Seductive Shadows (21 page)

I lay on the bed, feet crossed, fingers drumming the nightstand. I hated the pause between Sandy finishing early and the arrival of the client, the quietness in my room before the music turned on. The loneliness of a king-size bed. I usually tried to busy my brain by plotting a scene, an outline we could follow that would work well with the costume, one that would occupy most of the hours. The client would leave exhausted and satisfied. If enough of the men praised me to Victoria, I would receive another raise; I’d already gotten two. But tonight, I had nothing—no scenes, no fantasies, no plans. My mind was focused on the paintings I needed to create for the exhibit.

I had only a few weeks before the show. After Cameron had viewed my seven pieces, he sent his thoughts to Professor Freeman. The Professor requested that I come to his office. He set up the pieces the way Cameron had suggested, studying each canvas individually and the collection as a whole. He agreed with everything Cameron had said: I had a story, a gritty one, and it was exquisite. But he also believed that a piece was missing in the sequence…a piece that needed to come after
Kerrianna
.

Unlike some of my other works, the idea for the missing piece hadn’t come to me in a dream; I hadn’t had an epiphany while I was in class or while resting against the backseat of the limo. It derived from a feeling, an emotion that sat in my chest. I’d filled my palette with shades of red and purple and, without any planning or sketching, I’d composed the image. In the bottom right corner, shoulders and a neck were formed, the head tilting back enough for the face to extend to the middle of the canvas. In the top left corner, there was another face, disembodied. The two figures met in the middle, lids closed, lips parted, colors dripping from both of their cheeks. The faces were hairless; they lacked distinguishing characteristics. Their sex was ambiguous, but something drove them toward the center…toward each other. Was it commonalities, or comfort, or a sensuality they shared? Maybe it was their darkness and their scars. I didn’t know at that moment. I hoped I would figure it out soon.

“Stand on the bed,” Jay said from the doorway. “Hold on to the front left poster.”

His voice startled me as much as his presence did, the way his back straightened and his hands pushed against the door’s frame. Because I’d been thinking about
The Kiss
, I had almost forgotten that I was in my wing, dressed in lingerie, waiting to be fucked.

I got to my feet and moved cautiously across the mattress until I reached the front. Then I steadied my toes and wrapped my hands around the wooden pole. There was ornate linework carved into the wood, and my nails fit inside the grooves. I wondered how many other girls had gripped this pole, how many wrists had been clamped with handcuffs, how many faces had stared into the mirrored floor to see who they wanted to be. Would I ever get the chance to meet any of them? Had we passed one another without knowing? After having had years of practice, I wondered how similar their stories would be to mine, if they’d still be able to smell and feel and detect the mansion on another girl.

Jay walked closer, stopping when he reached the end of the bed and extending his hand. He was asking for my foot, without words. I set my heel on his palm. He nursed the tip of each toe, slowly caressing my arch, removing the lace slipper with ease. He lavished my heel with attention, before placing all of my toes in his wide-open mouth.

 “Baby,” I moaned.

His tongue was long, and his sucking was intense and hard. My eyes closed as my body began to relax. Music started to play. I didn’t know the genre or the artist, but the beats were heavy, hard hitting, heart thumping, rhythmic orgasms, and the voice was deep and drawn out. His movements seemed to match the music. The pace was unhurried, the sex exploratory, almost as though he were testing his hunt, teasing a bit, then savoring it.

He lifted my ankle higher, placing my calf over his shoulder, my knee bending at his muscle. I balanced on my other foot and clung to the pole. The romper was so restricting, the elastic around the bottom of the shorts began to dig into my thighs. His tongue laboriously inched up my foot and continued traveling up my leg, reaching beneath the elastic, working as far as the fabric would stretch. I moaned softly, voicing my need.

The way he commanded and dominated my body made me forget—forget Lilly and Emma, and the thirteen paintings that I still needed to create. I clutched the poster, my ankle wobbling from supporting my weight, and his hands began to rip the fabric. Once he tore off the bottom half, revealing my freshly waxed strip, I knew I wasn’t in control anymore. He was.

