Masked Indulgence: A Billionaire Holiday Romance (Nightclub Sins Book 2)

by Michelle Love

  The newlyweds, Rebekah and Flynn, set off for the mansion on Christmas Eve through an unprecedented snowstorm that covered most of the southern States in several feet of snow. A journey that should have taken them less than a day now took them until just before midnight. Luckily, the fires in the house had been lit, and a huge tree was covered in decorations.

  “Oh, it’s just lovely,” Rebekah exclaimed and kissed her new husband. “What could be a more romantic than spending the first moments of Christmas day in front of this fire?”

  Flynn had a much more romantic idea in mind for their wedding night, but he knew what a sentimental doll Rebekah could be—and what a sullen pout she had when she didn’t get her own way, so he smiled indulgently. “It’s perfect, darling. I’ll see if the staff has left us any food.”

  He found the kitchen staff, drooping from exhaustion, had prepared them a feast and he thanked them profusely. “Please, if you haven’t eaten, please join us. This food is too much for just us two.”

  “We wouldn’t dream of invading your privacy.”

  Flynn smiled. “You are too kind. I tell you what … I’ll just take enough for two on that tray there and you help us out by eating the rest. And thank you, you must be exhausted. I hope you will take the next few days with your families.”

  The cook, a rounded woman with a soft face, shook her head. “Snow’s killed that idea, I’m afraid, sir. We’ll have to spend the holidays here.”

  “I’m so sorry for that. Then tomorrow, we’ll celebrate Christmas together, and I’ll try to make up for your hardship.”

  “You are very kind, sir,” the cook said, a shy smile on her face.

  A male servant stepped forward and lowered his tone. “Sir, I have placed a hot iron in the marital bed to warm the sheets.”

  Flynn smiled at him. “That was very thoughtful.” He winked at the servant, who hid a smile. Flynn gathered a tray of food and carried it into the living room where Rebekah was waiting. She had slipped out of her furs and was sitting in front of the fire, the flames lighting her beautiful face. She turned and smiled at him, and he felt his stomach tighten, and his cock thicken as it always did when he saw her. The way the fire shone in her dark eyes, the flush of her porcelain skin, the tumbling chestnut locks that she’d released and now hung in ringlets down to her waist. Flynn put the tray of food down between them then leaned over to kiss her.

  “Have I told you in the last hour how much I love you, Mrs. Abbott?”

  She smiled delightedly. “You just did. Oh, Flynn, this is magical.”

  “It is, my love.”

  They ate their fill, talking, and at midnight, raised their champagne glasses and wished each other a Merry Christmas. Flynn grinned at the joy on his bride’s face.

  “Would you like your present now?”

  She laughed, throwing her head back. “You know me too well, my love.”

  Flynn retrieved his jacket and pulled from it a small black wooden box. “From me to you on our first Christmas as husband and wife.”

  Her eyes were open wide as she opened the box. “Oh, my goodness, Flynn …” He laughed at her shocked face. Inside the box, a pendant, a single diamond the size of a silver dollar, hung from a delicate gold chain. Rebekah gaped at it, and then at her husband. Flynn smiled and took it out of the box and draped it around her neck, fastening it at the nape of her neck. She touched the diamond at her throat.

  “I don’t know what to say … except thank you, of course.” Tears were glistening in her eyes. Then she got slowly to her feet and held her hand out to him. “Actually … there is something I can do to show you how grateful I am.”

  She led him up the stairs to their bedroom. A huge four-poster bed draped in mosquito netting stood in the middle of the chamber. A fire burned in the grate. Flynn pulled back the covers and carefully removed the hot iron.

  “It’s warm and comfortable.”

  “Flynn.”

  He turned to find Rebekah, her wedding dress on the floor and her beautiful body naked, lit by the fire. He drew in a sharp breath. The diamond sparkled at her throat.

  “My God …” He went to her and took her in his arms, his hands caressing her bare skin. “If there’s a more beautiful sight in this world, I’ll eat my hat, Mrs. Abbott.”

  She pressed her lips to his, her fingers trembling as she unbuttoned his shirt. Flynn, kissing her deeply, helped her out and soon they were both naked. Rebekah looked down at his cock, standing proud and thick against his belly. “May I kiss it?” she asked with a tremor in her voice, and he nodded.

