Chapter Three
Scarlett
Ugh, why does he order two drinks? Now I have to follow him to wherever he is going, like a little fucking puppy.
These men and their power trips.
Four more hours, I keep telling myself. I only have four more hours left before we are allowed off the floor.
Those of us who marked X on the list will do the cleanup, while those who ‘hearted’ will be whisked off with their tricks for the night.
I’d clean cat shit with my bare hands if it meant never being used like that.
Some people like sex and don’t care much about who they have it with.
I’m not a prude by any means; in fact, being a ballet dancer, I am naked a lot of the time.
Quick changes, co-ed dressing rooms for the corps—I've seen a lot of dick in my day, and more people than I’d like to admit know what my boobs look like.
But sex… no. I don’t have sex. Or well, I haven’t had it. Not yet.
I’m not waiting for Mr. Right or some bullshit; I just want it to be nice.
I want to have sex with a man I can talk to and who likes me.
Someone who can make love and not just bang it out.
I just… my mom had men around a lot, and I saw them treat her like crap.
I never want that in my life. Ever. I’d rather never have sex than have it with someone who doesn’t respect me as a human being first and foremost.
We reach a table at the far corner of the Diamond Room with a view of the New York streets below. The windows must be triple-paned glass because all I can hear is the string quartet in the corner and nary a honk from outside.
The man is wearing a gold rooster mask. He is tall, like six-five or taller, and has graying hair—not totally gray, but enough to know he is older.
His muscles harden his jacket but aren’t bulging.
I don’t dare look down at his crotch, but the pants don’t hide much there either.
He must be a pretty big guy because there is no concealing the slight slope protruding from his Armanis.
“Would you like me to set your drink on the table, Sir?” I ask, doing my best to sound attentive and bored at the same time.
“No,” he answers.
“Where would you like it?” I ask, feeling frustrated. Fucking power trip.
“Have a seat,” he says without any explanation.
“I’m working.” I flash him a plastic grin. “It’s not permitted.”
“You’re working for me, so sit down.”
He isn’t very nice about it, but I sit and let out a huffing breath. I have passive-aggression down to a science.
“I didn’t realize you owned Satin Catering.” I widen my grin.
“I’ll be signing the check that pays for this event.” He remains cold and aloof as he also takes a seat. I could swear the bulge in his expensive-ass pants gets bulgier.
Sliding the extra drink over to me, he asks, “What’s your name?”
“Red Mask,” I answer. “It’s a masquerade ball; we don’t do names.” I offer another snide grin. “And I don’t drink.” I slide the cocktail—which would definitely put me on my ass—right back to him.
“With masked strangers, you mean? You do drink. Most young women your age are happy to swallow a glass or two. This,” he smells the scotch, “is really good stuff. Better than you’ll likely ever get.” He slides my glass back to me. “Try it.”
Fuck him, seriously.
I bend forward so that no one can hear me and speak as quickly as I can because this is definitely not allowed—especially for an X.
Whispering, I say, “I don’t drink with strange men, you’re right.
I don’t drink at work, I don’t drink with my boss, and I don’t drink in a place where I might end up in a compromising position.
So, as I said, for tonight…” I slide the drink back to him. “I don’t drink.”
“Red Mask,” he says, leaning back.
“I need to get back to work.” I stand up.
“Sit down.” His command is sharp and harsh, and I sit, just a little scared.
“Thank you. Since you are indeed the Red Mask on our list, I noticed an ‘X’ by your name. So, whether you drink this four-hundred-dollar glass of scotch or not has no bearing on whether you will be compromised this evening. I’m not in the habit of coercing consent. Frankly, I don’t have to.”
Arrogant, I want to say, but I keep my mouth shut and take the glass back.
“Thank you.” I soften my tone. “I will drink with you, Mr. Rooster, because I need this job. So if getting women fired is your idea of fun…”
“No. Offering snarky canapé servers a nice glass of spirits is what I consider a good time.” He raises his glass to me, and I have to smile. “And it’s Cock. Golden Cock.”
