Masked Innocence Read online

  A glance at my watch got my mind off Brad’s absence and focused on the night ahead. Brad had texted me that he would pick me up at nine-thirty. Three and a half hours didn’t seem like nearly enough time to physically and mentally prepare for the evening’s activities. I increased my pace, headed for my Camry, a small quiver of excitement running recklessly through my body.

  * * *

  I STARTED IN the shower, begging each roommate to leave me and the bathroom alone for the next hour. I shaved my legs, underarms and all but a thin strip down below. I exfoliated vigorously, soaked in a hot bubble bath for twenty minutes, then exfoliated again. Getting out, I wrapped a towel around my body and put light makeup on. I then went to my closet.

  The idea of a sex party was foreign and, as much as I hated to admit it, exciting to me. Images from Eyes Wide Shut filled my head, though I doubted any event of Brad’s would be as cold and reserved as that scene had been. He said we could stop in, see how it works and leave. That was what I needed to keep in mind. That this was a sightseeing expedition and nothing more. My mind wandered back to the threesome that Brad had orchestrated a few weeks ago. How I had agreed to “try it” for ten minutes and at that point I’d be given the opportunity to back out. How, when that time frame had been reached, and his voice had come through the darkness, offering me an escape, I had never been so aroused, and the thought of stopping had seemed pure insanity. I suddenly realized how drug addicts became addicted. The threesome had been my gateway drug, and I now hovered at the edge of the cliff, ready and willing to jump into the dark depths below. More than willing, soaking wet at the thought of it. I knew, without even entering the party, that I would stay.

  Nothing in my closet screamed Sex Party, so I aimed for club wear instead. I chose a red minidress that was tight on the bottom, loose and flowing on top. I ignored Brad’s directive and put on panties, a black lace thong. Slathering my legs in lotion, I was spritzing on perfume when I heard the doorbell ring. I grabbed small faux diamond studs and a black clutch, then headed for the door.

  My roommates Alex and Zach were smoking weed on the couch when I walked through the living room and opened the front door. Brad stood there, dark, delicious and sexy in a white button-up shirt and dark dress slacks. His dark hair and tan stood out in stark contrast to the white shirt. I leaned against the door frame, and his eyes swept over me with an appreciative grin. Stepping forward, he braced a hand on the frame and kissed me, trailing his free hand down my open neckline.

  I pulled away from the kiss and blushed, flicking my eyes inside at my roommates. He chuckled and put his mouth to my ear. “You know people are going to see a lot more than that tonight.” My cheeks burning, I waved to my roommates and pushed him out, toward the limo idling at the curb.

  “Good night, gentlemen,” Brad called out. Alex and Zach giggled in response, and I shut the door, taking Brad’s outstretched hand. We walked to the car, his hand exploring my bare back and short dress along the way, and I swatted his hand as we arrived at the car. Brad opened the door and I ducked inside.

  * * *

  “YOU SHOULD MOVE.” I turned to look at him, confused. We were moving, the limo driving north through town.

  “What? Why?”

  “Your roommates. Weed? You don’t need to get caught up in that.”

  “I’m not gonna ‘get caught up’ in anything.”

  “If the cops bust your house, you are just as likely to be arrested as they are.” I glowered at him, avoiding his reasoning by opening my clutch and pulling out lipstick.

  “I don’t think cops ‘bust’ houses over weed. Besides, I like my house.”

  “Really? What’s your favorite part? The mildew in the shower or the worn-out carpet?”

  “It’s the finicky hot water pressure I adore, thank you very much.”

  I stuck out my tongue at him, uncapping the lipstick and carefully applying it.

  He laughed, grabbing my knee and squeezing it gently. “We have a stop to make on the way.”

  “What kind of stop?”

  “Hair and makeup.” His cell rang and he straightened his legs, reaching in his pocket to pull it out. Glancing at the screen, he silenced the phone and put it back in his pocket.

  “Hair and makeup? I already did all that.”

