Lovers Unmasked

by Katee Robert

  She reached the first VIP room and realized the door might be locked. A weak part of her whispered that might be for the best, but luck was on her side. The knob twisted under her hand and the door popped open. She smiled and led Ian into the private room. He closed the door behind them and the sounds of the party immediately receded to a muted chaos punctuated by the relentless, pumping bass lines. Perfect. Not so quiet as to facilitate, God forbid, conversation, but not so loud it felt as if they still stood in the middle of the dance floor.

  Her hands wanted to shake, so she propped them on her hips and took a moment to look around the once-familiar space. Not much had changed. The small, softly lit VIP room served one main purpose—to give clients a place to sit back and enjoy a private dance with the entertainer of their choice. A costly indulgence, at an upscale gentlemen’s club like Deuces, and the decor, while restrained, acknowledged the price of the luxury. A comfortable dark leather chair sat in the middle of the room, centered on a splashy black-and-red Oriental-style rug. Large, gilt-framed bordello mirrors graced the walls, to provide the client with multiple angles of viewing pleasure. Sturdy, architecturally styled bookshelves lined the wall behind the client chair, and held a sound system and a private bar. Way back in a shadowy corner stood a stool where the bouncer would sit during an actual private dance, to ensure the client remained a gentleman at all times.

  Tonight the corner stool sat blessedly empty, and Stacy knew Ian would not be a gentleman. She’d make sure. Down and dirty—that’s how they both liked it.

  She guided him to the chair and gestured for him to sit. “Ever had a private dance before?”

  “Never.”

  “Sit back, sweetheart. You’re in for a treat.” She reached behind him for the sound system’s remote, and programmed what she’d liked to call the “soft-core playlist” back in her Deuces days. Unobtrusive, sexy music streamed from hidden speakers, further muffling the noise from the party.

  “Any rules I should know about?”

  “Normally yes, but not tonight.” She stepped up until she stood over his lap, with her hands on his broad shoulders and her breasts close to his masked face. “Tonight there are no holds barred. Nothing off-limits. Think you can handle it?”

  Trap set. Ian never backed down.

  “Don’t you worry, Angel. I can handle whatever you throw my way.” He reached around, under her skirt, and palmed her bare cheeks, left vulnerable by her thong. “Quick hands, remember?”

  She remembered, and forced herself to hold back a shiver. His voice held a note of something she couldn’t readily identify—challenge, maybe. Like he wanted to push her and see how far she’d go. Best to keep that analytical, intuitive mind of his occupied. Leave him no time to go all psychological on her. She rotated her hips slowly, giving his hands a nice, thorough tour of the hills and gully they’d laid claim to. Rough palms slid all over her smooth, sensitive skin. Her nerve endings sat up and whimpered for more.

  She lowered her arms and shrugged out of her wings.

  “A fallen angel,” he murmured and traced his fingers along the front of her dress.

  Her nipples contracted again, almost painfully tight this time. She imagined the feel of the knit ski mask rubbing against her breast as his tongue teased the hard, hypersensitive point. She bit back a moan. “I’m no angel.”

  Maybe she arched her back, or maybe he simply read her mind, but he reached up, yanked her dress down her shoulders, and popped her breasts free of the thin, sheer bustier she wore beneath.

  The condom fell into his lap.

  “You come prepared,” he rasped, sounding urgent—almost angry—and pocketed the foil square.

  Perversely, her nipples tightened even more, which activated some part of her nervous system with a direct connection to all parts south of her navel. A deeper, more intense tightness coiled between her legs. Her thighs quivered. She dropped her hips closer to his lap and connected with the rock-hard bulge testing the limits of his button fly. Heat shot straight to the point of contact. She had to get herself under control if she expected to keep the upper hand. “I’m not sure you meant that as a compliment.”

  “It’s a fact,” he growled, but the words trailed off in a groan when she ground her crotch against his. “Christ almighty.” He clapped one big hand over her butt and brought the other up to lift his ski mask.

  Oh shit. Not yet. “Don’t!” she said quickly. “Leave the mask on.”