“Hold on,” he said, his hands cupping my ass, “I’m going to move you.”

He stayed on the ground, but lifted me in the air above his head, and positioned my back against the pole. Using the wood as leverage, I wrapped my legs around his neck, my hands combing and squeezing his thick black hair. He breathed against my folds, teasing them, and I begged for his tongue. I squirmed under his hands as his air hit me. I bucked against his nose…then his lips…finally melting into him when he gave me his tongue. My back arched as it licked, flapped, flicked against every inch of me, sucking after every other beat.

 “Fuck,” I moaned.

I couldn’t move to the side for fear that we’d both lose our balance, but he shifted up and down and applied pressure. It caused the pole to grind against my skin. My shoulder blades burned from the rubbing. I knew that I would have light traces of the carvings imprinted in my flesh, temporary evidence of his longing. But the pain didn’t last, and it added to the pleasure of his fingers, which were running the length between my holes. My wetness spread. He inserted the tip of his finger into my first hole, then moved to my second. It was just enough for the passion to increase, for the tingling to build faster than I could control.

His tongue quickened; his fingers, each now in their own home, plunged deeper. My hips rocked against his face. My mouth opened as a scream poured from my lips, followed by a moan, and then a grunt. My sounds blended like the sensations that spread throughout my body.

He pulled me off the pole and I slid down his chest, landing at his waist as he wrapped my legs around him. He climbed onto the bed and rested his head on a pillow while I stayed on top. His clothes were still on; so was my tattered romper. I stood over him while he unzipped his pants. I yanked the one-piece down my breasts and past my stomach, stepping out of what was left of the fabric. Finally naked, I sat directly on top of him, positioning my knees so that my feet and legs could bear the burden of my weight. Just as I was about to claim what was mine for the night, he flipped me onto my back and stretched out next to me. Moving onto his side, he pulled me against him, his erection tapping against my ass.

“Beg me for it.” His teeth nibbled my shoulders. His fingers squeezed each of my nipples.

“I need you,” I breathed.

He lifted my hair and licked the back of my neck. When air hit the wetness, a shiver ran down my spine.

“Tell me you want my dick.”

“Give it to—”

And that’s when I felt him, deep and fast as soon as he was in, punishing my pussy in a delicious rhythm. I bounced back and forth, meeting him, squeezing the headboard with one hand, his hair with the other. I tugged his strands, hoping the pain would cause him to fuck me even harder.

I curled my knees to my chest, tightening my legs around him, and pushed into the mattress to steady myself. I let his fullness take me, eliciting screams, threatening my release. His hands roamed my hips and ass; his mouth continued to lick and bite the skin that was within his reach. His mask brushed up against me. It only added to the sexiness of my ascent.

I no longer heard the music. I didn’t hear the thoughts in my head, either. My ears were filled with the sounds of sex, the heavy breathing from his nose, moaning from his lips, the slapping of my cheeks against his thighs. The noise my nails made when they scraped the pillow. My mouth filled with the taste of his skin.

The mask restricted my peripheral vision, but there was nothing on either side that required my attention. Jay had flipped onto his back, moving me on top of him. One of his hands was behind me, a finger filling the back hole. The other rotated between my nipples, squeezing and pulling each one. The combination had already given me one quick orgasm, but I continued to ride through it. I was going for another.

I pushed my toes into the mattress, alleviating the weight from my knees and took longer, deeper strokes; my fingers drove into his abs.

“Ride me,” he yelled.

My breasts bounced with each spring. My ass tightened, squeezing him within.

“Faster,” he shouted. “Show me you want more.”

I moved my hands to the headboard, gripping the wood tightly so I could use its firmness, its steadiness to sway over him. I ground a little quicker; I clamped down harder.

He gave me a second finger. His hand poked as fast as I moved on top of him. It wasn’t pain that shot through me with each stroke; it was a dark sensuality, and he knew how much I enjoyed it because his fingers were wet. And they stayed that way.

Suddenly, I was in the air again, and then on the mattress. He stood in front of me, yanking me to the edge of the bed, submerging as far as he could go. His two fingers fucked me at the same time. His other hand sauntered over my body. But in this position, with my legs on his shoulders, I could enjoy the passion he was producing without the pressure of having to ride him.