  He glanced at my worried face with a reassuring smile. “And you look absolutely gorgeous. This is more for the mask aspect of the party. Jessica and Marco are masters of creative disguises. As much as I hate costumes, it does add to the ambience of the party, as well as relax a lot of inhibitions.”

  I gripped my purse and thought of the peephole mask I had tucked inside. Not the sexiest thing in the world, it was the only thing I had that would be considered a mask. I was grateful for the opportunity to choose a different one. “I’d think you would have a closet full of swinger costumes. You know, velvet capes, top hats, canes?”

  He fought a smile and leaned over, brushing my lips with his, the brief contact not nearly enough for me. “I prefer a more discreet approach. And that is pimp attire, not swinger.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Swingers wear suspenders and fedoras, right?” My smart response earned me another silencing kiss, and I grinned against his mouth, stealing an opportunity to grip his hair and deepen the kiss.

  “So.” I tilted my head and looked at him. “You’ll be fine with us just popping into this party, watching some stuff and then leaving?”

  He turned in his seat, my eyes finding mine and holding them hostage. “Of course. Are you getting cold feet?”

  I frowned. “Not cold feet—I’m just a little nervous.”

  “Okay. That’s normal. What are you nervous about?”

  I shrugged. “Just the fact that it’s an organized sex party. I get uncomfortable at being approached. I don’t like the pressure of turning someone down. I think that’s what stresses me out.”

  “First of all, all of Beverly’s parties have one cardinal rule. Women do the instigating. Men can’t approach you, and you will make any decisions about what will occur. Think of it as a feminist’s wet dream.”

  I turned that over in my head, leaning against him and trying to figure out what I would want if it was all going to be up to me.

  He frowned, running a hand down my hair and rubbing my neck gently. “I don’t want you to be stressed. This party, this lifestyle, is about enhancing our sex life—not causing it or you discomfort.”

  “But if I’m not okay with the swinging, then we break up.”

  “I don’t expect you to be okay with everything from the get-go. You can ease into this. We are taking the fast route, and we don’t need to do that. I just didn’t want you to miss out on this party and have to wait three months for the next one.” He frowned at me. “We don’t need to go. I have no issue with saying ‘screw the party’ and going home.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not going to know if I’m okay with it until I’m there. I want to go, but I want you to know that I’m not going to want to do anything that I don’t feel comfortable with.”

  He stifled a laugh and quickly brought my hand to his mouth, kissing it quickly. “I have no interest in scaring you away. If you want to leave, we’ll leave. If you want to stay, we’ll stay. Tonight, you are the boss.”

  My eyes flashed at his in the darkness. “Hmmmm.... I like that.”

  He laughed. “I’m sure you do.”

  I watched his face as he ran his lips over my hand, squeezing it briefly before dropping it to his lap. “Will this work out?” I asked suddenly, shifting in my seat to face him fully. “You and me, exclusive?”

  “At this party?”

  “No—in normal life. Us having an exclusive relationship, with you being so...” I grimaced, trying to find the right word. “Slutty,” I finally managed.

  He smiled, his gaze traveling over my face, the depths of his soul staring out through those dark, confident eyes. “This isn’t my first relationship, Julia. I know you think I will whip my cock out
at the first woman who breathes my way, but I assure you—I can handle commitment.”

  “As long as you have additional stimulation. Beyond me.”

  “Well, there is that, yes. But your involvement in the activity is what makes it so stimulating.”

  I snorted at that. “Bullshit.”

  He cocked his head at me. “The other night, if I hadn’t been involved in that threesome, would you have enjoyed it?”

  I frowned. “If you hadn’t been there, I never would have had sex with him.”

  “Ignore that logic for a moment and envision the situation as two different possibilities. One, just you, me and him. Then imagine the situation with you, him and another guy. Would the experience have been the same?”

