by Larkin Rose
“I’m coming!” Paige screamed. The sound echoed around the room like a majestic rumble. Her pussy throbbed against Mayson’s lips.
Mayson drank from her, driving her tongue into her depths, then flicking and sucking, until Paige’s body sagged and her hands fell limp. She rose and kissed the slick skin of her neck, down her throat, and around to the other side.
She couldn’t get enough of her. Her sounds. Her tastes.
Paige responded with a soft sigh and then she folded her hand against Mayson’s cheek and lifted her head.
Mayson pushed a kiss into Paige’s palm while her heart squeezed in her chest. She wasn’t supposed to feel anything but heat, anything other than slick need. But she did. That connection. That link. It was there, slithering along her senses, warning her of its presence.
She feathered a kiss against Paige’s lips for several seconds, feeling their softness, and then she parted them with the tip of her tongue and snaked inside.
Paige groaned as their tongues tangled and Mayson kissed her harder, molding the cheeks of her ass into her hands again. Her arms draped around Mayson’s neck and she ground in desperate circles.
Mayson was afraid of the emotions overtaking her, of the incredible want, the aching need, and the pounding in her chest. She wasn’t supposed to feel this. Wasn’t supposed to feel anything other than the liquid heat of passion.
Shocked at the realization that their connection trailed back as far as grade school, that it connected again so many years later, Mayson pulled out of the kiss and spun Paige around to face the mirror. Paige was the one. Somehow, someway, their fate had never been too far off course. They’d never, ever been too far away from each other.
For the first time in her life, Mayson felt love. Pure, genuine love. The thought brought tears to her eyes. She’d known lust. Maybe longing. But never this. It was incredible, and she wanted to hold on to it like a life preserver.
However, Paige wasn’t looking for love. She’d said as much. Proved as much. How would she react to knowing her mystery was a reality she didn’t trust? She didn’t trust Mayson. Didn’t trust that not everyone was out to hurt her, to leave her.
Mayson forked her fingers through Paige’s and lifted her hands to the glass. She flattened them against the surface and whispered, “I’m not done with you, Fedora.”
She moved her other hand between Paige’s thighs and teased her wet opening.
Paige arched toward those pleasing fingers, the tingles of sensation alive once again, despite the orgasm that had just racked her body into spasms.
“Do it, Vinden,” Paige begged her. “Fuck me.”
Vinden entered her, filling and stretching her, until Paige rose on the tips of her toes. She pushed her mouth against Paige’s ear and feathered another hot whisper against her flesh. “It’s my turn, Fedora. Give me your hand.”
Without hesitation, Paige slid her hand down the mirror and searched for Vinden behind her. She heard the sound of a zipper and then Vinden pushed her hand between her legs.
Paige groaned as her fingers slipped through Vinden’s wet folds, farther, until she found her opening. She pushed inside her, eager to feel Vinden pump around her, crazy to hear her cries of release.
They ground against each other, fucking each other, flicking and teasing, until Vinden clutched Paige to her body. She howled out her release as her insides clenched around Paige in sharp spasms.
The sound of her, the feel of her, the strength of her, it was too much.
Paige’s orgasm ripped through her. She screamed out and Vinden pushed deeper inside her, pulling out to the tips of her fingers and then driving in once again.
What felt like hours passed her by while she floated back down from the high, Vinden still pressed against her, her strong arms like a cocoon around her waist. This felt nice. This felt incredible. This for sure felt like a dream, like a time warp back in time.
Vinden spoke first, that heavenly whisper. “I’m going to burn alive thinking about you coming around my tongue. I miss you already.”
She released Paige.
When Paige turned around, desperate to make out any facial features in the candlelight, Vinden was gone.
Paige slid down to the bench on weak knees. She didn’t know what to think, what to feel, or if she should think or feel anything at all. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to. That was just sex. Right? Not like Vinden had just proposed marriage or a happy-ever-after.
