Masquerade (8 page)

I
t starts innocuously. We are at an old haunt of mine, a gay club, and I say, ‘I don’t know what I am anymore.’

‘You’re a recovering lesbian,’ he replies.

The glib answer irritates me and I decide to punish him. A little. ‘I’m kinda missing the feel of soft skin,’ I say.

An expression crosses his face. I can’t say for sure what it is, but he quickly veils it. ‘You want to bring another woman into bed with us?’

The question throws me. I had not actually thought that far, but now that he has said it I can’t dismiss it either. ‘I don’t know,’ I answer truthfully.

‘Only one way to find out.’

I stare at him.

‘Pick a woman you want and we’ll ménage.’

‘Have you been with two women before?’

‘Of course.’

‘Fun?’

He shrugs noncommittally. ‘It was OK.’

I chuck back my vodka. ‘All right, let’s find out where I stand with this bisexual lark. Don’t go far. I’ll be back.’

He lifts his glass to his lips, his eyes utterly veiled. ‘Good luck.’

Vodka is singing in my veins. I walk over to the bar. There is a girl I know standing at it. She is actually very beautiful with long dark hair and she has a stud in her belly button. I know because I have been to bed with her.

‘Billie,’ she says.

‘Sahara,’ I say.

She kisses me on the lips and introduces me to two other friends of hers. Both have just come back from the dance floor with sheens of sweat on their faces. One is a butch girl called Gerry, and the other is a truly stunning half-caste girl with light eyes. Impossible to tell the color in the dark. Her lips are big and delicious-looking. Her name is Poppy. Lovely. Poppy trails her soft chocolate finger on my bare skin. Honestly, black girls have the softest skin of all races. Like baby skin. I knew straight away I could have invited her over. I could have had her.

But I turn away from her and smile at Gerry. Big, spiky-haired, poor, ugly Gerry. She smiles back, eyes shining.

‘Where did you get your tats done?’ she asks.

For a pick-up line it sucks miserably. ‘Kilburn,’ I tell her.

‘They’re nice,’ she lies lamely. Chocolate finger was better. By far better. Still. I guess she’ll do for tonight.

And then I stop myself.

Who am I fooling? I know exactly why I am not picking the real beauty of the bunch. I don’t want Jaron to be interested in her. I can’t bear the thought of him being sexually attracted to another woman.

I think about all their clever pussy muscles clenching and releasing my fingers as I make them come, and yes, intellectually it is a hot thought, but my stomach doesn’t quake. Not even the thought of their tongues licking my clit does it. I turn and look across the room at Jaron. He is looking down at the table and he seems unreachable and…for that moment maybe even sad. I stare at him.

‘Got to go. I’ll call you,’ I tell Sahara. I wink at Poppy (lovely girl) and shrug at Gerry.

I walk back to the table. At a pillar I stop and watch him.

In the light of the nightclub his hair stands out. Blond men are a rare thing. He is wearing black leather trousers that hug his hips and gleam under the nightclub lights. He sits at the table, cool, relaxed. And I have to admit he is drastically sexy. I watch him flick a glance at the dance floor and get distracted by a woman in a bikini top and a nothing skirt.

She is beckoning to him with one finger. Bitch! The flare of jealousy and irritation is instant and burns at my guts. I quell the desire to stalk up to her and ram her finger down her throat. I stare at Jaron. He extends his thumb and last finger and bends all the fingers between and holds his hand as if it is a receiver to his face. What the fuck? He knows someone in my old haunt? A gay club? And the fucking bastard wants her to call him.

I stalk up to him. ‘Who was that?’

‘Gemma.’

‘Gemma?’ I can’t help how sharp my voice sounds.

He breaks into an idiotic smile. ‘You’re jealous?’

‘No. I am not fucking jealous.’

‘Then it’s no problem.’

‘Can I ask you a stupid question anyway?’

‘Fire away.’

‘Are you sleeping with her too?’

‘Why would you think that?’

