87. Summer #2
Alice chuckles as I push repeatedly at the button. “Can’t stand between Summer and her stranger.”
I flip her off over my shoulder and press the button again. Damn, this elevator is slow.
“We’ve barely seen her since we got here,” Alice chides as the elevator doors open and we step inside.
“Right, and where have you guys been?” I ask, glaring at both of them.
“Definitely not with one singular guy . . .”
“My room.”
Rafe and Alice answer in unison.
“Right. We’ve all been preoccupied with genitals.”
The ballroom is completely transformed and barely recognizable.
It is decorated like something out of a gothic romance novel and filled with people wearing varying degrees of scandalous costumes.
It’s dark, and the silhouettes of branches spread over the floor like moonlight filtering through a forest. Chandeliers hang from the ceiling, but some masterful illusion makes them seem as if they are hovering midair.
The walls are covered with vines littered with bloodred roses, and a string quartet plays the most hauntingly beautiful music.
Rafe stops at my side, his eyes darting around. “How am I going to find her?”
I look up at Rafe, but before I can answer, large, strong hands brush against my waist, and increasingly familiar arms wrap around me. My stomach flutters, and I lean back into the broad wall of muscle at my back .
“Your phoenix?” the stranger’s deep voice answers, and I glance at him over my shoulder.
If I thought he looked handsome before, it’s nothing compared to now.
He’s wearing a tailored black suit and has a black mask that covers his eyes and nose.
Dark stubble shadows his jaw, highlighting the sharp lines of his face.
I can definitely see differences in how he’s looked the rest of this weekend, and it sends a thrill through me to know that this is the most he’s been himself without my eyes being covered.
This man is breathtaking. So much so that if Rafe replies, I am completely unaware of him.
The stranger said that he would still be wearing a glamour over his face, enough that I won’t really recognize him, but his full, perfect lips are completely him, and they’re irresistible.
“Hello, princess,” the stranger rumbles, turning me in his arms.
I glance at his lips, and they’re even more tempting now. “Hello, Stranger.”
I can practically feel Alice and Rafe roll their eyes before they leave, but I don’t care. I can’t take my eyes off him.
“You found me.”
“You doubted me?”
“No?.?.?.” I shake my head, looking at his lips again.
He lifts me into his arms, his large hands cupping my ass. “You missed me,” he says, and it’s not a question, but I nod anyway. He leans into me, whispering, “I have a surprise.” He nips the tip of my ear, and I shiver. “I only have a glamour on my eyes and my hair.”
My breath hitches, and I try to see past the mask, searching for some recognition. He feels familiar, but he always has, and I realize now how important someone’s eyes are to their persona. My fingers itch to pull the mask from his face, but I know I shouldn’t. He’s taking enough of a risk.
“Everything else is me,” he says, pulling back, scanning my eyes.
“You?.?.?.” I study his face, and the combination of his eyes and hair being wrong, along with the mask?.?.?. I can’t get a good picture.
He sets me back on my feet, and I take a step back to get a good look at him. He seems a little taller, his shoulders broader. I pull my bottom lip between my teeth.
He cups my chin, tilting my head up. “Kiss me,” he says, and the sound of his true voice almost sends me to my knees.
I look at his lips again, flicking my tongue over my own. “Not here.” I’ve thought about this moment for a very long time, and I don’t want our first actual kiss to be in a room full of people.
“Take me somewhere, then,” he commands, quirking a brow and tugging my chin down a little with his thumb.
I look around. “Let’s dance first.” I’m not sure why I’m feeling so fucking nervous, but he takes it in stride.
He leads me to the dance floor and pulls me close.
I rest my palm against his broad shoulder as he places his hand on my waist. He kisses the knuckles of my free hand before wrapping his fingers around it and pulling it to his chest. Our bodies are pressed together as we glide over the dance floor.
I have no fucking idea how to dance, but he moves so confidently it’s as easy as breathing, my body craving the opportunity to follow his lead.
The stranger dips me dramatically, and my breath catches in my throat.