  “I plan to. I just need…” In lieu of an explanation, he shoved the mask up above his mouth and grazed his lips over an extremely grateful nipple. She cupped her breast and held it for him, fighting back a moan. He spread his hand across the center of her back and brought her even closer, but instead of teasing her with his tongue, as she’d expected, he covered her with his entire mouth and used bone-dissolving suction to draw her in deep.

  This time there was no muffling the moan. The needy sound poured from her throat and filled the small room. Then his teeth and tongue joined the fray. She arched closer, letting him devour her, while her hips rocked back and forth, back and forth, in a steady rhythm she couldn’t have stopped if her life depended on it.

  Apparently satisfied she wasn’t going anywhere, he moved the hand at her back around to the front, switched his mouth to the other breast, and cupped the one he’d just set free. Not gently, but not too rough, because he knew exactly where she drew the line and he hit it, perfectly. Sweet Jesus did he hit it.

  “Oh, God, that’s good,” she babbled, running her hands over his shoulders, his chest, everywhere within her reach. The straps of her dress and lingerie hindered her, so she shrugged her arms free and pushed the clothes down around her waist. He kept busy alternately squeezing and soothing her damp, swollen breast while working the other to the same agonizing state. Every kiss, every tweak, every carefully controlled bite sent a bolt of heat straight to her core. The pressure built to a critical mass. If she didn’t stop him soon, she’d go off like a cherry bomb, right there on his lap, which was not her plan. She mustered up her willpower and pulled away.

  He lowered his mask back into place and then looked up at her. She wished she could see his expression, but the room wasn’t exactly lit for gazing intimately into the client’s eyes. The ski mask didn’t help either.

  “Done already, Angel?”

  There it was—the note of challenge again. Her thighs clenched and she held back a thrilled little shiver. “I’m just getting started.” She knelt between his parted legs and undid the first button of his jeans.

  His hand covered hers and for a minute, she thought he intended to stop her. Time to issue a challenge of her own. “No rules, remember? No holds barred? You handle whatever I throw at you.” She popped the next button. The smooth, wide head of his dick surged out the top of his black boxer briefs. Her fingers shook a little as she hurriedly undid the last three buttons and shoved his shorts out of the way. Then she held on to his thighs for balance and sat back on her heels to drink in the sight of him.

  “I can handle it,” he said quietly. “Question is, can you?”

  Was he playing with her mind, using reverse psychology, or did he honestly believe he still had her in the dark? The answer didn’t matter. She’d make him plead, either way.

  She licked her lips, suddenly hungry for the taste of him, anxious to feel the hard, hot length of him filling her mouth, straining her jaw as she took him in as far as she possibly could. An answering hunger echoed between her legs at the thought of him stretching her, filling her, plunging deep until she couldn’t feel anything, think of anything, except his body moving inside her.

  Her mind screamed hurry as she leaned in, but her languorous body preferred slow motion and wouldn’t obey. His ragged curse reached her ears a few seconds after she swirled her tongue over the tip of his glorious cock. She licked her way down, down, down his shaft, provoking a few more of the uncensored sounds, and then slowly worked her way back up. His fingers dove into her hair, holding h
er head down and her lips against him, as if he worried she might abandon the job before she’d even really gotten started. She smiled and took him into her mouth.

  “Christ, I’ve missed yo…a good blow job.”

  She would have smiled if her lips weren’t otherwise occupied. Whoops, Ian, almost blew it, didn’t you? The fingers in her hair tightened. He didn’t use the hold to take control of the depth or pace of the proceedings, but she could tell he wanted to. So it surprised her when he suddenly let go. What the…?

  He leaned over her, more or less pinning her head between his lap and his torso, and lifted the hem of her skirt. He tucked it up into the back of her dress. When he had her bare from the waist down, save for the thong, he straightened and groaned, which she guessed might have been in combined appreciation for the view he’d just arranged for himself in the mirror behind her and the feel of his entire dick cradled securely in her mouth. She kept her lips tight, hollowing her cheeks to suck him as hard as she could. Because she knew she had an audience, she flexed her glutes at the same time.

