by Larkin Rose
Eric inspected his phone as well. He wasn’t gay but loved X’s blogs, said her life was better than a soap opera, that he’d even learned a trick or two for his own sexual dating life.
I just turned down an offer for sex. With a Goth. Lips black as night. Fluorescent pink Mohawk standing at least a foot off her head. She was wearing barbed wire around her throat, multiple ear piercings, and a chain running to her nose.
Her proposition went something like this:
Goth: You’re free tonight. (not a question…a statement!)
“That’s the way to hook ’em,” Eric blurted.
Mayson shook her head. “Chauvinist pig.”
“Like you’re one to talk.” He arched a brow at her. “You didn’t have to utter a word to lure your mystery woman to your bed.”
It was true. But she would have begged if needed.
Mayson continued reading the blog.
Me: Umm. No. Sorry, I’m waiting for friends.
(I always say this…I’m lame, I know.)
Goth: You should reconsider. I’m very, shall we say, giving?
*The sex professor promised practically the same thing. We all know where that one got me. I’m still mentally scarred from the experience*
Me: Maybe some other time?
Goth: I don’t extend second offers.
And away she went. Didn’t even bother looking back at me.
Maybe I should have taken her up on the offer? Truly, it’s all about the quest for mind-blowing orgasms, right? So what if her skin was translucent and she spends more money on mousse and hairspray than I do on my mortgage.
Was that egotistical of me?
Is it my fault I refuse to fight for territory with a tongue ring? Is it my fault I don’t want my hair ripped out by a damn nose ring?
Someone bumped Mayson’s chair. She turned to find a Goth squeezing around the table, barbed wire around her throat, bright pink hair standing straight off her head, and a nose chain running to her ear.
She did a double take, poked Eric, and nodded toward the woman, the description in X’s blog ringing loud in her mind.
Eric narrowed his brow as he studied the departing woman, then turned to Mayson. “Coincidence. Pure coincidence.”
Mayson turned back to the blog.
Am I asking too much? Is it out of the question to want a woman who makes me wet with a single stare? A woman who makes my insides clench tight with a whisper? Am I a hopeless sexual wreck?
She’s out there somewhere. I know she is.
Maybe I’ll find her tonight.
I’m waiting for her. All alone, on a bench, outside a thriving nightclub. And I’m even wearing my lucky Fedora.
Where, oh where, is my butch in shining armor? *sigh*
Time to shake this money-maker.
Night all.
X
Through every word, Mayson’s heart surged. This was no coincidence.
The woman on the bench was X!
And she was waiting for something to shake the ground out from under her.
When Mayson looked up, Eric was staring wide-eyed at her. She could read the answer in his eyes. He had come to the same conclusion. “No way.” He puffed.
Mayson shoved the phone back in her clip and turned to push out of her chair when the lights dimmed. The DJ’s voice broke through the room.
“The moment you’ve all been waiting for.”
The crowd whistled and catcalled. Women pushed toward the stage.
“Let’s give it up for Tripppplllllle X!”
The room went dark while the cheers erupted and the music poured through the air.
Several seconds went by before the stage flooded with light. Where the landing had been empty, two women now sat in ladder-back chairs, one to the far right, the other to the far left, legs apart, bodies slumped forward, charcoal Fedoras folded into their hands. They both wore a carbon-copy outfit of the one the sexy faceless woman on the bench had been wearing.
Mayson sat a little straighter, her heart thundering.
The lights blackened once again.
This time when the lights flooded the stage, a woman stood in the door frame that led backstage, hands outstretched to either side, sexy silhouetted posture against a bright wall of light.
Mayson shifted to the edge of her seat and gripped the table in eager anticipation.
The drums pounded and the two women in the chairs whipped their bodies back and at the same time, they slammed their legs closed.
The single female in the doorway did nothing more than dip low and angle to the opposite side of the door. Even the slight movement had Mayson licking her lips in heated lust.
The woman was the main attraction, and she knew it.
A guitar whined while the women rolled out of the chairs.
The woman in the doorway, who Mayson was positive was X, dipped her head low and dropped to the floor as well.
Together, they prowled across the stage in perfect unison, heads low, all coming together in the center of the stage.
The music took a sultry dip and the women slung their heads back. Fedoras sprang behind them, and hair spilled out from beneath.
Slowly, in timing with the music, they prowled forward.
Mayson found herself staring into a pair of sea green eyes. X’s eyes. Auburn hair hung in soft waves down her back and over her shoulders like spun gold in the stage lights.
The woman who had been entertaining Mayson every day with her quest for perfect sex was only a whisper away, on her knees, teasing her audience with a sheer glimpse of what lay beneath.
She was stunning, with mesmerizing beauty. Possibly the most beautiful woman Mayson had ever laid eyes on. How could someone so gorgeous, with a body stenciled to perfection, be looking for any kind of sex? At all>?
Dollar bills rained down over the stage as the women unsnapped one button at a time, teasing, testing the attention of their fans.
Whistles flooded the air while groups of people surged against the stage as if the trio, Triple X, were royalty.
“They’re a piece of work, aren’t they?” Eric nudged Mayson.