That answer inflames me beyond all reason. I want to go around and slap him. I am in a bad way for this guy. And he is so cool and unconcerned and so fucking unavailable. ‘Just once can you just answer the fucking question?’ I grit.

He laughs deep and dark. I realize then that there will always be about him an undercurrent of lurking danger. Like a deep, deep well. ‘No,’ he says very clearly. ‘I’m sleeping with you.’

‘So what are you asking her to call you for?’

‘She works for a friend. I want you.’ His voice is tense and low. ‘Exclusively. If you want to bring another woman into the picture and share me it’s your call, but I’m not sharing you with anyone else. If I see a man even sniffing the air around you, I’ll rip his skin off.’

The breath squashes from my lungs.

Jaron is watching me, his eyes deliberately blank. ‘Well?’ he asks.

I make up my mind pretty quick. ‘Come on,’ I say, and pull him off his chair.

He slides off easily and follows me out of the nightclub. I’ll give him this. The guy knows when not to chatter. Never asks me where we are going. Simply follows. I like that. I turn down the road and into a side street. I know this place. I came here once to vomit. It leads to a cobblestone alleyway. There are large silver wheelie bins and black bin bags of rubbish stacked by them.

I pull him into the shadows of a doorway and slam him against the door. The sound is loud in the deserted place.

‘Remember when I said, I’d
never
suck your dick?’

‘You changed your mind?’ He chuckles.

‘You’re a genius, Jaron Rose,’ I say and start unzipping his pants. He is as hard and as long as a policeman’s baton.

‘I have a crazy fantasy. In it I am a policewoman who stops a very attractive woman on a deserted road. “Did I do something wrong, Officer?” she simpers. “You were speeding,” I tell her firmly, taking out my ticket book. “You’re not going to give me a ticket, are you?” she asks alarmed. “I’m afraid so, lass,” I say opening my book. “I’m so very sorry, Officer,” she purrs. “I promise to be more careful next time.” I click the top of my pen. “Surely there must be something I can do for you?” she asks desperately.’

Jaron’s face is a picture. He is so turned on his jaws are clenched. I reach into his black boxers and take out his baton in my hand. It twitches with excitement.

‘“Maybe,” I inform the young lady. Then I make her get out of the car and tell her very, very sternly to bend over the car hood with her legs spread open. In my fantasy the dirty girl is not wearing any knickers. I lay my palm on her lily-white buttocks and slowly push my baton into her wet, wet pussy. She screams with pleasure.’

At that moment I drop to my knees on the cold cobblestones and move my mouth toward his cock and the smell of his leather trousers. With my eyes trained on him I slowly push the thick shaft between the nice, tight O of my lips. He tastes nothing like I thought he would. Spice and plums! I don’t eat plums and I hate spicy stuff, but I like the taste of him.

His head rears back. ‘Oh God!’ he groans and I see the muscles of his hands bunch as they move toward my hair as if he wants to grasp it and control my head like he would the reins of a horse, but he stops himself in time. Maybe he doesn’t want to scare me away. I open my throat and take him deeper and deeper into my mouth.

He looks down on me, his lust-filled eyes astonished by my skill. ‘I love watching my cock fill your mouth,’ he snarls.

He doesn’t know that Lana and I have been to classes in London where we learned how to deep throat with a condom-covered banana. I am forced further down the trunk of Jaron’s throbbing monster. His helmet pushes my tonsils aside and I gag as the silky head lodges at the base of my throat. For a few seconds the gag reflex sets in and I stop. My throat flutters desperately. I grip his knees hard.

‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘But gag reflex just feels so fucking good.’

I don’t like the sensation of gag reflex one little bit. I jiggle my tongue and gasp for air and then I remember. Just stop and it will pass. I wait and it passes and then I take him deeper past the back of my throat. Strange feeling. It’s just like swallowing a sword, only his shaft is warm and round and satin soft. I take it all in.

‘Suck my big, hard dick, baby. Suck it for me.’ His voice is thick: a guttural growl.

I swirl my tongue against the thick pillar of meat and suck it the way I would have sucked a red ice lolly as a child. Greedily. Until it was white ice. He thrusts his hips. I let him hold my head and fuck my mouth. When his climax begins to shudder through his body he warns me to pull away.