  I leaned back against the seat, closing my eyes and envisioning the scenarios. When I removed Brad from the equation—my trust in him, his sexual presence that made every touch electrifying, his ability to somehow know exactly how much I could take, how far to push my boundaries in order to give me the most mind-shattering experience that I was willing, at that point in time, to experience. I finally sighed and opened my eyes, meeting his. “No. It wouldn’t have been the same.”

  He grinned, pulling me in one quick motion onto his lap. “And you make things different for me. You don’t know it, but you captured me quickly, with your faux innocence, the nerdy-glasses, pencil-skirt look that you were trying to pull off. When I saw you later, dressed to the hilt, pure sex from your stilettos to your hair, I didn’t believe it. Saw you as playing a part. But—” he breathed, reaching out and trailing a finger over my open lips “—you are pure sex. When you are in your element, which is typically when you are stuffed full of cock, I’ve never seen a more sexually perfect being in my life.” His mouth twitched, and he pulled me to him for a soft, gentle kiss. “I fell for the feisty, smart-ass Julia that calls me on my shit. But I’m owned by the vixen that you become behind closed doors.” My response was lost in his next kiss, a heady, desperate kiss that consumed both of us, hands fisting in hair, an erotic fusion between two captive souls. I was glad that he took my response, because I didn’t have a coherent thought in my head.

  Seven

  Our kiss was interrupted by the limo’s slow turn into a short driveway, the suited chauffer waiting an appropriate amount of time before opening our door. The makeup stop turned out to be a small bungalow in an established neighborhood, a black Porsche Boxter in the driveway. Lights were on in the house, and Brad rang the doorbell, holding my hand on the front porch.

  “Be patient with Jessica,” he whispered. “She gets a little excited if given too much free rein.”

  I laughed. “Patient? Every woman wants free rein with a makeup professional. I’ll just try not to have too much fun.”

  “Hola! I’m Marco!” A small muscular man in skintight black jeans, a white tank top and a hot-pink boa opened the door with a dramatic flourish. Behind him, I could see a curvy brunette, tattoos covering her arms and neck, and she waved enthusiastically. They moved aside for our entrance and between the hugs, handshakes and introductions, I discovered that the two were roommates, and seemed to be familiar with Brad; he headed past them to the living room.

  Talking a mile a minute, Jessica pulled me into the dining room, where she had a long table covered with every makeup, hair care and skin product known to man. I saw what looked like the entire MAC lineup, as well as half of a Sally’s Beauty Supply store. I was shocked the table didn’t cave in under the weight of it all.

  Brad collapsed into the living room couch, crossing his ankles and settling in. He picked up a remote and starting flipping through the channels, Marco scurrying around him, fluffing pillows and chatting him up excitedly. I saw a brief look of pain cross his face, and then I was gently pushed into a chair by Jessica. She turned on a mirrored spotlight, illuminating my face, examined it closely, then sat back with a satisfied smile.

  “What look do you want to go for tonight?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never been to a party like this before. Won’t the mask hide a lot of the makeup?”

  She clapped her hands and smiled at me excitedly, and turned and grabbed a thick binder from a nearby stool. “Tonight, the mask is going to be the makeup. Let me show you some examples. Then you can pick out what you like.”

  Fifteen minutes later, I was ready to move in with Jessica and Marco. She was a freak of makeup nature, able to create distinct and beautiful masterpieces on ordinary faces. I did my best, but was torn between six different looks in her binder. I couldn’t decide—they were all so beautiful and different—but finally chose the one that I thought would camouflage my looks the most.

  Marco had given up on Brad, and stood at a clothing rack that was pushed against a back wall. He was going through clothes, occasionally pouncing on an item and bringing it to Brad. Brad so far had rejected all of Marco’s suggestions, which was causing increased agitation to the small man. “How can you like none of these?” he complained. “I am showing you some beautiful pieces!”

  Brad called to me from the living room. “He wants me to wear a jeweled thong, Julia! Talk some sense into the man.”

  I frowned at Marco and shook my head, causing Jessica to swear at me. I went back to being still and tried to behave while she continued to apply eyeliner.

  “I’ll just wear the same thing as last time,” Brad called to Marco.