She barely nodded, unable to take her sights off the woman. Breathtaking. There was no other word Mayson could think of.
The women flung their shirts open, slowly pushed them down and off, then they fluttered to the stage like flags. All three turned over on their stomachs and scooped their chests toward the floor, then began their seductive prowls again.
It was all Mayson could do to stay seated as Fedora, X, neared the rim of the stage, while hands roamed her legs and dollar bills were stuffed into her slick black shorts, even her sequined black bra.
She willed Fedora to look her way, but the woman held only her fans in her view, giving each of them sultry winks and eye contact. Especially the females. Mayson didn’t have to be gay to notice that special look only a woman gave to another woman.
The music took another dip, and the women rolled onto their backs and arched their chests into the air, their backs bowed off the stage.
When they rolled into a tight group in the center of the stage again, Mayson noticed three Xs tattooed on Fedora’s left ankle. The exact same design used on her blog.
She was the one. She was X.
Mayson fell in complete lust as the music rolled to a stop and the three women fell flat on their backs, and then the lights blackened once again.
The air filled with loud clapping and cries of encore. When the lights came back on, the stage was empty.
Mayson eased back into her seat, her heart racing, her libido on fire.
X was gorgeous. Luxurious and breathtaking. How could this be? How in the hell could someone so incredible, with hypnotizing beauty, be looking for the perfect sexual partner? With the number of women lined against the stage, she need only point.
With that kind of selection, Mayson was positive she was searching for something far greater than an orgasm. Far greater than blissful sex. But what?
“Was that as disturbing for you as it was for me?” Eric asked as he leaned toward her with a hushed voice. “That was her. That was X.”
“Yes.” Driven by pure impulse and hormones alone, Mayson shoved out of her chair and headed for the door marked Private.
Women and men scurried along the hallway, some in costume, most partially dressed. She walked farther, glancing into each open door until she found the object of her heated lust.
Fedora, X, was standing over a chair, one leg hiked, fingers dragging up a pair of black stockings.
Mayson stood immobile in the doorway, devouring the image, infatuation driving her common sense. She glanced deeper into the room and found two other dressing tables empty save for a pile of dollar bills mounded in the center. When she glanced back at Fedora, her table was clean. No clutter. No dollar bills. Seemed Fedora had given her money to the other dancers. Mayson wasn’t sure what to think of the facts, or if they even mattered, when she spotted a sleek black mask on the end of a costume rack. She quickly plucked it off the knob. With her heart skipping, she pulled the mask into place and stepped into the room.
Chapter Four
“Can you hand me the double-sided tape?” Paige asked, assuming the sound of approaching footsteps was one of her girls.
When no one answered, she glanced into the mirror and found a masked person standing behind her. No. Not just a person. A woman. The outline of her neck was too feminine to be male.
A single blink whipped Paige back in time, to a dark hotel room, where a woman had worked her emotions into a bundle of flares, who had worked her body into a symphony of erotic moans.
She swallowed, unable to move, unable to form a coherent thought.
Chocolate brown eyes stared back at her reflection. “Hello, Fedora.” The woman’s whisper was unimaginably hot.
Paige couldn’t move. Holy smokes. She needed to move. She needed to breathe.
Who was this woman and what the hell was she doing in Paige’s dressing room? Furthermore, why was she staring Paige down like an Egyptian goddess? Paige found the ability to move and stood to full height, holding the mystery woman in her view through the mirror.
The woman took a slow step, erasing the single gap between them. “Or do you prefer X?”
Paige felt unveiled as fingers wrapped around her waist. She watched as the woman moved in close to her ear; more importantly, she watched those kissable lips.
She was lost, pulled down quickly into a sea of memories. All these years later, she could still feel the sure hands against her flesh, the tightening of her insides every time her mystery woman had pushed inside her.
Paige parted her lips to say something, to say anything. She needed to form a coherent thought, followed shortly by a coherent sentence. Like, Get the fuck out of my private dressing room.
The woman pressed her mouth against Paige’s ear, sucked the flesh of her lobe between her teeth, and then whispered, “Are you still sexually deprived, Fedora?”
Against her better judgment, Paige moaned, trapping the sight of the woman’s lips in her mind.
The woman sucked again, this time harder. Her hands tightened around Paige’s waist and then she ground against her ass. Hot whispers feathered against Paige’s neck. “I think you’ve been looking in all the wrong places.”
Paige’s knees weakened and butterflies erupted.
She wasn’t sure which was sexier. The whispers, the words, or the fact that she was watching and hearing both at the same time.
The woman tucked her finger beneath Paige’s chin and turned her head around. Soft lips feathered against Paige’s before she slipped her tongue inside.
Paige expelled a rushed sigh as their tongues snaked against each other. She should push her away. She should slap her for being so fucking bold. She should do anything other than melt into this kiss. But she couldn’t. It was too hot, too mysterious, to shove away.
When the woman pulled back, Paige had to lock her knees in place to keep from spilling to the floor.
She opened her eyes and found a satisfied smirk on the woman’s face.