She’d simply given her awesome, magnificent sex. Sex she wouldn’t forget for a long time to come.
Finally, she gathered the strength to replace her clothes, careful to fold the nightgown, when her phone rang.
Vinden: To our bench, Fedora. Your present awaits.
“Dammit. Why do you keep doing this to me?” Paige huffed as she punched in her response. “No one should move after sex!”
X: You are killing me.
Vinden: Is that a complaint?
Why yes. Yes, it was a complaint. Then again, no. Hell no.
X: On the way.
Vinden: Good girl.
Paige retraced her steps through the shop, blowing out candles and snatching up a few of those delicious-smelling rose petals as well as the notes, and finally made her way onto the sidewalk. She studied the door. Sure enough, the shop closed at ten.
So how did Vinden possess the power to keep this place open after business hours? Who was she? The real her. Did Paige want to know? The ache between her legs said she didn’t. The quiver of her heart said absolutely. But would those emotions be present when the mask fell off?
With a sigh, she left the shop and made her way back to the club. Beneath the bench she found three boxes, in various sizes this time. Same brown boxes. Same blue ribbon.
After a quick glance around, positive Vinden was watching her and positive she would never spot her, she tore open the biggest box.
Pink cotton candy was snuggled in white tissue paper, the same color of the nightgown. She pulled off a piece and let it melt on her tongue.
The second box was long and slender. A jewelry box? Hadn’t she fallen for that once before?
She tore off the ribbon and lifted the lid. A silver charm bracelet lay against white cotton.
With her brow narrowed, she pulled the chain free of the clips to inspect three charms. A silver mask. A dollar sign. And the last was the most puzzling. Two little girls holding hands.
“What the hell?” Paige glanced along the sidewalk.
The answer to the riddle was right on the tip of her tongue, right at the brim of her mind, yet she couldn’t grasp it.
The new cell phone buzzed and Paige jumped.
Vinden: Open the last box, Fedora.
Got you! Paige scanned the dark spots across the streets, between the buildings, as well as the cars parked along the curb.
Vinden was there, watching her. The woman who had just made her arch and scream was close to her.
Paige should want to investigate. She should want to coerce her out of hiding.
For some reason, she didn’t. The game was too hot. Vinden was too hot. The sex was entirely too hot.
Wasn’t this what she’d wanted all along? Simply sex?
Wasn’t that what she was getting?
She tore off the ribbon on the last box and found a beautiful silver watch inside. With a soft gasp, she pulled it from the clips and found a note beneath.
Tick tock goes our clock. Unveil me, Fedora. Our time is running out.
Was that true? Was their game about to come to a conclusion? Was Vinden warning her that this was almost over?
How did Paige feel about that?
Why did she feel like someone had just punched her in the gut?
Chapter Thirteen
Paige pulled up to the gate surrounding Mayson’s ginormous house. Butterflies danced in her stomach. On one hand, she couldn’t wait to step inside, to see how a billionaire lived. To see how this billionaire lived. She imagined a house full of the most eleg
ant antiques, things that truly bored her. What was it with the rich and their need to flaunt timeless heirlooms? Was it a code of wealth? The more you possessed, the richer you were? Or the older the piece, the deeper the pockets?
On the other hand, she had this notion to turn around and flee back to normality, to the security of her own life.
The guard stepped out of his booth and saluted Paige with a tip of his hat. The gate clattered open. She considered giving him the finger as she pulled through, then thought better of it. He was on Mayson’s dime. And doing a damn good job protecting her from whatever danger she imagined lurked outside these gates. Pirates? Design thieves? Had Paige driven right past the horde of camera-wielding paparazzi without noticing? She sure didn’t see anyone beating down Mayson’s doors.
Ooh. Maybe she smuggled drugs in through the ports or tunneled them up through the ocean. Maybe her aquatic wind turbines were just a cover-up for some covert operation for the national intelligence service. Better, maybe she was a spy?
