by Vivian Wood
“I’m not going at all.”
Carter’s eyebrows lift. “I’m pretty sure that Aunt Margaret is going to expect to see you.”
That takes me by surprise. I frown. “I mean… I didn’t plan for it. I didn’t know anyone was going to expect to see me, honestly. Shit, I don't even have anything that remotely resembles what you would wear for a ball.”
He gives me a deadpan look. “Wear a white button up and dark pants. Surely you have that?”
I fidget, gritting my teeth lightly. I set my belt down on the ground next to me. “Well… yeah… but I don't have a mask or anything.”
He rolls his eyes at me. “Mom bought a metric ton of different masks. They’re in the parlor for whoever shows up without one.”
I think for a second. “I don't really want to go, though.”
Carter’s eyes meet mine, narrowing. “Neither do I. But instead of sitting by myself and drinking, I’m going to at least make an appearance. It would be nice if I knew there was going to be someone my age there, aside from Olivia.”
“Olivia’s going?” I picture Olivia in a revealing bright blue gown and a mask, immediately feeling perked up by the knowledge.
He gives me a shrewd look. “Of course. I told you. Aunt Margaret invited everyone, pretty much.”
I sigh. “All right. What time is the whole thing?”
Carter looks at his watch. “Guests are going to start arriving in half an hour. The idea is that when the sun sets, the party will be in full swing.”
“Christ,” I mutter. “All right, I better go get ready, I guess.”
I walk back to my little apartment, putting on an Outkast record. As André 3000 takes me on a trip through early 2000s Atlanta, I take my time to shower and shave. Getting dressed in my white button up and dark jeans is a slow affair; I guess that I am just dragging a little, hoping against hope that I won’t have to go.
It takes me a while to realize what I’m feeling. Then it hits me like a bolt of lightning: everything about tonight reminds me of being a pre-teen, in the years before I met Grayson. My dad would host these office-wide parties and fundraiser events at our house because it was appropriately impressive. Everyone would dress up in their tuxes and ballgowns and pull around our circular driveway, admiring the house’s quaint mix of beige brick and creeping ivy.
Inside, they would find my mother, my sister, and myself, pressed and starched and waiting for their coats. What they didn't know was how my father screamed at us for hours before each of these events. Every little thing had to be perfect or else it was somehow our fault.
Wrong color napkins? A wrinkle in the pant leg of my suit? One of the members of the four-piece quartet called out sick at the last minute?
We were screamed at by my father for each of them. Sometimes he would even hit my mother and I, his temper making him completely unhinged. Eve was immune from the worst of it, but even she had to stand straight and be inspected time and time again.
It’s no wonder that I’m trying to avoid a big, dressy event. Especially one held by my secret family, where I pretend to be merely the handyman and they pretend to care about me.
By the time I finally drag myself back out to the main house, the sun has set. Every light in the main house is blazing bright against the summer evening. I can hear loud jazz music playing sooner than I see the house.
When I get to the front door, no one I recognize is there. Instead I’m greeted as a guest by the dark-outfitted rented staff, given a random mask and pointed upstairs. I slip on the Phantom of the Opera style mask and head up the main staircase.
The party is in full swing already, judging by the intensely loud music and the two older ladies giggling and clutching at each other for balance as they try to make it down the stairs. As I make it up the last couple of steps, I can actually feel the entire second floor vibrating.
At the top I stop and stare. The ballroom doors are thrown open and the party is so packed that it’s spilling out into the hall. Men in tuxes yell into the ears of ladies in ballgowns. Everyone wears a mask up here, including the bartenders at the bar set up just outside the ballroom doors.
The liquor is flowing freely too, from the looks of it. Feeling too uptight to party, I head into the ballroom, shuffling and maneuvering to get past the crowd at the door. Inside, the jazz music is bright and tinny sounding, but I suppose that’s probably on purpose. The lights are lower here by the door and brighter over by the windows.
Everywhere I can see, there are costumed people dancing and chatting. As I move through the ballroom, I look around for someone I know, starting to feel a bit desperate. It’s harder than usual, which is I guess the point of a masquerade ball.
And then I see her.
Without question, I know it’s Olivia. She is wearing a simple black dress, fitted and full length with thick straps. She pushes a strand of her sleek brown hair back as she stands by the wall, talking to a man in a tux. Her simple white mask is blocking her expression, but I can tell by her body language that the man is hitting on her.
I can tell she doesn’t like it.
As I start to push my way through the crowd towards her, I see the man grab her arm, lean in, and try to kiss her. She makes a face and turns her head slightly, avoiding direct contact between their mouths.
That’s when I start seeing red.
Fuck anyone who touches her against her will.
Fuck any guy that touches her and isn’t me.
As I start plowing my way through the crowd, I see her protest as the guy tries to pull her closer.
“Stop!” she yelps. “Seriously, you don't even know me—”
“If you would just—”
That’s all the guy manages to say before I get close enough to yank him off of her. Olivia’s eyes widen when she sees me and takes in my expression.
“Aiden—”
“Hey!” the guy complains.
