11. 8 Weeks Earlier – Halloween
11
8 WEEKS EARLIER – HALLOWEEN
JOSIE
O utrageous.
This guy has me eating out of the palm of his hand.
Like, literally.
Fuck, I want to suck on that lollipop, even while he’s still holding it. I’ve been immersed in erotica for hours. People — strangers — having the best time, and my job was just to serve them. Not join in.
Although Abi said I could.
Zombie said I could, too.
And now I’m here in this private room, with the sexiest person I’ve encountered in a long time. The feel of his gaze, his mere presence tonight, has done things to my insides. And now he’s requesting a trick .
Shit.
Mind blank.
If only I had a cherry with a stem. I could tie a knot in it in seconds. Show him what I’m capable of with my tongue. I’d learnt that skill after watching a film with Ella, we’d both spent hours trying to master it. But I don’t have any cherries — not seen a single one on any of those fruit displays.
I slowly dip my head to the side and spin a smile to my lips, trying to look sexy while racking my brains for what I can do.
Glancing around, I try to catch some inspiration. Bookcases flank the walls, save for the smoking hot photograph. A huge desk is laid out in front of some French doors. There are leather chairs and smooth parquet flooring. It has a kind of timeless, vintage class. Cosy, academic, yet sexy.
‘That’s a hard one,’ I drawl.
His eyebrow cocks at the euphemism; a smile flickers across his cheek.
‘No time to prepare,’ I say breathily, stepping down, out of my shoes, as I hold eye contact. ‘I’m not sure what you’d find … impressive. ’
‘Maybe try a couple of tricks then?’ He smirks. ‘You want to make sure you earn the lollipop, don’t you?’
‘I can’t do a handstand here,’ I muse, as if it’s the gravest of things to avoid. ‘I’d probably lose my mask.’
He nods solemnly, playing along. ‘And you know the rules about masks, right?’
I can’t help but break my character and argue, ‘How come you’re not wearing one?’
‘This is my mask.’ He shrugs. ‘Can’t tell what I look like.’
‘ Shame ,’ I reply in a whisper, my eyes lingering on what I suspect is a beautiful face under all that paint.
The air feels electric between us, charged, and we breathe deeply in rhythm together. No, I’m virtually panting when he says, ‘So, you can do handstands?’
‘I can do a lot of things,’ I say, turning his “I know about a lot of things” on its head.
And then I slowly push my feet apart and sink down into the splits, not breaking eye contact with him.
He licks his lips. His lips. His fucking lips — as if I’m the lollipop.
Holding his gaze, I dip my head to the side. ‘Treat.’ I stick my hand up to him in demand.
He pulls me up swiftly and I fall against him to steady myself. His free hand flattens against my back, heat from his touch searing through my costume. That tight t-shirt is not lying about what’s beneath. I note the hard ridges of his body as I reach past him and pluck the lolly out of his grip.
Staying exactly where he’d pulled me, I unfurl the twisted wrapper in one go and catch Zombie’s white eyes as I suck it into my mouth. The hand at my back tenses.
When the sugar hits my tongue — a burst of pineapple — I can’t stop my eyes from shutting, a moan escaping.
I’ve earnt this.
Calloused fingers stroke my cheek, feather light, and I bring the lolly out with a pop, looking through my lashes to see how close he really is.
So close. A whisper between my lips and his.
His eyes flicker to my mouth.
‘You want a taste?’
His thumb drags along my bottom lip, pulling it down slightly before releasing it, and he lets out a deep hum of agreement.
With a cheeky smile, I press the lollipop into his mouth and push myself off him, easing around him to the desk he’s leaning on. I trail my fingers across the smooth oak as he tracks my every move. I slink away, just a couple of steps and then reach for the crystal bowl filled with sweets. Barefoot, I’m on my tip toes to stretch across the surface, my costume flashing a lot of skin. And, not for the first time tonight, I’m aware of how acutely I’m being watched.
I select another lollipop and slowly push to straighten up. Unwrapping it, I can feel his gaze heavy on me, so I take my time to suck it into my mouth.
There’s a loud crunch. His jaw is tight. I’m affecting him and it’s more delicious than the candy.
With the sweet in my mouth, I hollow my cheeks, watching him as he watches me. Running my lips over the curved edges, I groan and suck on it harder.
The tension radiating from him is almost palpable. The air crackling between us.
I slip the lollipop out. ‘If only Apollo paid in sweets,’ I flick the remainder into the wastepaper basket, ‘we’d be sorted. Any other bright ideas where he might have put the money?’
Suddenly the door bursts open and a couple fall into the room, moaning and grabbing at their last few threads of costume. They haven’t noticed us and bump against a bookcase, oblivious.
The man is wrenching down his boxers, his dick springing free.
I whip around to eyeball Zombie. What do we do now?
He jerks his head to behind the desk, indicating a second exit.
We move as one as he catches my hand and dart from the room as stealthily as possible.
Damp cold hits my bare feet as I step outside onto wet paving stones. Shutting the door behind us, we sprint on tiptoe across the terrace to a door at the other end. Goosebumps rush across my skin.
Blissfully, the door isn’t locked and we dive through it into a lushly carpeted hallway.
Warm again.
Along we go past doors heaving with groups and couples writhing and giggling and moaning.
Reaching the entrance hall, we both crash towards a velvety chaise longue, laughing as we fall onto the seat, a tangle of limbs and wings.
I kick my bare feet into the air. ‘Lost my shoes on our escape.’
The zombie’s eyes widen and he turns back the way we came, looking down the hall. ‘You want me to go and rescue them?’
‘Nah, it’ll be fine. I’ll get them later when the current occupants have … finished .’
He sits up as if to go. ‘You can’t walk around barefoot, you might hurt yourself.’
Rolling my eyes, I retort, ‘I’ll be fine … Dad .’
A muscle in his jaw tightens. ‘ Dad , huh? You know … petulant children should go to bed early or …’
I flick an eyebrow at him. ‘Or get a spanking?’
‘Fuck, Angel.’ He grasps his chest. ‘You’ll give this old man a heart attack.’
‘How old are you, anyway?’
‘Not very. Older than you.’
‘I’m—’
He presses a finger to my lips. ‘Anonymous, remember.’
I roll my eyes again in my best bratty impression, and it’s his turn to smirk.
‘Now,’ he sits up on his knees, untangling himself from me, ‘can’t have you getting hurt.’
His touch trails down my arms, skimming over my stomach to my thighs, then down my legs, all the way to my feet. He picks up my right foot, checking it over and raising it to his mouth, kissing the instep.
‘Not a pretty foot like this,’ he murmurs through his kiss. His stubble grazes my sensitive skin and a delicious shudder ripples through me.
I drag the toes on my left foot down his chest, over the rough embroidered logo of a bull’s head and over to where I guess his nipple would be. ‘Don’t leave this one out. It’s pretty, too.’
He shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he opens them, those white lenses filled with black pits bore into me. Scorchingly slow, he lowers my foot and traces his hands over to the one trying to twerk his nipple. He raises it to his mouth. Instead of feathering kisses on it like the other one, he grazes my sole with his teeth and gives a strong suck, making my back arch as I gasp.
With the sting still receding, he’s already dropped my foot and climbed off the sofa. He squats down in front of me, facing away and taps over his shoulder.
‘Climb aboard. We’ve still got your wages to find.’