart pummels inside my chest.
He pulls his tongue out abruptly and nips my lip. "Naughty girl! I have to go out there and as you once pointed out, I'm not easy to hide."
I breathe hard and lick the taste of him from my lips. "Sorry."
He reaches down to adjust himself, his eyes never leaving mine. My hand finds his thigh before he can exit the car.
"Max. Why the masks?"
"These people like anonymity."
I laugh nervously. "But they don’t hide anything. You'd still recognise me."
"It's something Jimmy started doing. It offers a sense of privacy and it's infinitely harder to identify a person in a photo with a mask on."
My mouth and throat get really dry. I decide to just nod in lieu of asking any more questions.
Gazing through the tinted windows at the gallery, I watch as gowned ladies and tuxedoed men stroll leisurely up the steps and through the arch.
Privilege drips from them in the form of clothes, jewellery, and attitude.
"You trust me, right?" Max asks.
I tear my eyes away from them to look back at him. "Only with my heart."
His eyes soften as he squeezes my hand. "And I'm gonna take care of it.
Just be the good girl I know you are. The one that read me yesterday when I told Jimmy you were busy.
I don't give you enough credit sometimes, Little One, and I should.
You read my play. Just do the same in there.
And remember, I'm working tonight. I might have to leave you every now and then, but in that dress, I can assure you, I'll have my eyes on you.
Nothing should go wrong. We aren't expecting any surprises. "
He lifts my mask and kisses me softly. His tongue skates over my lips, tasting me. I moan and he breaks our kiss, sliding the mask down again and ushering me from the car.
"Wait, aren’t you wearing a mask?"
"No," he says, entwining our fingers. "I'm six foot four and everyone knows me. It's pretty hard for me to go incognito."
He tries to tug me from the car again, but I pull my hand from his.
"Wait," I plea.
He stills.
"Little One, I can see you're stalling. It's going to be okay. You might even have fun tonight."
I sigh and draw courage from his attentive grey eyes. "Okay."
We step onto the red carpet, where Bronson waits for us.
The whole frontage is lit up, lights shimmering in the dresses and heels that pass me by.
I understand the appeal of the mask now that I'm wearing one.
Just like a pair of sunglasses seem to hide emotions—eyes shifting, pupils dilating—a person's tells, the mask hides expressions—weaved brows, blushing cheeks.
The mask allows me to observe the other guests inconspicuously.
Bronson and Max flank me, both boys tall and powerful and standing so close that I can smell them. Even though the mood between the three of us is light, their positions warn me to exercise caution.
We are pat-down at the door. The guard touches Max's gun, but ignores it. The female guard frisks me gently, barely touching me. With the slightest hesitation, I enter the bright gallery.
The space is wondrous. It's white on white.
Glass. Shiny. Men in suits with earpieces stand staunchly in every corner.
Stunning girls walk elegantly around, almost untouchable in their perfection and yet, they display product on their being, beckoning guests to approach. Necklaces. Earrings. Rings. Bracelets.
The overhead lights are absorbed by the facets in the diamonds, making them flicker with additional colours. Colours not found in the diamond without the addition of light.
A lady in a suit approaches us with a silver tray. I expect to be handed some liquid courage, but instead I'm staring down at a thin, softly-looped, white gold chain holding a delicate deep-pink solitaire diamond.
"This is yours for the night, Cassidy," the lady says.
I hold my breath as she picks the necklace up and moves behind me.
Max's fingers slip from mine, the absence of him seeping deep into my bones.
She touches my shoulder with her wrist as she places the piece around my neck.
I stand very still even though about twenty sets of eyes have fallen to my décolletage.
I desperately try to steady my pulse, but it's an attempt to no avail.
My breathing becomes laborious and my mouth parts.
I dare not touch the necklace. It feels heavy even though it's nearly weightless.
"That's about $150k you're wearing around your neck," Max whispers in my ear.
I gasp.
I can't help it. I stroke the small hard piece situated in the divot between my collarbones.
Max gently lowers my hand. "Try to relax, Little One." I watch as the same serving girl approaches Stacey and fits her with a bracelet and earrings. I find Bronson only a few metres away from us, watching casually and yet with intent.
Swallowing hard, I mutter, "It appears we're all working tonight."
"Let's get a drink." He touches my waist. "All Jimmy wants is for you to wear it."