The woman licked her lips, angled her head with one final inspection at Paige’s reflection, then left the room, leaving Paige stupid and wet.
Wasn’t that kiss supposed to be horrible? Wasn’t that her luck of late? Finding every single lousy kisser? And the lousy lays?
That kiss had been a far cry from lame. It had been perfectly hot and thoroughly stimulating. Almost comparable to New Orleans.
Kisses she’d been unable to find since. A kiss that had just walked out of her dressing room.
Stunned out of her heat-induced ignorance, Paige grabbed her shirt from the nearby chair and raced from the room. She barely had time to shove her arms inside before she barreled into the throng of the club.
Her gaze raked her surroundings. Who the hell was that? What the hell was that?
She scanned the faces in the crowd, then realized she had no idea who or what she was looking for.
What was the woman wearing? Had she even gotten a chance to notice her clothing with all those hot breaths against her flesh? What color was her hair? How tall was she?
“Fuck!” Paige desperately searched the cluster of people. She now knew what it felt like to be mugged and be unable to give a decent description.
“Was the perpetrator male or female?” an officer would inquire.
“Female. Trust me, she was all woman.”
“What color were her eyes?”
“Yes. She had eyes. They were on her lips. I mean, shit! Chocolate. Sinfully chocolate.”
“How tall was she?”
“Oh, about yay high. Her mouth came to about here.”
“Can you tell me what she was wearing?”
“Um. Not sure if she was wearing any clothes because her tongue was in my mouth.”
How pathetic!
No one stood out. The bar was lined with women and men. Her bartender was handing out flyers for the community park cleanup for the following day.
Great. Just fucking great! What the hell just happened? Why was she so damn turned on? There was something seriously wrong with her that the only time her core awakened was when someone was hiding behind a mask, hypnotizing her with hot whispers and a velvety tongue.
She needed some serious help. Lord help her, every part of her body was alive. Paige hadn’t felt that kind of heat since a masked stranger pulled endless cries of satisfaction from her.
And once again, she was gone.
Paige drove home without any clear idea how she got there. She couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss. How perfect it’d been. Wanting another. Wondering who the hell the mystery woman hidden behind the mask had been. Her lips promised much, if only she’d stayed around long enough to deliver.
Was the phantom the answer she’d been seeking all these years? That her emotions, her libido, only awoke behind a secret?
She didn’t believe so, but at this minute in time, she wasn’t so sure anymore.
With a grunt, she entered the house and locked the door behind her. She went directly to her bedroom and kicked off her shoes. She needed to be alone with her thoughts, with her fantasies, with the memories.
Was there a chance the woman would show up again? A possibility that Paige might get to experience New Orleans all over again?
She shouldn’t hope, or wish, but she couldn’t help herself. She longed for it. Craved it. Was desperate for it.
When she turned to the bed, she found Damien curled in the center watching her.
He knew good and damn well her bed was off-limits. Someone was in a brave mood tonight.
She crossed her arms and the staredown began, Mr. Evil glaring with those hard green eyes, refusing to give up his territory. Her territory.
Paige glared back, refusing to lose the staredown battle, again. Seconds ticked by, his tail doing that determined slow wag against the comforter, the one that said, “Try me, bitch.”
“I shou
ld have left your starving, fur-knotted ass in the Dumpster where I found you.”
His tail slapped again with a wicked thump.
“You could have been doggy treat for some ferocious Rottweiler if not for me.”
Slap.
“Maybe I’ll just get a pit bull. A big ass pit bull.”
Slap.
Paige’s eyes burned.
“With a ginormous head and teeth like a werewolf.” She demonstrated by loudly chomping her teeth together.
Evilness hissed at her. His tail slapped hard again.
Paige’s eyes watered.
“I’ll name him Rocky, or Monster, or even Killer. Yeah. Killer. Got a nice ring to it.” She shifted to her other hip, water pooling in her eyes from her determination not to blink. “Killer’s favorite meal will be evil orange cats. And he’ll use your whiskers for dental floss. And hide your tiny little bones all around the house to chew on when he’s bored.”
His tail slapped again, and a low rumbling growl penetrated from somewhere deep inside him, yet he didn’t turn away, nor did he blink.
Damn cats and their ability to win every staring contest.
Paige lost the battle and blinked. She stomped her foot and pointed toward the door. “Get the hell off my bed!”
He slapped at her, hissed again, then he jumped down and fled from the room.
Paige undressed, crawled into bed, and pulled the computer onto her lap. She opened the link to her blog, then tapped her fingers.
Normally, she’d already have a blog written out in her head. She’d know exactly what she wanted to get off her chest or what sex toy she wanted to brag about.
But not tonight. Right now, she couldn’t think of anything to say other than posting a reward for the mystery woman. She’d pay handsomely for just one night with her. One fucking hour.
She read through some of the comments on her blog earlier in the night hoping the words would stir within her. The Goth. Pink hair. She’d turned her down, then slunk to her secluded little garden to blog.
The garden. That was it! She’d blogged on the bench. A person had been shuffling their feet and clearing their throat. Paige had heard them but was in a hurry to get her thoughts into cyberspace before her routine.