He looks down at me, the faux blue irises nearly consumed by the black of his pupils.
He pulls me back to my feet, and we slide back into the dance, spinning with the other couples until he lifts me into the air.
When he slowly lowers me back to the ground, he does so by sliding me down the front of his body, and I can’t take any more.
I pull back and slide my hand into his, leading him through the mass of writhing couples on the dance floor.
Outside in the garden, we pass guests standing beneath the stars, conversing, kissing, touching.
I continue past them all, down the stairs to a secluded gazebo.
The music from the ballroom just reaches here, but it’s soft, the whisper of an echo.
Fae lights hover within the small structure, bathing it in a golden glow.
The stranger looks up through the glass panes of the roof at the stars and then back at me.
I stand in the center and watch him. The distance between us is nearly painful, but now that we are here, I can’t move.
He prowls closer and cups my cheek. “Private enough?”
I nod, barely breathing as I glance at his lips, mine parting in anticipation. The stranger pulls me against him, and I lift onto my tiptoes. The ache between us is almost palpable. He bends a little until our lips are nearly touching.
“Wait.” I place my fingertips against his lips.
He lifts an eyebrow.
“Is this a bad idea?” I ask, slowly lowering my fingers, awaiting his reply.
“Yes,” he says, his intense gaze boring into me. “But I don’t much care. ”
My breath is so shallow that my head swims a little. Do I care? At this moment? I would crawl over glass to kiss him.
His lips brush over mine, and time stops.
His lips are softer than I could have imagined, and for a moment I forget how to kiss.
How to do literally anything. I don’t move, but my eyes flutter closed as I share his breath.
He feathers his lips over mine again, and his fingers tunnel into my hair, tightening into a fist. His other hand is on my waist, pulling me closer.
Slowly, I open for him, and the second his tongue flicks against my lips and slides into my mouth, I am completely undone. I’m not sure at what point I grasped his shirt, but it’s now crumpled in my fisted hand.
I moan, and when he tangles his tongue with mine, I can’t help but deepen the kiss.
He groans and backs me up until I’m pressed against the pillar of the gazebo, his mouth moving insistently on mine, and just like on the dance floor, I eagerly follow his lead.
His rings dig into me, and the pain makes my eyes roll.
I rock my hips against him, seeking friction and so much more.
He pulls back reluctantly, both of us panting and clinging to each other.
“Let me make you come,” he whispers desperately.
It’s almost a plea, but his lips descend on mine again before I can process the question, much less answer.
I dig my fingers into his hair, and when he bites my lip hard, I moan desperately for him.
My pussy throbs with need, and I know I’m drenched.
I can feel the liquid heat sliding down my thighs.
“Let me make you come, little fae,” he groans into the kiss.
Fuck, how do I say no to this? How do I stop this? How do I deny him?
I know we shouldn’t, but . . .
Fuck.
His hand trails from my hip to between my legs, and when he feels how fucking wet my panties are, he snarls ferally.
“We-we shouldn’t,” I say, though my voice is so embarrassingly unconvincing.
“We should,” he corrects, kissing me again. His voice is laden with a desperate need that mirrors my own. “We should, Summer.”
Something about the way he says my name, about the fact that this is the first time he has ever said my name to me, completely undoes me.
“Make me come,” I moan, giving in to what we both want.
His growl against my lips sends a thrill through me.
He slides his hand into my panties, and with the first brush of his finger over my clit, I feel my orgasm building.
I have been so desperate for this, so fucking ready for it.
My body has been thrumming with need since we got here, since I heard what he did for me, that he killed for me.
“Mine,” he growls, slowly sliding one finger inside my pussy as he rubs his erection against my hip. “So fucking tight. I’d tear you in half.”
I moan, greedily opening my thighs and rocking my hips, needing more from him.
He teases me with shallow thrusts of his finger, but then he slowly gives me it all and works a second finger inside me.
My pussy throbs and tightens around his finger, my slick walls clenching around him.
My clit is pulsing, aching for some attention, but I know he’s avoiding it. He wants to prolong this.