I could feel him getting closer by the way he moaned, the way his teeth bit into the arch of my foot and his fingers sped up as he neared the peak. It wasn’t just his actions that caused my orgasm to build again; it was also the sound of his arousal, his pleasure, the smell of our sex, and the taste of his sweat. As each sensation washed through my body, as his flesh pounded against mine and his fingers rubbed my clit, I let myself go.

Since the day the Doctor had made his unsolicited visit outside the confines of the mansion, I’d been constantly looking over my shoulder. I found myself searching the shadows, trying to divine their mysteries before something could reach out of them and pull me in. My paranoia may have been unjustified, but I didn’t like surprises or being caught off guard. This had been especially true after the accident…another way in which Emma had affected my life. But the Doctor was clearly concerned that he’d be caught contacting me, and there was no way to ask him when he would be coming for me again; in the mansion, there were cameras in both my wing and his office, likely capable of detecting sound. I didn’t have his phone number, and I had no idea where he lived. But I trusted him; why, I didn’t exactly know. All I could do was wait and hope it would be soon. Somehow I suspected that he’d be more careful, less open in his approach than he’d been last time.

Cameron still hadn’t asked about whom I’d spoken with in the limo, and I wasn’t worried that he might be with me during the Doctor’s next visit. Our afternoons together were spent at either my apartment or his studio. We weren’t enrolled in the same class for the second term of summer semester; we weren’t even at school during the same hours. And because I had only two weeks until my exhibit, we hadn’t gone on a date or eaten at a restaurant, or spent time sipping coffee at a cafe. We created art and discussed the significance of each piece. He triggered something inside of me, an emotion that was dark, for certain…and yet, at the same time, it felt fresh—crisp, even. Daring.

In exchange, I played Cameron’s muse. He didn’t really need one, though; I took it to be his way of flirting, a way to express himself without having to speak. But he used more than paint to demonstrate his feelings; he showed me with gestures, with a slight smile or a throaty laugh or the “accidental” brushing of our hands. Since he’d rebuffed my attempt to kiss him on my bed, I hadn’t reached for him again. But his body was often close to mine, and his eyes revealed how much he desired me. They sought my face constantly and frequently peeked at my breasts. In the time we’d spent together, something in me had begun to change…something made me want to wait, to learn about him first, to trust him and believe in him before I fed from him. And I didn’t want the taste of flesh to be the only thing I had to offer; it certainly wasn’t the only thing I was after. More than anything, I didn’t want him to savor me on the same night that someone else had. He deserved better, and so did I. And if I was going to give that to him, I’d have to stop working at the mansion. But I wasn’t ready to do that yet. My art wasn’t making me any money; a regular job wouldn’t cover my rent or utilities, and the payments I made to the credit card company were all funded by my work at the mansion. I had no other way to survive…and in spite of my simmering feelings for Cameron, some part of me still craved the mask, the ability to pause my past, the pain, the memories, and to not have them known by the man who was fucking me.

At that point, the only person I needed to justify any of it to was me.

No one was pushing me to make a decision about my future. Cameron wasn’t rushing me into a relationship or giving me an ultimatum. We were learning about each other. He was teaching me how to desire knowledge—the kind that reveals itself slowly as more and more time was spent together, the kind that allows the rhythm to linger long after the music has stopped. The thoughts of him naked, of us entangled in each other, were as present as ever and as strong as they’d ever been. But I was trying to become something and someone better—better for him, and much better for me.

***

Two weeks after our meeting on the street, the Doctor found me again. I was leaving my apartment, heading to Cameron’s studio, when I heard tires moving slowly behind me. He didn’t have to roll down the window or call my name; a feeling passed through my body, and I knew it was him.

When the limo pulled to a stop beside me, I opened the door and climbed into the backseat. Much as it had been the first time we’d met outside the mansion, it was odd for us not to be wearing masks. We had spent so much time together, but always with our faces hidden from each other. Now, it felt as though we were starting over as polite strangers. I believed he wanted to be my friend.