12. 8 Weeks Earlier – Halloween
12
8 WEEKS EARLIER – HALLOWEEN
SCOTT
A piggyback seemed the safest option for carrying her without revealing the exact effect she’s having on me. But the feel of Angel’s tits pressing into my back, the boning of that corset-like costume digging in, is not helping. Not at all. Her thighs wrap round my waist, her feet locking over my cock which is growing increasingly harder by the second.
I was going to continue a tour of Will’s ridiculous mansion. Show her his erotic art gallery. Show her some of the rooms he’s set up with mirrors, rubber sheets and all manner of toys — he’s even got a swing in one. I get the impression she’d like the place.
But now, I just want to grab that envelope I saw Will with earlier. It’s probably still up in his off-limits bedroom. Then I’ll know she’s got her pay sorted and won’t need to think about it again.
Because then? Then I want to fuck her.
Fuck her so good that she can’t think of any more bratty comebacks. So good that she can’t think at all.
Her calling me Dad rings through my ears as I hold her tightly on my back and take the stairs two at a time. I’m older for sure, but definitely not old enough to be her dad … big brother, maybe.
I take us straight to Will and Ashley’s master suite. The door is locked when I twist the handle. The key is hidden on top of the frame and I open it up carefully. Luckily there are no occupants to disturb.
The door snicks shut behind us. With two paces, I get to the side table and grab the fat envelope that had been propped there earlier. ‘Is this what you’re looking for?’ I pass it up to my passenger and as she takes it, sliding to the floor. I feel every curve as she presses against me on her way down.
‘Whoa.’ She opens it and pulls out three smaller envelopes, all equally fat.
The names Ghost Face and Hades are written on two of them, the third has the words Bumblebee’s waitress.
She clasps her envelope between her elegant fingers. ‘Do you think it’s ok to just … take it ?’
‘Of course. I’ll explain it was me in the morning. He won’t even notice.’
She holds on to her envelope and hands the others back. ‘That must be nice, to not notice losing a stack of cash.’
‘The perils of selling an app for a small fortune.’ I shrug, but I’d never judge Will for what he does with his money. Not when he gives as much of it as possible to his friends or his community. Not when he’s donated most of it to charity.
‘I’ll get these to Ghost Face and Hades later.’
‘I don’t think I met Hades?’ She scrunches her nose as if in distaste, but on her it’s cute.
‘He’s the bouncer. This anonymous thing bother you?’
I’m seconds away from breaking Will’s number one rule and begging for her name.
She pauses, as if really considering this. ‘Not exactly. I guess it’s kind of … exciting.’
Anonymous we continue to be, then.
Placing a hand on her hip, I tug her a couple of inches towards me as I say, ‘Now, you’ve got your money,’ I pull her closer again with the other hand, ‘you’ve had your sweets … anything else you need?’
Slipping over the silk of her costume, cupping her ass, I press her against me.
‘Yes.’
We’re so close, her breath is soft on my face.
If I were to lean forwards a mere inch, I could feel what her lips were like on mine. But I shouldn’t kiss her. That’s too … intimate for this. This should just be fun, shouldn’t it?
‘Yeah?’ I find her gaze, flicking my eyes between her baby blues. Grateful that now her pay is sorted, I can follow the lead of my dick and do what I’ve been fantasising about all night. I thicken at the thought of it.
‘You promised me you’d show me the art gallery.’ She looks smug.
Tease.
She knows exactly what she’s doing.
‘So I did,’ I grind out.
She slips away from me and giggles as she mounts the bed, balancing on the edge, almost a metre up in the air.
‘Do I get another ride ?’ Her mask jiggles from what I guess is from an exaggerated eyebrow waggle.
She chuckles at her own joke and then beckons me over. Again, I turn my back to her, magnetised to her wants. She launches herself at my shoulders without warning. Luckily, seven years of hauling beer barrels around means I can take it without collapsing back onto her. Although being on top of her is tempting.
We leave Will and Ashley’s private quarters as we found them, minus the envelope which is now crushed between Angel’s spectacular tits and my back, blocking the feel of her pressed against me.
The art gallery is a good idea, actually. Hopefully it’ll be empty. I’d be a poor friend if I desecrated Will’s room. And I don’t want to rush this.
I piggyback her straight to the gallery — to my friends’ personal collection of erotica — and I’m relieved, yet not surprised, to find it unoccupied. No bed. No sex swing. It’s understandable.
There is another of those chaise longues that Ashley’s obsessed with, along with the still life displays of fruit and flowers that she creates to look like pussies. I mean, she’s not told me that directly, but when I see them all dripping and open like that, I can’t think of anything else.
‘Woah.’ Angel dismounts and half staggers towards a painting, too distracted by it to watch where she’s going.
I shut the door, then turn to watch her taking in the paintings, sketches and photos — that fucking pink tongue poking out again — sometimes tipping her head to the side as if examining it from another perspective. I’d love to capture her entranced look. Captivated. Beautiful, even behind the mask.
If I know Will at all, and after all these years, I’m pretty sure I do, then I know there’ll be a polaroid camera in here somewhere. In case anyone gets inspired. In case anyone wants a memento.
Of course, there’s a strict no filming rule at the party. Protecting identities is paramount. But Will loves photography, so this one small exception is allowed.