  “There is something wrong with a man as beautiful as you hiding your face. If you’re going to go that route, then at least let Jessica bejewel you.”

  “Real men don’t get bejeweled,” Brad said, turning up the volume.

  * * *

  FIFTY MINUTES LATER, with air kisses and monetary gratitude expressed, we left the small bungalow different people than had arrived. If I can say so myself, I looked amazing. Not Julia anymore, I was now a mysterious, exotic siren. I still wore the red dress and strappy silver stilettos that I had been picked up in, but everything else had changed. Jessica had added extensions, thickening and lengthening my dark brown tresses. On my face, she had created an eye mask, with shadows, liners and a faux lace pattern. She added fake lashes and had painted my lips movie-star red that she promised would stay on “no matter what I did with my mouth.” I planned on testing out that theory.

  Brad looked, well, exactly the same. Gorgeous, sexy and feral, and the closer we came to the party, the more intense his eyes became. He was aroused, I realized. He had taken only one item from Carlos, a black executioner’s hood. I was both scared and excited to see what it would look like on.

  We got in the car and I waited till the driver shut the door before I turned to him. “I—”

  His mouth was on me before I got the second word out. He cupped my chin in his hand and took my mouth with his. He pulled hard on my neck and I leaned forward, his other hand grabbing to pull me onto his lap. I straddled him, grinding against his crotch while we kissed. His hands gripped my ass and then traveled in between my legs, and he pulled away from my mouth with a sexy scowl when he felt my panties.

  “What’s this?” he murmured, sliding a finger underneath my thong and dipping inside me, causing my eyes to close and my breath to hitch.

  “I think they’re called panties,” I whispered, pushing against his hand, wanting more than his finger inside of me.

  “You are already wet...” he breathed in wonder, sliding a second finger in with the first, stretching my pussy tight around his digits and moving them together in wonderful unison.

  I groaned and ground against him, and he slowly withdrew his fingers, sliding his wet fingers over my clit and then away, and my eyes popped open, missing the pleasure. I pouted down at him.

  “I want to keep you hot for the party,” he said gruffly. He looked up at me, smiling in the darkness. “You look so different.”

  I tilted my head, grinning. “Good different?”

  “I like the normal you better. This is good, though, makes me feel like I’m with a strange wo
man.”

  I bit my lip and looked at him deviously. “Strange women can be bad.”

  “I like bad,” he whispered, and I felt his fingers brush my sensitive skin, once again tugging at the lace of my thong.

  Eight

  The limo came to a stop at a large metal gate, monitored by a valet with a clipboard. After he’d conferred with our driver, the gates opened and we moved forward. Brad pulled on his hood, and I shivered at the transformation the simple black fabric created. All I could see was his eyes, and I hated not seeing his mouth. He expressed so much with it, from the tightening of his jaw to the curve of his grin, and I felt lost without that road map. I reached up the neck of the hood and felt his lips, curved, and I smiled back at him. He pushed my hand down and I looked out the window, fascinated by the upcoming events.

  The driveway was curved cobblestone and lined with lit palm trees. Pieces of the house were visible, but it wasn’t until the limo came to a stop that we saw the full home. It was a huge, sprawling, Mediterranean-style estate, with an ivy-walled courtyard and a modern fountain in front. Two more men with clipboards straddled the entrance to the courtyard, though I think they were there more for effect than purpose. Brad gave them a name, “Ano,” and we were waved through.

  “Ano?” I whispered, gripping his huge biceps tightly and trying not to trip on my heels.

  “It’s an alias. One I use for swinging. You should think of a name to use tonight.”

  I wrinkled my forehead, trying to think of a name that sounded sexy, but still realistic. There are so many pronounced differences between men and women. If I had attended this party with a woman, she would have given me ample time to prepare for something as important as my false identity. I should have asked more questions. A dozen names flitted through my mind, but they all sounded wrong. I finally discarded the task, figuring I’d have time to pick an alias later.