  “You’re spectacular,” he muttered as she reversed course at a leisurely pace.

  When she reached the top, she looked up at him, ready to try her hand at some other head games. “Did you like that, nice and slow and steady? Or do you want it faster and deeper?” She knew exactly how he wanted it.

  “Jesus. Faster and deeper.”

  “Please,” she prompted.

  “Please,” he managed through a clenched jaw. “Faster. Deeper. Please.”

  The “please” sent a burst of triumph through her. In reward, she gave him faster and deeper. He cupped the back of her head and simply rested his hand there, unbelievably gentle, considering the violence of the breaths exploding from his lungs.

  She didn’t want gentle tonight. She wanted him thrusting and pumping and so desperate to come that he lost all control. So she teased him, ruthlessly, sliding her mouth up his length to the very tip and letting him hang there, just barely captured between her lips. Then she waited.

  He cursed. She smiled, and he slipped another precious millimeter.

  “I won’t do it,” he ground out. “I don’t…fuck—” He grabbed the seat with both hands, lifted his hips, and chased after her retreating mouth. She repaid his efforts by taking him in again, all the way, and giving him a good hard suck as she made her journey back up.

  It took a few more round-trips, but finally she had him perched at edge of the chair. She reached into his bunched-down shorts and found the boys. Continuing to torture his shaft with her mouth, she jostled and squeezed his balls. Conflicting, almost inarticulate words reached her ears.

  “That’s so good…so fucking amazing. I can’t take anymore…Christ, okay a little more.” But just when she had him so close she could almost taste his orgasm, he groaned, “Enough,” and pulled her up onto his lap. He fisted a hand in the back of her hair, held her still, and stared at her for a long moment.

  “You really want to do this?”

  This time his question contained an unmistakable thread of anger, and it unleashed a whole host of volatile emotions in her, including excitement. Feeling dangerous, she squirmed in his lap, lining up her hot, wet center with his thick, pulsing shaft. “That’s why I brought you here.”

  “You want me to fuck you.” His voice went flat. Resigned. Disappointed, even.

  Now her temper spiked. He’d let her walk out of his life. Yes, she’d broken up with him, but dammit, he’d always been able to read her like a large-print novel. He always understood her motivations, and even if for once he didn’t, the bottom line was he hadn’t cared enough to fight for her. Who was he to judge how she conducted herself now?

  “I want you to fuck me blind.” There, Ian. Swallow that. “Do you think you can manage that one little thing?”

  He stayed still and silent for so long she figured he knew, and was going to call off the whole charade. Screw it. She reached for his mask, but he caught her hands.

  “No. That’s one thing you don’t get, Angel.”

  Yes, she was a passably good actress, but how could he still not realize she knew it was him? Or maybe that was just how he wanted to play it? Temper edged up another notch, and so did desire. Game on. Good actress or not, she could portray a pissed-off, not-getting-what-she-wanted version of herself in her sleep. She ground against him, fighting a moan as her inner muscles tightened in anticipation of every steely, unyielding inch. “I’m sorry, but you seem to be operating under the delusion that you’re in charge here.” She tried to free her wrists from his grip.

  He held on, easily.

  She dialed her temper up a degree. He’d expect her to take a “no” badly. “Take the damn mask off.”

  “I said no. Behave. Or do I have to show you how I handle girls who won’t behave?”

  Behave? Oh, he had balls. “You did not just tell me to behave.” She struggled like a woman truly determined to get the mask off, shift the balance of power back to her, to win. He evaded her hands. Then he stood up, spun them, and, before she caught her breath, had her bent over the back of the chair.

  Chapter Five

  “You son of a bitch,” Stacy panted. “I suppose you think this puts you in control?”

  With you, never, he thought as he adjusted his loose, one-handed hold on her wrists, and awkwardly tugged his jeans up. She flexed her wrists, testing his grip, and he knew she now realized she could shake him off anytime she wanted…if she wanted. A part of him hoped she did. Another part agonized at the thought. “You made the rules, remember? No holds barred. Nothing off-limits. Sound familiar? But hey,” he patted her backside, “I understand. If I’m too much for you to handle, that’s all you have to say and we’ll call it a night. Seven little words.” He leaned over until his mouth brushed her ear. “Do you need to say it, Angel?”