He is charming for a mature man—I have to give him that—and obnoxious. I take a sip of the scotch, and oh my God, is it smooth and delicious.
“I’m not calling you that, ever… but,” I laugh, “this is so good. Incredibly amazing. Definitely worth a quickie in the coat room.” I wink, though I’m not sure if he catches it.
“I’ll take it wherever I can get it.” He laughs too, and that shuts me up. And he notices. “You did mark an X by your name. What would it take to make your heart as red as your mask?”
“Nothing,” I say softly. “I don’t… I’m not. Some people do…” Fuck, I feel like I’m going to throw up.
“I do.” He takes another sip. “I’m one of those people who does, and I enjoy it—especially masked. The anonymity is fun. No strings, no names, only pleasure. I can give you memories—and an orgasm—you’ll never forget.”
Fuck, I can hardly breathe.
“Good for you,” is my lame response.
“And for you.” His plump lips caress the edge of his glass before he takes a sip and swallows. “Especially for you.”
I must be beet red. I take another sip of scotch because I am about to ditch the dude and just want one more taste. It really is good… damn rich people.
“Thank you, Sir. You’re right, the scotch is amazing. Lucky you for being wealthy enough to have it whenever you want. If you don’t mind, though, I must get back to work.”
I stand and find I am shaky on my feet—not because I am drunk or anything near it, but because I am so fucking aroused by Mr. Cock and his dripping hot conversation.
“As I said, I’m your boss. Your job is to pass hors d'oeuvres, but,” he fans his arm in a sweeping motion, “as you can see, people are sitting and having conversations. No one is that interested in vegan garden trimmings at present.” He leans back in his seat.
“I like when things are anonymous. There are no questions afterward, just a mutually enjoyable evening. Two people fucking in masks, fulfilling unspoken desires, perhaps. What is your sexual fantasy? Just tell me one. You don’t have to change your mark, but I’m curious what a woman with legs that I could worship for the rest of my days wants to do in bed. ”
“And? What happens after I tell you my fantasy?” I start having trouble breathing because I am so turned on. He is a hot, fucking sexy mess of dominance and charm, and salt-and-pepper hair. I do not have a Daddy kink, but shit.
“Well, two things can happen depending on what you choose. We can change your mark to a red heart, and I make you a deal… or we don’t change your heart, and I leave here always wondering what your moans sound like.”
My heart slams against my chest.
“What kind of deal?” I am barely able to speak.
I have to get my shit together.
“You talk to me, and then we see where that leads.”
To nowhere, I tell myself. He just said it: he likes to fuck and fly.
“Fine. My fantasy is commitment. You know—marriage, mutual respect, love, and lots of babies… babies everywhere.”
He laughs. “Like a bunny?”
“Ah, not the kind of bunny I bet you’re thinking of, Hugh. There’s nothing playboy about love, actual love. So, gee, looks like we aren’t a match.” I take one more sip, because damn, it is good, and I am about to get up when he leans across the table and gently grabs my arm.
“Love can be a lot of things, and we aren’t a match, that’s true.
But I’m not here to find a missing sock, and neither are you.
” He lets me go but remains intense. “I’m here to drink until I’m drunk on your moans and screams. I know about the little hook when fingering a woman, and that a dip in the backside while my cock is in your pussy will make you cum so hard you’ll see stars.
” He is clearly being sarcastic now because he gives me a little wriggle, like he’s boasting.
“I work out. So I can get it up for several rounds… seconds, thirds, fourths… You’ll tire before I do. ”
Fuck me. Fuck.
“So your fantasy is fingering a girl’s ass?” I really can’t get past that.
“Don’t knock it until you try it.” He is just being straight-up smarmy.
“You’re funny.” I take another sip. “And probably a serial killer. Nice meeting you.” I stand up for one last time.
“I might be, but I’m rich enough to buy my way out of any consequences. Tell me straight. How much would it cost for me to buy you? For the night.”
Fuck him.
“You know what, Mr. Cock? Two grand isn’t worth it.
See, that’s how much Satin Catering is going to pay me for this gig and the one I did two nights ago.