Paige laughed at her own comical joke as she passed by an array of flower beds surrounding almost every palm tree along the driveway.
She expected art deco, large marble statues. Something other than cute little tulips and pansies.
She found Mayson sitting in a rocking chair on the porch wearing tan Bermuda shorts, a T-shirt, and that fucking charming smile.
She took in a calming breath, asking herself again why she’d wanted to come here. It wasn’t just to see how Mayson decorated her incredible house. It wasn’t to see how much she paid for lawn care. It was something more. Something inherently dangerous. An inner voice she couldn’t ignore. An inner voice she should have ignored.
Mayson stepped off the porch as Paige pulled to a stop and cut the engine.
Paige felt overdressed in her simple cotton sundress and flat sandals as Mayson opened the car door and held out her hand.
“You came. I thought you were going to chicken out on me.”
Paige stared at the offered hand. She should have chickened out. She absolutely shouldn’t be here. Even if Mayson didn’t flaunt her money in masterpieces for her yard decorations, she was still a billionaire. She still had nothing in common with Paige. Their lives could never commingle.
“I couldn’t pass up a chance to see inside Galveston’s mega-mansion, now could I?” Paige allowed Mayson to pull her from the car and noted how rough her hands were. Working hands. Didn’t she push a pencil around graph paper to make her living? Or did she actually build those monsters?
Of course she didn’t. So where did those working hands come from?
A memory of Vinden stroking her hands up Paige’s legs in the theater flashed through her mind. She, too, had rough hands.
Paige mentally shook her head. She needed to stop thinking about Vinden. If only she could. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about last night, the pressure of Vinden’s mouth against her, locking her in that tight grip. Her insides tightened, and she focused on Mayson.
It was a coincidence that Mayson had rough hands, too. Why in the world would a billionaire need to play sexual games behind a mask when all she had to do was speak her name and watch the women swoon?
As if Mayson could read her mind, she pulled her hand from Paige’s. “How have you been today?”
“Good. Thank you.” Paige inspected the columns climbing from the porch to the second story.
“I’ve been doing yard work. I decided to build another flower bed this morning. Been shoveling and pouring dirt for hours.” She nodded toward a huge flower bed of miniature yellow roses at the corner of the house.
Paige spotted a single shovel and several empty bags of top soil.
A yearning settled in the pit of Paige’s stomach and she mentally shook her head. Hard. Had she just wished Mayson Montgomery was her masked stranger? Why did it fascinate her to think that a billionaire would do something so outside the box? Because it would prove she was human? That she truly wasn’t out to buy every woman? Was Paige ready to accept the fact that Mayson might not be such a bad person after all?
“Don’t you have groundskeepers for that?” Paige spoke to knock the thoughts from her mind.
Mayson shrugged. “Sure. But when I’m home, I take care of my own yard. Don’t you?”
Paige was ashamed to admit she didn’t. She hired a little fourteen-year-old boy from the neighborhood to mow her lawn and paid him extra to plant her flowers. When she remembered to buy them, that is. Rehearsals, choreographing routines, and planning charity events seemed to consume her time. All of her time, as a matter of fact.
But she’d like to spend more time doing relaxing things, like walking on the beach, gardening, shopping. Maybe if she cut out another night of dancing she’d find some time to do a few personal fun things. Hadn’t she already cut out the entire week, leaving Triple X’s routine for weekends only? Yet depleting another night would give her extra time for charity work, more time to play with the kids in the park.
The realization left her baffled. She loved dancing. Dancing was what carried her away from her sexual frustrations. What carried her away from her personal facts of life. That she wasn’t wanted by the one person who should want her the most. Had she been hiding away all these years? Hiding behind the desire she found in her customers’ eyes? Had the hunger she found there replaced her broken heart, made her feel wanted?
The idea shocked Paige. She’d never felt self-pity. Was this what it felt like?
“Let’s go inside. I have dinner cooking.” Mayson snapped Paige from her thoughts and led the way through the front door.