I punch him right in the nose, knocking him down to the floor. He makes a startled sound and holds his face; bright red blood starts to bloom on his face.
“Aiden!” Olivia says, looking tense. She rushes to my side, tugging at my arm.
I glance at her, then back to the guy on the floor, who is just now getting surly.
“Who the fuck are you?” he yells.
I step closer, ignoring Olivia’s hand on my arm. “You don't fucking touch her,” I tell him. “You don't touch anybody unless they ask you to, you fucking asshole.”
“I didn’t do anything!” he cries, holding his nose.
“Bullshit,” I tell him. “I saw it all. And if you think that I’m the only one who would’ve stepped in, you’re wrong. You can’t just step all over a girl nowadays and expect that no one will stop you.”
Olivia makes a frustrated noise. “Seriously, Aiden—”
“Okay! Okay.” I take a step back, gripping Olivia’s waist. My gaze meets hers. “I’ll go if you go with me.”
“Yes,” she says, tugging me toward the door of the ballroom. “I’m going with you.”
I let her pull me away with one last glare at the man, who is just now getting to his feet. Then he’s gone, obscured by the dancers and chatters that stand in between me and the wall. Turning toward the doorway, I step in front of her to make a path.
Soon we are out of the ballroom. I don't stop there on the landing, though. I grab Olivia by the waist and halfway carry her down the stairs, not stopping until we hit the front door. There are a few people who drunkenly watch as I pin Olivia to the outside of the house. A few people see me roughly kiss her, forcing my lips down on hers.
No one says anything though, because in the next second, she sinks against me. Burying her hands in my hair, she opens her mouth to me, letting my tongue slide against hers. When she finally breaks away, pulling back, I can see the desire written in her blue eyes.
“You are a hypocrite,” she whispers, kissing me lightly on the lips. “You punched that guy for trying to do what you just did.”
/> My lips curve upward. “So? I had just cause, I think.”
She smiles. “You are a fucking liar.”
I’ve never heard her curse before, but I like it. Backing away from her, I offer her my hand. “So choose then. But choose wisely.”
She bites her lower lip and takes my hand. I turn and lead her off the porch, toward the staff apartments.
27
Olivia
When I pull Aiden toward my apartment, he resists. “Come to my place,” he says. “I have records and whiskey.”
So I let him sweep me up the steps of his apartment, ushering me inside the door. I pull off my mask when he does, blushing for no reason except that I’m very close to him right now. He stops me there to kiss me briefly, then his face creases into a smile.
“Let me put an album on,” he says.
I crinkle my nose. “What are you going to play?”
He gives me a look. “I don't know. I was thinking about Portishead.”
I tilt my head, closing the door behind us. “I don't know who that is.”
He smiles at that. “Perfect. Stay right there while I put it on.”
He walks over to the kitchen, pulling open a cabinet. There are a hundred records inside and it only takes him half a minute to find the right one. Then he saunters over to the record player, flipping its case open. In another half a minute the record is spinning, the record player emitting low, sultry sounds. A woman starts singing, her sensual voice high and the words lyrical.
Aiden turns and looks at me. “Come here,” he commands, swinging his hips a little in time to the beat.
Feeling my heartbeat rise, I move towards him, the long skirt I’m wearing rustling. He unbuttons the first two buttons of his white shirt at his throat, his gaze wandering down my body. It’s insane how hot I feel right now, when he hasn’t even touched me yet.
I walk right up to him, pressing up on my tiptoes to catch his lips. He cups both of my cheeks, groaning as he pulls me closer. Our bodies touch, my breasts and hips scorching as they are crushed against his hard torso.
He sighs, looking up at me. He looks so appealing in that moment, his hair perfectly mussed and his color still high.
My lips lift. I shift against his body, savoring the press of skin to skin. “What?”
Aiden’s gaze dips down to my body. “I know I just had you, but I want you again.”
Heat pools in my cheeks and slides down low in my body. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
His eyes lift to meet mine. “It’s not necessarily bad. It’s just…. more complicated.”
I think about that for a second. “I don't think anyone needs to know, if that’s what you’re worried about still.”
Guilt flashes across his face. He reaches out to cup my jaw. “That’s one of the reasons.”
I turn my head to kiss his palm. “What are the others?”
He sighs again. “I’m no good for you, Olivia. I’m no good for anybody, but especially not you. You’re so young—”
I roll my eyes. “Talking about my age isn’t a convincing argument.”
Aiden’s expression turns to steel. “There are other reasons. I’m not faithful, for one.”
“So? What does that have to do with whether or not we hook up again? I don't recall asking you to be anyone you’re not. You are the one putting emphasis on these things.”
He doesn’t look entirely convinced. “So you’re okay with just hooking up? No… like, long-term goals? No labels?”
I wiggle my body until our faces are almost even. Then I kiss him gently on the lips.
Then I look him in the eye, my expression stern. “I asked you to take my virginity, not to be my husband. So… yeah. Maybe we could establish some boundaries — like neither of us will screw anyone else for the next couple of weeks. But other than that, let’s keep it easy. No pressure. No rules.”
His eyebrows lift. “Are you sure?”
Am I? I’m pretty sure that I am, if it means that I get Aiden.