  “Whatever you want is yours, my love.”

  She knelt down gracefully and took his cock in her hands, studying it before kissing the tip. She jumped as it quivered and Flynn chuckled. “Got a life all its own, sweetheart.”

  She looked up at him then, to his surprise, swept her lips over the wide crest of it, sucking gently at the tip then teasing it with her tongue. Flynn closed his eyes and surrendered himself to the pleasure, wondering how on earth she had known how to do that to it.

  As he neared his peak, he gently pulled out of her mouth and swept her onto the bed, parting her legs, slipping his hand between them to find her wet. Rebekah nodded at him. “Please, Flynn, take me now.”

  She gave a small cry of pain as he entered her but soon her legs clamped around his hips, and they moved together as one, kissing, loving. Flynn thrilled as she bit onto his shoulder in her passion, writhing beneath him and arching her back as she came. Afterward, they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

  Rebekah opened her eyes. It was still dark in the room, but faintly, very faintly, she could hear the singing.

  I’ve got the joy-joy-joy-joy down in my heart …

  Rebekah looked over at Flynn sleeping so soundly, then, pushing the covers back, she got out of bed and went to the window. In the distance, across the snowy land, she could see a faint light burning. The moon was full, and eventually she made out the shape of a boathouse. The boathouse her husband’s uncle had warned them about. The singing seemed to be coming straight from there.

  Rebekah grinned and went to wake Flynn. “What is it, my love?”

  She told him and he went to the window. “Do you hear it?” she asked excitedly. Flynn nodded, his handsome face bemused. She clutched his arm.

  “Darling, let’s have an adventure.”

  Flynn frowned at her. “What do you mean?”

  She gave him her sweetest kiss. “Would you climb the tallest tree here for me?”

  “Of course, my love.”

  “Would you wrestle an alligator for me?”

  “However big and fearsome it was, I would wrestle it for you.”

  She smiled at him.

  “Would you run to the boathouse at night with me?”

  A shadow crossed Flynn’s face, and he frowned.

  “Darling, we were warned not to go there, and besides, the snow is a foot deep. No, silly. We’ll go in the daytime but not now.”

  She pouted at him.

  “You don’t love me.”

  He protested, but it quickly dissolved into an enormous argument. Finally, he threw up his hands and shouted. “Fine! I shall go for you now, but if anything happens to me, just know I did it because I love you. I promised to give you my heart when we were married, and if you require proof, that you shall have.”

  He strode from the room and out of the house. Rebekah sat there, humbled, for a few minutes. She felt very silly and very guilty. After an hour, her love had still not returned. She began to feel worried. After three hours, she decided to wake the groundsman and go to see where Flynn was. The groundsman expressed dismay that the husband had disobeyed his uncle’s direction.

  Rebekah hung her head and admitted that it was her fault, that she had asked him to prove his love. The groundsman sighed.

  “Yes,” he said, “it always happens that way.”

  They set out for the boathouse, Rebekah stumbling in the deep snow behind the groundsman. Why,
oh, why had she been so silly? As they drew nearer, they began to hear someone singing.

  “I’ve got the joy-joy-joy-joy down in my heart …”

  The bride smiled, relieved. “That’s my Flynn. Oh, how I love his singing …”

  The groundsman did not smile. He began to shake with fear and tried to drag Rebekah away, but she would not leave. Finally, he let her go and ran off.

  “I’ve got the joy-joy-joy-joy down in my heart …”

  Rebekah pushed open the door of the boathouse and stepped inside.