‘Otherwise I’m coming in your mouth,’ he rasps as his knees buckle.

But I don’t disengage. Instead I grab his hips and pull them toward me, my lips wrapped tightly around his girth.

He grabs my hair and his hips carry on fucking my mouth until he explodes so deep in my throat I don’t taste his semen. He inhales sharply and lets loose another throatful of thick, hot cum.

He pulls me to my feet, his cock still semi-hard, and looks into my eyes. His eyes are glittering. ‘What the fuck, Billie? You did that like a fucking pro.’

‘I was making up for the fact that you’re never going to have a threesome with me.’

He looks at me quizzically. ‘I didn’t want a threesome with you.’

‘Good because you’re not getting it.’

‘I thought you wanted it.’

‘I don’t,’ I say belligerently.

‘That was the best blowjob I’ve ever had.’

I grin. ‘Bet my breath stinks of sperm.’

‘Wish you always stank like that.’

‘Whoa.’

‘Where on earth did you learn to give head like that anyway?’

‘London,’ I say airily.

The sinfully sexy dimple on his left cheek appears suddenly, deep and delicious. ‘And what does the policewoman do after she has fucked the poor girl with her baton on the bonnet?’

‘What’s it to you?’

‘I’ve got a baton.’

I look down at his cock. It is nearly hard enough to go again. ‘And you’ve always wanted to be a very butch policewoman?’ I ask.

A sly smile curves his lips as he runs one long finger down my cheek. Desire is radiating off him like sultry summer heat. The man is sex on a stick. He is the master of temptation. A shiver fishtails down my spine. He makes me want things I have never wanted. ‘Don’t let your imagination limit you, Ms. Black.’

I grin. ‘I’m trying not to.’

He comes very close to me. I smell his skin, feel the heat of his hard male body. He licks my collarbone. ‘Try harder.’

I swallow hard. ‘She gets on her knees, opens the girl’s bum cheeks and sucks her pussy dry.’ 

The dimple appears again, but this time his eyes are not laughing. They are dark and dangerous. When he is like this I feel as if I don’t know him at all. What I see is only the mask. What lies underneath is different. Murky. He folds his hands over his chest. ‘Take your panties off.’

I pull them off me hurriedly and drop them on the gritty stones.

His strong hand grabs mine and whirls me around so fast I feel almost dizzy.

‘Place your hands on the wall where I can see them.’

I don’t need to be told a second time. I
want
to be on the other side. The receiving side. My mind whirls with exhilaration and my flesh throbs as I place my palms on the rough bricks above my head and spread my legs wide. I close my eyes and invisible strings of compulsion race along my nerves. He is the policewoman with the baton. Sweat trickles down my spine. He slides his hand along the inside of my right thigh and suddenly thrusts his fingers forcefully into me.

I whimper. ‘No, not that. I’m too close to the edge.’ And I am not lying. I am so turned on I feel as if I could come at any time. The smallest little thing would make me come.

He grabs my hips and slides the thick, hot baton so deep into me that my head pulls back. Even before I can take a steadying breath he pulls out and slams back into me, but so brutally that I come with that second fucking thrust! And it is a savage orgasm. I cry out in ecstasy as wave after wave hits me hard. He freezes. The odd echo of my scream dies and he turns me around and looks deep into my eyes. In the shadows of the alleyway where people only come to piss or vomit I have experienced energy racing inside me like quicksilver, connections and tremendous pleasure. My scalp is tingling, heart is pounding hard and my knees are trembling. This must be what they call fantastic sex.

‘Did you just come?’

I am still in shock with how fast that tsunami was upon me. ‘Crude but effective,’ I croak.

‘Wow!’ he says wonderingly. ‘You made that too easy. I’m nowhere near finished,’ he says.

My need for him is feral, animalistic and insatiable. ‘Let’s go home. I want to lie spread-eagled on the dining table while you fuck me. So hard I feel you are ripping me open.’