“You? As in, you’re actually cooking?” Paige hesitantly stepped into the grand foyer. There were no marble lion busts to mark the entry, or expensive antiques, nor was there massive artwork. Just a simple carpet runner in neutral tones along the tiled floor leading into a grand living area.
“Think I’m equipped with butlers, maids, and my own personal chefs?”
“Well, yeah? Aren’t all billionaires?”
Mayson stopped and turned around. “How many billionaires do you know?”
Busted. Paige smiled. “One.”
With that slow, casual approach, Mayson stepped toward Paige. “Is there a possibility of you getting to know me a little better before you make any more assumptions?”
Paige nodded. She never realized how callous she sounded until now. “Deal.”
“Great.” Mayson continued to the edge of the living room.
A wraparound couch dominated the sunken area, and two end tables with simple porcelain lamps adorned either end. A coffee table made out of pale blond wood sat dead center in the space.
Okay, where the hell were all the gold-trimmed furniture, the glass-and-diamond chandeliers? Where were the antiques? Where was the proof that a billionaire lived inside these walls?
Mayson pointed toward the biggest flat-screen TV Paige had ever seen. It swallowed the entire right wall of the living room. “That is my prized possession. I can’t get more up close and personal to a football game than that monster.”
Paige turned to give her the “I don’t do football” look and found Mayson staring down over her, pure desire packed within those beautiful chocolate eyes. Fuck. Paige needed to shake her parents’ hands and tell them what a mighty fine job they’d done creating this living specimen of walking sex.
Paige took a step back. “Is there more to the tour?”
Mayson gave her that nostalgic smile, then took Paige’s hand. “To the kitchen, my lady. You’re going to help me cook.”
Paige followed Mayson to the back of the mansion and into a kitchen the size of her entire house. Two double ovens and wall-to-wall mahogany cabinets lined one wall. A double stainless steel sink lined the back wall, along with more cabinets and floating shelves. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined a circular wall to make a breakfast nook area. And finally, two stovetops were cradled in an island counter.
The room was stunning. Ripped right out of a magazi
ne, yet there was nothing over-the-top glamorous. Other than a glass bowl filled with lemons, there was nothing in this kitchen that Paige couldn’t find in her own.
Well, minus the double stoves, and the double ovens, and floating shelves, and the breakfast nook, and…
“You do cook, right?” Mayson stirred a pot of rice pilaf, then pulled out a tray of marinated salmon from the fridge.
“Only if I’m forced.” Paige backed up against the black granite counter and admired Mayson. She was extremely sexy. And she cooked. Not to mention she was insanely rich.
Was she as one of a kind as she portrayed herself to be, or hiding the real I’m going to buy you because I can Mayson?
“Consider yourself forced.” Mayson retrieved a bowl of cherry glaze from the refrigerator and handed it to Paige. “Pots are in the cabinet under the stove.”
Paige did as instructed while keeping an eye on Mayson, who seemed to know her way around the kitchen and the food, and who had a subtle way of making Paige feel normal inside this glamorous mansion. Did she know her way around a woman with just as much grace? Or would she turn out to be just like the others, a lousy lover with a pretty face?
Was Paige going to find out? Tonight? Did she want to?
Fuck. Yes, she did. It was unnerving how badly she wanted to. She wasn’t supposed to want anything from Mayson except her yearly donation, let alone sex.
But she couldn’t deny the curiosity, the desire, and the ache throbbing between her thighs.
Forty-five minutes later, she laid her napkin on the table and leaned back with a sigh. She had to admit that was the best piece of salmon she’d ever had the pleasure of eating. She’d moaned with the first bite. The second. And the third. So Mayson could cook. Didn’t mean anything.
Mayson refilled their glasses of wine. “Follow me.”
Paige did, admiring Mayson’s lean back, the sway of her tight ass. She was sure a looker. All that jogging was paying off in the most delectable places.