  As she gasped in horror, she saw a ghostly figure bending over the corpse of her husband. In one hand it held his still beating heart, dripping blood, and with the other hand, the ghost manipulated Flynn’s jaw to make it seem as if he was singing. Rebekah cried out, and the ghost whirled around to see her. The ghoul had the face of a screaming skull, and as it advanced on her, she saw that it was entirely dressed in a bridal gown. The ghost forced her husband’s heart into her mouth and as the bride choked slowly to death, began to sing …

  “I’ve got the joy-joy-joy-joy down in my heart …”

  The End

  Gods and Monsters Book 4

  In the corrupt cesspool of 1940’s Los Angeles, Buddy Scott, a gas-pump attendant at a station on Miracle Mile, moonlights as a “male madam” to the Hollywood stars who seek out his very specialized “talents.” On Christmas Eve, he spends the night at the Chateau Marmont with a new client, young movie star Lily Harlow. The young actress touches him with her innate sadness and delicate beauty, but upon waking back at home in the morning, he learns that Lily has committed suicide. Devastated but, in this town, not surprised, he spends Christmas Day night at various Hollywood parties … but sees Lily everywhere. What does Lily’s ghost want from Buddy, and can he give her peace before his own life is destroyed?

  Los Angeles, 1948 …

  Buddy Scott tipped his cap at the young woman as she paid him for the gas. He reveled in her eyes sweeping up and down his body, neatly dressed in white, and knew what she was thinking.

  What would it be like to be fucked by such a man? It was the look Buddy got from every woman who came to his gas station … and some of the men too. Buddy was only too happy to let them find out—for a price, of course.

  He’d started at the gas station after being shipped home from the Pacific. He had a wife, a couple of kids at home to support, and if the money wasn’t great pumping gas, at least it was a steady paycheck. The snappy white uniform didn’t hurt either; the shirt was thin enough that his ripped abs and pecs were clearly visible; the pants hugged his crotch and outlined his impressive cock and balls. Yeah, he always saw them glance downward and lick their lips. It’s all yours honey, all of it, for as long as you want—for a price, of course.

  His boss at the station, a good-natured ex-rancher called Earle who hated being the city, left Buddy to manage the place most of the time, which suited Buddy fine. All the people who came to solicit him always left with a full tank of gas, and Earle’s station was the most profitable along the Miracle Mile.

  It was 1948, and Los Angeles was getting ready for awards season. Christmas was a heady rush of parties and sex for Buddy—his most lucrative time of the year. He worked the parties, fucking his way through the Hollywood elite so his wife, the patient and discreet Mary, could be spoiled with jewelry, perfume—and this year, a new car, an almost spotless 1947 Chevrolet Coupe in her favorite lilac color. The kids, twin girls, Mimi and Lux, were five now and he loved them to distraction—when he was around to enjoy their merry smiles and musical giggles. Buddy was the first to admit he was an absent father and husband a lot of the time, but the girls didn’t seem to be unhappy or not thriving. The piles of presents waiting for them under the tree made up for his working all hours. Working, huh, Buddy thought to himself now with a grin as a Daimler pulled into the gas station and up to a pump. It’s hardly working when you love it so much, Buddy boy.

  The Daimler was driven by Carter Vanderbilt, one of the most powerful agents in town and a closeted homosexual who Buddy knew well; he’d send some of his best young boys to Carter each week in return for a huge retainer. Carter grinned at him now, his rakish mustache perfectly groomed. Buddy liked the man a lot, but he was always amused by the way Carter styled himself as an Errol Flynn-type. Carter nodded in greeting.

  “Hey, Bud, fill her up.”

  “Hey, yourself. All good with you?”

  Carter smirked. “More than good, thanks to you. That kid you sent me the other night—damn, you got connections, son. Sucked me dryer than the Mojave. But I got another reason for this visit.”

  Well, this was new. Usually, Carter came to the gas station, filled the Daimler, and handed Buddy a note along with the cash for the gas. Buddy fixed the pump and then smiled at his friend.

  “What’s up?”

  “We just signed a new girl from out of Chicago. She’s pretty green, and she’s lonely here this holiday season. We got her at the Marmont. Wondered if you’d like to take Little Buddy up there and party? She’s a real looker; you won’t be disappointed.”

  Buddy finished filling the car. “First … not so little Buddy.” Both men laughed. “And sure thing. When?”

  Carter looked a little guilty. “See, the thing is … I know it’s Christmas and all but ...”

  Buddy gave a groan. “Dude, you’re messing with me. Man, I got the girls to think of, Carter.”

  Carter held up his hands apologetically. “I know, and I’m sorry. It’s why I’m offering four times your usual fee. Agency will pay. They seem to think the girl needs a good fucking, something to get some color back in her cheeks, kickstart the little wildcat we think is in there.”

