Masked Innocence. Alessandra Torre

a mask. I was grateful for the opportunity to choose a different one. “I’d think you would have a closet full of swinger costumes. You know, velvet capes, top hats, canes?”

      He fought a smile and leaned over, brushing my lips with his, the brief contact not nearly enough for me. “I prefer a more discreet approach. And that is pimp attire, not swinger.”

      “Oh, that’s right. Swingers wear suspenders and fedoras, right?” My smart response earned me another silencing kiss, and I grinned against his mouth, stealing an opportunity to grip his hair and deepen the kiss.

      “So.” I tilted my head and looked at him. “You’ll be fine with us just popping into this party, watching some stuff and then leaving?”

      He turned in his seat, my eyes finding mine and holding them hostage. “Of course. Are you getting cold feet?”

      I frowned. “Not cold feet—I’m just a little nervous.”

      “Okay. That’s normal. What are you nervous about?”

      I shrugged. “Just the fact that it’s an organized sex party. I get uncomfortable at being approached. I don’t like the pressure of turning someone down. I think that’s what stresses me out.”

      “First of all, all of Beverly’s parties have one cardinal rule. Women do the instigating. Men can’t approach you, and you will make any decisions about what will occur. Think of it as a feminist’s wet dream.”

      I turned that over in my head, leaning against him and trying to figure out what I would want if it was all going to be up to me.

      He frowned, running a hand down my hair and rubbing my neck gently. “I don’t want you to be stressed. This party, this lifestyle, is about enhancing our sex life—not causing it or you discomfort.”

      “But if I’m not okay with the swinging, then we break up.”

      “I don’t expect you to be okay with everything from the get-go. You can ease into this. We are taking the fast route, and we don’t need to do that. I just didn’t want you to miss out on this party and have to wait three months for the next one.” He frowned at me. “We don’t need to go. I have no issue with saying ‘screw the party’ and going home.”

      I shook my head. “I’m not going to know if I’m okay with it until I’m there. I want to go, but I want you to know that I’m not going to want to do anything that I don’t feel comfortable with.”

      He stifled a laugh and quickly brought my hand to his mouth, kissing it quickly. “I have no interest in scaring you away. If you want to leave, we’ll leave. If you want to stay, we’ll stay. Tonight, you are the boss.”

      My eyes flashed at his in the darkness. “Hmmmm.... I like that.”

      He laughed. “I’m sure you do.”

      I watched his face as he ran his lips over my hand, squeezing it briefly before dropping it to his lap. “Will this work out?” I asked suddenly, shifting in my seat to face him fully. “You and me, exclusive?”

      “At this party?”

      “No—in normal life. Us having an exclusive relationship, with you being so...” I grimaced, trying to find the right word. “Slutty,” I finally managed.

      He smiled, his gaze traveling over my face, the depths of his soul staring out through those dark, confident eyes. “This isn’t my first relationship, Julia. I know you think I will whip my cock out at the first woman who breathes my way, but I assure you—I can handle commitment.”

      “As long as you have additional stimulation. Beyond me.”

      “Well, there is that, yes. But your involvement in the activity is what makes it so stimulating.”

      I snorted at that. “Bullshit.”

      He cocked his head at me. “The other night, if I hadn’t been involved in that threesome, would you have enjoyed it?”

      I frowned. “If you hadn’t been there, I never would have had sex with him.”

      “Ignore that logic for a moment and envision the situation as two different possibilities. One, just you, me and him. Then imagine the situation with you, him and another guy. Would the experience have been the same?”

      I leaned back against the seat, closing my eyes and envisioning the scenarios. When I removed Brad from the equation—my trust in him, his sexual presence that made every touch electrifying, his ability to somehow know exactly how much I could take, how far to push my boundaries in order to give me the most mind-shattering experience that I was willing, at that point in time, to experience. I finally sighed and opened my eyes, meeting his. “No. It wouldn’t have been the same.”

      He grinned, pulling me in one quick motion onto his lap. “And you make things different for me. You don’t know it, but you captured me quickly, with your faux innocence, the nerdy-glasses, pencil-skirt look that you were trying to pull off. When I saw you later, dressed to the hilt, pure sex from your stilettos to your hair, I didn’t believe it. Saw you as playing a part. But—” he breathed, reaching out and trailing a finger over my open lips “—you are pure sex. When you are in your element, which is typically when you are stuffed full of cock, I’ve never seen a more sexually perfect being in my life.” His mouth twitched, and he pulled me to him for a soft, gentle kiss. “I fell for the feisty, smart-ass Julia that calls me on my shit. But I’m owned by the vixen that you become behind closed doors.” My response was lost in his next kiss, a heady, desperate kiss that consumed both of us, hands fisting in hair, an erotic fusion between two captive souls. I was glad that he took my response, because I didn’t have a coherent thought in my head.

      Seven

      Our kiss was interrupted by the limo’s slow turn into a short driveway, the suited chauffer waiting an appropriate amount of time before opening our door. The makeup stop turned out to be a small bungalow in an established neighborhood, a black Porsche Boxter in the driveway. Lights were on in the house, and Brad rang the doorbell, holding my hand on the front porch.

      “Be patient with Jessica,” he whispered. “She gets a little excited if given too much free rein.”

      I laughed. “Patient? Every woman wants free rein with a makeup professional. I’ll just try not to have too much fun.”

      “Hola! I’m Marco!” A small muscular man in skintight black jeans, a white tank top and a hot-pink boa opened the door with a dramatic flourish. Behind him, I could see a curvy brunette, tattoos covering her arms and neck, and she waved enthusiastically. They moved aside for our entrance and between the hugs, handshakes and introductions, I discovered that the two were roommates, and seemed to be familiar with Brad; he headed past them to the living room.

      Talking a mile a minute, Jessica pulled me into the dining room, where she had a long table covered with every makeup, hair care and skin product known to man. I saw what looked like the entire MAC lineup, as well as half of a Sally’s Beauty Supply store. I was shocked the table didn’t cave in under the weight of it all.

      Brad collapsed into the living room couch, crossing his ankles and settling in. He picked up a remote and starting flipping through the channels, Marco scurrying around him, fluffing pillows and chatting him up excitedly. I saw a brief look of pain cross his face, and then I was gently pushed into a chair by Jessica. She turned on a mirrored spotlight, illuminating my face, examined it closely, then sat back with a satisfied smile.

      “What look do you want to go for tonight?”

      I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never been to a party like this before. Won’t the mask hide a lot of the makeup?”

      She clapped her hands and smiled at me excitedly, and turned and grabbed a thick binder from a nearby stool. “Tonight, the mask is going to be the makeup. Let me show you some examples. Then you can pick out what you like.”

      Fifteen minutes later, I was ready