But this shit… this bullshit ‘how much do you cost?’ nonsense…
No. Marriage, babies, and mutual respect—that’s how much I cost, asshole. I can’t be bought. Fuck you.”
I walk out as tears well in my eyes. I didn’t even like babies; I just knew they scared men like him. I need the two grand for rent, but now I am surely going to be fired.
“I can do better than two grand,” he says calmly.
“I’m sure you can,” I toss over my shoulder.
“You have the most gorgeous legs of any woman I’ve ever seen. That’s not a lie. I love that you hate it here as much as I do.” He stands and walks toward me.
I have an instinct to run, but I stay put, unsure of where to go since he seems very athletic.
“Your irreverence is refreshing. I believe if I told you exactly who I was, you wouldn’t give a shit, and I love that too.
” He comes up behind me and touches my neck gently, caressing my tight muscles.
“I’m not going to break you.” He kisses my neck, and a shiver scurries up my body from my toes to the top of my head.
“I’ll give you one hundred thousand dollars for every hour of your time, for the inconvenience of my company. ”
Holy fuck. One hundred thousand dollars?
“Why?” I barely breathe as his hand trails down my body, and I don’t stop it.
That is life-changing money.
“Because you have the audacity to ask. And I don’t often get to talk to people who don’t want something from me.”
And suddenly he is touching me, sliding his fingers under my dress, caressing my inner thigh.
“One hundred thousand dollars is something…” I stop his hand and hold it for a moment, unsure if I want him there so close to my underwear and more…
“Not to me. I make one hundred thousand dollars, give or take, on my investments every few minutes. It hardly registers.” He kisses my neck again and turns me to face him.
As soon as he does, I can feel the hard thickness of his erection on my belly. He is massive and so aroused. I swallow as he threads his fingers into my hair and angles my head back, then plants a feather-light kiss on my mouth.
I laugh nervously. “We have absolutely nothing in common.”
“We’re both wearing masks. That, we have.” He kisses me again—this time with determination. “Open for me, Red. Let me taste you,” he whispers against my mouth and adjusts his hips, just slightly grazing his cock along the plane of my abdomen. “You want this as much as I do.”
God, am I really going to do this?
“One hundred thousand dollars,” I fucking hate that my voice falters, “would change my life.”
He kisses me again, and I open my mouth to taste him. His mouth is scotch and mint, and sex, and man… Fuck. His cock is warm and needy against me.
“For one night, I will give you everything.” He sounds earnest after he breaks from our kiss.
“I’m not a whore,” I say, clarifying as my hands rest on his hips, holding him to me but keeping him at a distance, unsure if I am ready.
“I’m paying you for the inconvenience of my company, not for sex.” He cocks his head and swipes his hand over my ass. “It would be a shame if you didn’t fuck me, but the money is for your time, not your cute ass.” He gives my ass a squeeze.
“What do you want to talk about?”
“You.” He doesn’t elaborate as he kisses me again, and I am a pool of nerves, wetness, and wanton abandon.
“God, you’re too good at this,” I confess, floating with intoxication.
“I am.” His hot breath breezes over my ear, and another shiver runs through me.
“Are twenty-three-year-old women who haven’t done much your thing?”
“No. You are—my thing.”
He kisses me again, and this time his hand goes between my legs. His strong fingers peel the crotch of my thong away from my dripping center and swipe across the wetness to find me embarrassingly ready for him.
“Tell me to stop.” He carefully bites my lower lip and dives one finger into me, and I buck against him. “And I will.”
“I should…” I am trembling as a second finger slides into me.
“What you should do is let me have you tonight. My queen, my Red-Masked beauty. Let me worship you. One night, all pleasure… all you.”
I shiver. My breath is ragged and choked. “I’m going to regret it.”
“You’re going to remember it.” He sucks a kiss into my neck, leaving a bruise, marking me.
“You’re calling the shots tonight, Red. Just remember that.” He kisses my cheek and pulls away from me enough to offer his arm.
And fuck me, I take it.