  Buddy considered for a long moment. Four times his usual fee? Jeez, that was college fund kind of money. “Not like the agency to get involved.”

  Carter got out of the car and got out a cigarette. Buddy knocked it out of his hand before he could light it and nodded to the “No Smoking” sign.

  Carter grimaced. “You know, they let me smoke at the Grillo.”

  “And I’m sure they’ll be grateful when you blow it sky-high.” It was a mark of how good Buddy’s reputation was in Hollywood that he could talk to someone as powerful as Carter like that. Carter routinely ate people for breakfast, but he stuck the packet of smokes back in his pocket, shrugging good-naturedly.

  “Here’s the thing,” he said, “Lily—that’s the girl—has done some screen tests around town and they all came back with the same thing. She’s talented, real talented, she’s stunning, but there’s something not quite right. Something in her eyes. They’re dead, Bud, just lifeless. Jack Warner himself came back to me and told me he thinks she needs a good screwing.”

  Buddy shrugged. “You sure a psychiatrist wouldn’t be better?”

  Carter leered and nodded at Buddy’s crotch. He knew personally the pleasure Buddy could give a person with that magnificent schlong. “That’s the only treatment she needs. So, you in?”

  Buddy sighed and nodded. He couldn’t pass up that amount of money. He’d just have to smooth it over with Mary and the kids.

  The Chateau Marmont on Sunset Boulevard was twenty years old and had already survived a major earthquake in 1933 and many other seismic shocks— not always of the shakin’ the earth kind. The scandals within its walls began almost as soon it was turned from an apartment building to a hotel. Jean Harlow, Lily’s namesake, and Clark Gable carried on their affair in its bedrooms; and there were persistent rumors of illegal activity.

  To Buddy, it was the place to be in Hollywood. On more than one occasion he had “romanced” some of the Tinsel Town elite there, so when he showed up on Christmas Eve and asked for Lily Harlow’s room, the receptionist Janette just winked at him—he’d given her more than one freebie in his time—and gave him the room number.

  Buddy considered himself jaded by beauty. He’d been around it from a young age— his momma had been a showgirl, and he’d been raised by her
and her fellow dancers in a loving embrace. He prided himself that that was why he was so respectful of women now. But he had seen it all. De Havilland and her sister, Joan Fontaine, Rita Hayworth, Harlow, Bacall, his favorite Lana Turner … he’d met them all countless times and had fucked more than one of them more than once. They adored him and his diamond-hard cock. The one who had eluded him was the delectable Hedy Lamarr, but he was working on that. So, he’d seen the most beautiful women in the world, but nothing prepared him for the moment Lily Harlow opened the door.

  Her eyes were large and dark, dark black, fringed with the thickest, longest lashes; she had olive skin, her cheeks flushed rose pink, and a full, pouty red mouth. Her dark hair, thick and lustrous, fell in soft waves down past her shoulders. Her body, wrapped in a white lace robe, was all breakneck curves. Then there were the full, perky breasts and legs that went on for days. Buddy felt like a teenage boy again, gaping at this vision. The corner of her mouth hitched up in a smile.

  “You’re the lothario that’s come to fuck some life into me?” Her voice was gravelly and deep, snow on hot coals. She nodded for him to come into the suite. “Better shut that fly-trap, honey; you’re losing your cool.”

  Buddy realized his mouth was hanging open and felt stupid. If he had anything, it was cool-boy-swagger, but this chick … “Miss Harlow, it’s good to meet you. I’m Buddy.”

  She sat down at her vanity unit and picked up an already burning cigarette, the onyx holder long and slim. He watched as her red lips parted slightly and she inhaled deeply. He caught the scent of weed. Even better, he thought with a grin. Cannabis was the only drug he ever touched. She offered him the joint, and he took a long drag. Christ, it was strong … luckily, he held in a cough. He didn’t want to lose any more cool points with this woman.

  “So, Buddy …” Lily Harlow stood up and pulled her robe open, letting it fall from her shoulders to the floor. Goddamn … his cock responded immediately, and when she stepped over to him and cupped it through his pants, it strained at her touch.