Eventually, I spy the camera on a side table near the door, a silver dish of papaya pussy spilling next to it.
Angel’s pausing in front of a photo that had to have been taken by someone kneeling on the floor in front of the model, shooting up her body. The model’s navel dimples the soft curve of her belly, giving way to shadows under her breasts. The light shines on her skin, glancing off her nipples.
Angel flicks her attention to me.
‘See something you like?’ It’s a struggle to keep my voice cool, but I manage it. She seems to enjoy these cat and mouse games.
‘I really like this one. It’s an interesting angle. I’m just wondering how the photographer might have … composed it.’
I walk slowly towards her, placing my hands on her hips when I reach her, easing her back somewhat. Following my lead, she steps slowly backwards a couple paces until her wings flare against the wall. I reach out and flick the lock on the door beside us. Her lips give a slight twitch in response, but she doesn’t say anything. Still my move.
Standing in front of her, I hold her gaze as I drop down to my knees, tipping my head back to see all the way up her body.
‘Maybe like this?’ I whisper.
She gives a single shake of her head. ‘Not quite.’
Her shoulders wriggle and she slips off her wings, easing them down over her arms. Her hands disappear behind her back, a quick movement, and then her dress drops to the floor, pooling around her feet.
My breath catches in my throat at the sight of her porcelain skin, her tits only covered by a few locks of her hair.
Fuck. I want her.
‘Beautiful.’ She truly is. Soft curves for miles from where I’m on my knees for her.
A scrap of underwear covers her: a triangle of silk and strings. I want to rip it away but I stop myself. Instead, I reach across for the camera and her eyes widen.
There’s a cartridge loaded; I’ve not used one of these cameras for a while but I get the gist. Point and click.
Adjusting my position, I sit back a little to try to get the right angle.
Click.
There’s a whirr and it starts to spit out a print.
Plucking the photograph straight from the machine, I give it a shake. The image blooms in faded tones.
I pass it up to her. ‘A replica.’
‘If I get this,’ she says softly, ‘what memento do you get?’
Carefully, I place the camera on the floor next to us, then skim my hands from her pretty feet, up her smooth legs, to catch hold of the band of her thong.
Curling a finger under the elastic on either side, I pause and look up at her for permission. She kind of shifts, fidgeting in a way that seems frustrated.
‘This looks very … uncomfortable. You want me to take care of it for you?’
She nods.
‘Say it.’
‘Yes.’
‘Yes what?’ I need to hear her consent.
‘Yes, please .’ Unh , that word on her lips. ‘Take it off.’
I stop myself tearing it from her. Determined not to show how close to the brink I am, I smirk. ‘Demanding.’
She lets out a laugh, and I inch the fabric backwards and forwards to ease it down. I have to grit my teeth; her saying please makes me borderline feral.
A glimpse of a tattoo appears just inside her hip bone. I pause a second to study the tiny hummingbird, so delicate and detailed, embellishing her most intimate area. It hovers as if her pussy is the sweetest flower, and it’s ready to dip inside her.
I force myself to breathe as I trace the shape.
An urge to follow the bird’s lead and get my own taste intensifies.
Angel’s not the only one needing a sugar fix.
As I feather a kiss over the tattoo, I catch the faintest scent of her sweetness, and it’s the final straw.
I work her thong further down her thighs, past her calves, then lift up one foot and then the other to slide it all the way off. Still on my knees, I hold her gaze as I ball it up and tuck it in my back pocket.
‘This is mine now,’ I growl.
Honestly, being this close to her is starting to affect me.
She’s completely naked apart from the mask and her jewellery. The soft, smooth curves of her body stretch upwards from my low vantage point — a real-life version of that photo she was admiring. Now it’s my turn to stare.
We’re surrounded by erotic art, but she’s by far the most sensual art form in this room.
I lift her right leg, and a gold chain with a small black stone glints around her ankle as I raise it up to rest over my shoulder.
I swallow, trying to stifle a groan as her pussy opens for me. Tracing her soft skin, my fingers find their way to the top of her thighs, and I hold her in place, pressed against the wall.
Raising up slightly, I press a kiss to her stomach and then feather my lips down; the feel of her, the taste of her, it’s intoxicating. Her hands sink into my hair as I work my mouth over her thin strip of curls, and as I try to pull away to check if she’s okay, she pulls my head back to her.
‘Don’t you dare stop,’ she whimpers.
‘You like this?’ I murmur through my kisses, and then trail my tongue along her pussy, capturing some of the wetness that’s glistening in the light.
‘You fucking know it.’
I give a long suck on her clit and she almost doubles over until I suddenly stop. She lets out a moan.
‘ Mmmm, ’ I vibrate my lips against her. ‘Me too.’
‘You trying to make me beg?’ she pants.
‘No.’ I slip her leg off my shoulder and stand, so close that I’m almost pressed against her. ‘I’m trying to make you more comfortable.’
I grasp around her ass and lift her, relishing how her naked body is pressed up against me as she wraps her legs around me. I lift her over to the chaise longue. Resting her on the edge, she reclines back like some sort of queen, perfectly propped. I can still see her face — her unwavering gaze. Her teeth nibble her lip as if she’s unsure.
‘But you can beg … if you want.’