slides a finger inside me, then brings that same finger to his lips, sucking off the taste of me. He moans. “Like honey, like salt.”
His hand travels back to where I want him. Where I need him to fuck me with his fingers, to take me over the edge, but I can’t deny the Englishman behind me.
So I decide to be helpful.
I dip my hand between my legs, coating my fingers, then I lift my right hand behind me, offering it to that man.
“Oh, love, you read my mind,” he whispers all hot and dirty in my ear as he draws my finger into his mouth, and the suction from his wicked tongue makes the desire inside me crackle higher, burn hotter.
Pleasure coils between my legs, pulsing in hot waves as one stranger sucks off my taste, and the other one fucks me with his finger.
Hitting that spot inside me.
Crooking it.
Sending me into another world of bliss.
Ecstasy slams into me, consuming my entire body, taking over my mind, my cells, my sense of reason.
The Englishman’s hand clamps tighter over my mouth.
I come with a muffled cry.
My orgasm crashes over me in wave after wave, like I’m coming from both directions.
My climax lives everywhere.
On my skin.
In my bones.
Far into my mind.
And it lasts for ages, for blissful, wondrous ages of white-hot pleasure.
A pleasure that spreads so deep all I can think is I want this again.
No. I need it again.
Maybe even like this. With both of them. All of us. Hidden away from crowds, but not all the way. Not entirely.
But before I can say a word to my two masquerade men, a voice calls out from down the hall.
“Cinderella, where are you? Time to go.”
I tense. It’s Eliza, using her nickname for me. And that means it really is time to go.
I straighten my spine, run a hand over my skirt, and try to compose myself, to form words. “Maybe I’ll see you . . .”
I’m not sure where to go next. How to tread. This is all so new.
“You will, lovely bird,” the American says. “You will. In two weeks. The weekend after next. In the executive ballroom. There’s a party at The Invitation that Saturday.”
“You must come again,” the Brit adds, and the double entendre isn’t lost on me.
“I must. And perhaps you two must as well,” I say.
It’s a promise I’m not sure any one of us can keep, but the sound in Eliza’s voice made it clear my coach is about to turn into a pumpkin.
I leave as the clock strikes midnight.
Part II
After The Masquerade
7
Sage
I’m still in a daze.
On a post-climactic cloud nine.
I’m not sure I ever want to stop floating.
I want to savor the afterglow even as Eliza and I dart away from the party, head down the hall, swing around the corner to grab our phones, then reach the elevator.
Once we’re inside, I raise a hand and clasp my cheek, feeling the heat there. I brush that hand over my hair next, the ends mussed up, and I can recall how the Englishman played with my hair, curled it around his fist. I slide my hand down my satin skirt, remembering my American and how his strong hands explored me.
A shudder speeds through my body.
I check my mask, trying to focus on the practical, not on the sense memories that are still turning me on. My mask is the slightest bit askew. Not enough to reveal my face, but enough that I slide it back, adjusting it.
The telltale signs of tonight.
Of that most unexpected tryst in an alcove.
I draw a deep breath.
Was that real?
Did that truly happen?
And am I the worst friend ever?
I blink away the searing memories, shove off the lingering sensations. I focus on Eliza, on the urgency in her voice moments ago when she fetched me. “Is everything okay? You didn’t run into an ex or your father, did you?”
She laughs, shaking her head. “Neither, thankfully.”
My brow knits. “Oh. Did you just need to go because of your early meetings?”
Another shake of her head. “Friend, I would not tug you away from whatever exploit had you tucked out of sight in an alcove because of a meeting. Or because of my beauty sleep. I can get myself home on my own just fine if I need to, thank you very much.” She takes a beat as the elevator whooshes down. “I went looking for you,” she says, giving me an inquisitive once-over, her tone more serious, “because Beverly showed up at