My breath catches for a moment, but I just push on. “Of course.”
He presses his lips to mine again, agreement implicit in his embrace. I moan as he deepens the kiss. I crave more. Soon I’m lost on a current of desire, not knowing or caring where it will carry me, as long as we are together.
28
Aiden
We have sex pretty much nonstop for the next two days and then we go back to work for another two. Redoing the two apartments behind mine and whatever cataloging Olivia has only keeps us busy during the day. At night, we spend hours in my bed, discovering exactly what she likes. As it turns out, she likes to be dominated a little, told what to do and how to do it.
Which more than works for me.
I’m worried that I’ve worn Olivia out, but she just moans in a sultry tone whenever I touch her. It turns out that when left to our own devices, each of us is at least as horny and needy as the other.
And thanks to our whispered conversation the night of the ball — that it’s hotter and less pressure when we agree to keep things just between us — I don't have to worry about Grayson.
Not much, anyway. Sure, there is a vaguely sick ghost hovering just over my shoulder, wringing its hands. But when I slide my hands over Olivia’s skin, it disappears for a while. Everything that I’ve been worried about lately vanishes in a swirl of smoke.
That’s how the week slips away from me. My brain is just full of her, always thinking of how I can get more. She’s addictive like that. She makes me need another sweat-soaked sex session, even if I literally just had one.
In the back of my mind, I wonder where the wall is. I usually hit a wave of resistance around the end of the second day, no matter how good the pussy is. I turn from the master of whatever room I’m in, to a lump of clay at forty hours straight spent with another person. But with Olivia, the fact that I got to mold her, added to the fact that we have to be apart for long enough, means I’m left wanting more.
Physically aching for her.
All of that comes to a screeching halt when I get a text from Grayson.
Come to base camp. Bring Olivia. — G
I glance over to where she is asleep in my bed, her arms and legs pulled close to her body, her dark hair looking like an ink spill against the white pillowcase. Even in sleep Olivia is unusual. Most people look peaceful when they sleep. But Olivia’s brow is hunched down, a frown creasing her face. It looks like she is ready to argue with someone in her dreams.
She’s never boring, not even in her sleep. I have to give her that much.
She groans and shifts in her sleep, tugging the sheet that covers her down, exposing her shadowed collarbone and the creamy top of one breast. Text or no text, I’m hard for her in a second, that innocent beauty more than I can handle.
What the fuck am I doing?
I lean over to her, brushing back a lock of hair from her ear. Breathing heavily, I ghost my lips over it. She stirs a little. I press a kiss to the shell of her ear, then slip the tip of my tongue inside it.
“Mmm,” she breathes, not opening her eyes just yet. “Aiden…”
The fact that I am the only one on her mind when I’m waking her up like this… it reminds me of how innocent she is. Of the land I conquered when I first fucked her.
Can that only have been a few weeks ago?
Olivia cracks open her eyes, two perfectly blue orbs taking my measure. “I thought we decided to sleep in a little.” She breaks off, stifling a yawn. “Since we didn’t go to sleep until four…”
I slide a hand down her flank. “I know.”
She looks confused. “Margaret is in Seattle for the weekend, right? She gave us the weekend off, didn’t she?”
My lips lift at the corners. “She did.”
I give the sheet between us a tug, pulling it off her body. She blushes and bites her lip right away, but I can see the beginnings of carnal interest in her eyes too.
I put that there. I make her blush. No one else
.
For some reason, those feel to me like big changes in Olivia. And when she reaches her hand down to cup my erection, I want to throw back my head in exultation. I don't do that of course, but I still feel that way inside.
I let her explore for a minute, my breath leaving me as her timid fingers find their home fisted around my cock. Telling her that her brother texted is that last thing I want to do right now.
She pushes the sheet off me and shifts her body to bring her hot little mouth down on the tip of my cock. For a second I clench all the muscles in my body, thinking that I may have died and gone to heaven and no one bothered to tell me. I can only sink my hands into her hair and try to stay still.
When I turn my head to the side though, I catch a glimpse of the clock. I wish I hadn’t. Or at least I wish that she and I lived in our own little world, fucking and eating and laughing at each other’s stupid little jokes.
And even though I’m pretty sure that I’m in heaven — made of Olivia’s tongue and breasts and ass and pussy — I know that I can’t let down Grayson. It’s always sort of been that way. He doesn’t ask me for much at all, so what he asks for he gets immediately.
Too bad I fucked up the trend with Olivia.
A flash of guilt overcomes me, which is just as well. I reach down and stop her with gentle hands. She looks up, a little panic in her face.
“Did I do something wrong?” she asks.
I grab her shoulders and guide her up, kissing her on the lips. “Definitely not.”
She allows me to kiss her but her shoulders are still stiff in my hands. “Then why… I mean… don't you…” Her cheeks color.
I sigh. “If you think that there is anything I want more than for you to roll your tongue around while your mouth is on my cock, you’re insane. But I just got a text from your brother, asking me to bring you to Whiskey Bend.”
He posture straightens even more. Her mouth opens, her head jerking back. “Oh.”
