Jacob
The girl is small, practically petite in the giant ball gown she’s dressed in. “Ella.” Her name slides across my tongue as I take the hand she offers and bring the back of it to my lips.
Ella is a sweet little liar, but I find that my earlier intentions of unmasking her and leading her out evaporate as her skin comes into contact with my own. My eyes shut of their own accord and I know … I won’t be able to release her tonight.
Her chest heaves slightly, the round curves of her breasts threatening to spill over her neckline.
My cock twitches in the thin trousers I put on for this party.
Fuck, I’d really prefer to be in something a bit more restrictive right now.
Denim. Slacks. Something that wouldn’t showcase how hard I am for her so obviously.
All she’s done is let me take her hand and give me a fake name.
My cock doesn’t give two shits. It wants her.
“I hope I wasn’t presumptuous,” I say in an effort to distract myself. “Do you have a partner?” I pray she doesn’t. If she does, I’ll have to discreetly flag down one of the security guards hiding on the fringes of the ballroom and have him silently removed.
“Oh, no.” She shakes her head, golden curls sliding over her bare shoulders. “No partner.”
What do you know … my prayers are answered.
Contracting my fingers around hers, I offer her a smile. “Then, you wouldn’t mind if I took that position?” Say yes, my sweet liar. Please say yes.
Ella’s head tips back and her doe brown eyes scan the length of me—from my face down to my boots and back again.
“What, exactly, does a partner do?” she asks.
Her voice quavers slightly, but she firms her chin and keeps her eyes upward and focused.
Strong and brave despite the obvious fact that she’s out of her element.
Images of pulling down the neckline of her Victorian-style ball gown and baring those beautiful breasts of hers as I show her exactly what having me as her partner will do for her flash through my mind.
My cock strains and I have to shift slightly, turning her to put her back to the crowd so as not to reveal the effect she has on me to all and sundry.
“We dance, of course,” I tell her. “You allow me to offer you drinks and food and … take care of you.” In more ways than simply feeding her hunger and slaking her thirst.
Ella glances down and seems to realize that our hands are still melded together. Pain so visceral that it’s almost real shoots through me as she pulls her fingers away and then gently attempts to lift the low hem of her neckline up. Bless the fabric, it doesn’t move.
“That’s a beautiful gown,” I say, trying to give her something else to focus on rather than her attempt to lessen the amount of cleavage she’s currently displaying.
I can practically see her upstairs in one of the dozens of guest rooms, bent over a four-poster bed with those skirts flipped over her ass and her breasts flush against a mattress as I fuck into her from behind.
Fuck, but I can’t be thinking like that.
Not yet. My father and mother would lambast me with their disapproving words later if I go missing from this damned party of theirs little more than an hour in.
Even if this girl were willing—and I could certainly make her very willing with the right incentive—she strikes me as the shy type.
She deserves a dance or two and the gentlemanly behavior that’s as much of a mask for me as the damned bit of fabric and plastic sitting on my face.
So, I will give it to her. Dances. Kisses.
Whispers of poetry in deference to her beauty.
Then, I’ll spirit her away into a whole new world. A world in which the center is her, on her knees, with my cock sliding between her lips.
A hunger like that which I’ve never known attacks my insides, clawing at my gut until forcing a smile to my lips is like chewing on glass.
“O-oh, thank you.” Ella’s hands sweep over the folds of the lower half of her dress as she responds to my compliment.
“Victorian?” I inquire.
Her eyes flick up to meet mine, her lashes darkened by makeup. “Y-yes,” she stutters out. “Or at least, it was an attempt. The … erm … neckline is far lower than it should be.”
And thank fuck for that, I think as my own gaze lowers to the evidence of her comment. Ripe tits press upward, damn near spilling from the aforementioned neckline. I wonder if her breasts will be tipped with nipples the color of pale peaches or ripe and rosy red.
“An attempt?” I tilt my head to the side. “Don’t tell me you made it yourself?” My gaze sweeps over the costume with more attention than I’d previously given it.
“I did.”
I take in the creamy folds and layers of fabric. Then, without preamble, I reach down and touch it. “What was your inspiration?”
“Queen Victoria’s wedding gown,” she replies, her voice breathy. It makes my smile widen. She’s not very accustomed to hiding her interest, and I have no interest in hiding my desire for her.
As for her gown—I see it, now. The lace around the neckline, the off-white ivory color, and, when I look back up, the braided upper half of her reminds me of a painting I recall seeing once of the late queen she used as her inspiration.
“It’s splendid work,” I say, meaning the words.
A blush steals over her cheeks and when she ducks her head, I can’t help but find myself enamored by the innocent reaction.
Women such as the ones I’m used to usually flutter their lashes at compliments like that.
They brag, preen, and don’t hesitate to flaunt their assets and talents. Not her, though.
Not ‘Ella’.
A bark of laughter escapes me a moment later and her head snaps back, a frown creasing the skin of her brow above her mask. She’d called herself Ella. Of course, she would. I cover my mouth with a hand and turn away, stifling the rest of my chuckles.
“Jacob?” I let my eyes slide shut as all amusement dies. God, the way she says my name shouldn’t be so erotic and yet, it is. I can hear her calling my name as she orgasms all over my fingers, my tongue, my cock.
Reopening my eyes, I fix my attention back on her and shake my head. “I’m sorry. It’s nothing,” I lie. “Just a funny thought.”
That crease in her forehead remains, but I wrap my arm around her and silently urge her toward the gathering crowd in the center of the room as my parents appear at the top of the grand staircase that leads down amongst the crowd.
It’s time to start this party of theirs. I glance down at the woman pressed against my side, and I know that come midnight … I will end this masquerade by revealing my lying Cinderella. When I do, I plan to take her in every way imaginable and when I come inside of her, she’ll be screaming my name.