  He barely had time to step out of the path of the lethally sharp high heel she aimed at his shin. She swore. He straightened and laughed, although there was nothing the least bit funny about how he felt right now.

  Furious more accurately described his state of mind—pissed beyond words that she would do something so stupid, and dangerous and just plain reckless as have sex with a stranger, especially now, with some unbalanced idiot out there sending her hate mail.

  Hurt came in a close second. Here he was, missing her so much he could barely think of anything except how to get her back, and she’d clearly moved on. Yes, she’d broken up with him. Yes, she was free to do whatever or whomever she pleased. No, that logic didn’t diminish the hurt. Not in the least. And how the hell could she not realize who he was by now? He didn’t want to be a hysterical schoolgirl about things, but she’d treated his dick like her best friend for a whole fucking year. Tonight she’d had him in her hand, and her mouth, and while he’d felt like he’d come home for the first time in godforsaken weeks, she’d been none the wiser? Hell, yeah, that hurt.

  Lastly, because somewhere along the line she’d transformed him into a sick, masochistic head case, he was also ridiculously, excruciatingly turned on. The sight of her, face down, ass up, spitting mad and spoiling for a fight, made him determined to turn her into a quivering mass of need—exactly what she’d reduced him to with her antics this evening.

  “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m perfectly capable of handling whatever you’ve got. The real question is, am I too much for you to handle?” She stomped her foot and connected with his instep.

  A white-hot pain shot up his leg. It hurt like a mother, but even the pain made his cock throb, because it came from her. “I’m making a rule. No kicking,” he grunted and smacked her ass. Not hard, but with enough palm to make a very satisfying slapping noise.

  She let loose an equally satisfying cry—part shock, part passion—and then, bold as ever, kicked him in the shin. This time, however, she used no force. The halfhearted effort told him what she really wanted. He spanked her again. This time her cock-twisting cry edged over into a throaty moan, and he w
ondered if it was possible to have a coronary if all the blood in his body surged straight between his legs. Could he get so hard he might actually lose circulation to some vital parts? Fuck it. Some things were worth the risk. “Follow the rules, or I’m not going to play. Your choice, Angel. You want some more?”

  A restless, edgy sound served as her reply, and she pushed up onto her toes. He took that as a yes, and responded with another swat to her vulnerable backside. Her husky moan wound him painfully tight. Probably pure theatrics on her part, but his dick didn’t know the difference, which made continuing the game an exercise in self-torture. Still, he refused to crack first, so he bluffed. “I can keep this up until one of us comes, but your sweet little ass is getting awfully pink, and you may need to sit down sometime in the next couple days.”

  She held her position a moment longer, out of defiance or hope, he wasn’t entirely sure, and then sagged and rested her forehead against the seat of the chair. “You’re a bastard,” she said, breathing heavy.

  The sentiment sounded so heartfelt, he couldn’t help but grin. “Undoubtedly.” He smoothed his hand over her rosy cheeks, gently, because he knew they had to be stinging just a little by now. She lifted her hips and pressed herself into his touch, like a cat. Their eyes met in the mirror. He caressed her again, lingered to tickle his fingertips along the crease. His grin deepened when she tensed and bit her lip, but failed to stifle a sigh of pleasure. “You’re going to be begging this bastard to make you scream before I’m done with you.”

  “In your dreams.”

  He traced the vee of her thong. “I’ll bet you’re so wet right now, you’ve soaked right through these very sexy panties you’ve been showing off all night.”

  “Bite me.” She struggled to stand up.

  “Don’t you worry. We’ll get to that, but, in the meantime…” He leaned over her to keep her in position and sent his fingers on a slow, unerring journey down her thong and into the juncture between her thighs, where she was warm, and soft, and very wet. “Oh yeah, I win the bet.”