Masquerade By The Master

by Lili Valente

  So I’ve started taking pictures. Lots and lots of pictures, documenting every day of the life I’m lucky enough to share with the woman of my dreams.

  It was actually Ivy’s suggestion.

  “You’ve got an eye for beautiful things,” she’d said one afternoon as we were hanging a new Medusa painting I’d acquired on a business trip to Greece. “You should paint.”

  “And pigs should fly,” I’d replied, dismissing the idea. “I can’t draw a straight line with a ruler, princess. The one time I tried to paint it looked like a dog swallowed a box of crayons and then vomited them back onto the canvas.”

  “Ew,” she’d said cheerfully. “Well, maybe photography, then? You can’t make a picture look like dog vomit unless you intentionally find vomit to photograph. And I’d love to see what you see when you walk around the city. You always find the beautiful things no one else notices.”

  And so I bought two cameras, Ivy and I attended a weekend course on how to use them, and now our house is filled with even more beautiful things—photographs that document the days that pass so quickly when I’m with her.

  But none of the photographs, even the ones Ivy let me take of her in our claw-foot bathtub, can compare to the woman herself, in the flesh.

  Or in this hot as fuck dress…

  Ivy picked out her own dress for the Venus Ball this year, a red strapless gown the same color as her hair, which makes her look like a column of flame. The orange and red feather mask she wears completes the ensemble, giving birth to thoughts of a phoenix rising from ashes. She is stunning, magical, and so fucking sexy I’ve been hard since the moment she stepped out of the bedroom.

  And I’m certainly not the only one who’s prepared to sell his soul to get his hands on her tonight. As we make our way to the castle gates, every man in attendance, and a few of the women, turn to watch. One burly man’s head swivels so intensely I’m worried he’s going to pull a muscle before he and his date get into the party. But I’m not jealous. There’s no reason to be.

  Ivy is mine, from the tip of her upturned nose to the ends of the perpetually cold toes she kept bundled in two pairs of my socks this winter because she insisted my socks felt warmer than hers.

  Half of my socks are in her drawers, my T-shirts have been appropriated for walks around the neighborhood before work each morning, and the master bath has been taken over by dozens of bottles of curl-enhancing potions and creams Ivy insists are necessary to keep her hair from frizzing. She has left her mark on every room in my home, every aspect of my life, and I couldn’t be happier.

  Well, maybe I could be a little happier…

  “Is your ass mine tonight, princess?” I ask softly as we find our place at the back of the line. “Is that my surprise?”

  “No, it isn’t,” she says, smiling up at me. “Not that I would tell you if it was, because the whole point of a surprise is that you don’t know what it’s going to be. But it’s definitely not your cock in my ass.”

  “What about my tongue in your ass?” I ask hopefully.

  “That’s repulsive, Mulligan. Really and truly.”

  I shrug. “I bet I could make you come that way, just from my tongue licking and teasing and fucking your ass. You should let me try.”

  “Keep it up and you won’t get your surprise tonight,” she says. “I’ll make you wait until tomorrow when we get home.”

  I press my lips together, feigning greater irritation than I feel. “Fine. But then I’ll be forced to retaliate by making you wait so long to come that you think you’re going to die from it, princess.”

  She laughs. “You’re going to do that anyway.”

  I grin. “I am. I love that you know me so well.”

  “Me, too.” She presses up on tiptoe, stealing a quick kiss before we step forward, closer to the castle walls and all the fun we’re going to have inside them.

  There will be no drama, no worry, no falling off things or fretting about the future tonight. Tonight Ivy and I are completely in sync, in love, and happier than we’ve ever been. Our time at the ball will be one hundred percent pleasure, seven or eight hours of games and erotic torture, and, if I have anything to say about it, topped off with my cock buried deep in Ivy’s beautiful ass.

  I’ve had her in so many wonderful and wicked ways this past year, but she continues to deny me access to that part of her. Her ass is my final frontier, and I mean to conquer it—and show her just how incredible anal can feel when done properly—tonight.

  My hand drifts down, cupping her bottom through the velvety fabric of her dress.

  “It’s not happening,” she says, a sterner note in her voice. “I’m serious. I’m not ready, and we didn’t bring lube.”

  “We could acquire lube,” I say, knowing any erotic prop we desire is easily obtained at the castle’s front desk. “But if you’re not ready, then you’re not ready. Just promise me this is still on the table for another night.”

  She shakes her head with a sigh, clearly thinking I’m crazy. “Yes, oh stubborn one. It’s still on the table for another night.”

  “Good. Because I need to fuck your ass before I die. It’s on my bucket list. At the very top of it, in fact.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” she says with a laugh.

  “Please do.” I wrap my arm around her waist as I reach into my tuxedo jacket’s inner pocket for our tickets. “Just in case we someday get into a terrible car accident together before my dick has made your ass’s intimate acquaintance.”

  “I’ll drag my shattered body out of the wreckage and make it happen,” she promises dryly. “Scout’s honor.”

  I laugh beneath my breath. “You’re too good to me, princess.”

  “I am. But you’re awfully good to me, too, sir,” she says, the shift in her tone making it clear she’s as eager as I am for the game to begin. “Where do you want to start tonight, Master Edward? In the gardens near the gates, or farther afield?”

  I kiss the top of her head. “I want to start with a story, the way we did last time. Any hard limits for you tonight? Aside from the posterior-related ban already discussed?”

  “No, sir.” She leans into me, tilting her head back to whisper in my ear, “Though I would love to find somewhere private if possible.”

  “Me, too,” I say, hoping she’ll love the adventure I have planned. “I find I’m even less interested in sharing you this year.”

  She arches a brow. “Is this the same man who said he wanted to show everyone how pretty I am when I come on his mouth in that alcove back there?” She jabs a thumb over her shoulder, toward the shadows where I ambushed her one year ago tonight.

  “Beautiful was the word I used. And that was before I remembered just how beautiful, and decided sharing that view with anyone else would be asking for trouble. I enjoy competition in most things, but not when it comes to you.”

  “As if anyone else would have a chance,” she says, taking my hand as we reach the front of the line.

  “Ditto, sweetness.” I slip our tickets to the man in the red mask, and we step through the gates. On the other side, I squeeze her hand tight. “Think we can beat everyone else to the far side of the grounds?”

  She reaches down to scoop her dress up in one hand with a grin, revealing a pair of red Nikes. “We absolutely can. I came prepared for climbing and running from security this year.”

  I curse softly in admiration. “I wasn’t sure it was possible, but you just got twenty percent sexier.”

  “Race me over the bridge?” she asks, eyes glittering behind her mask.

  “Ready in three, two—no fair! That’s cheating, Prescott!” I call after her as she dashes down the path ahead of me. With a grin, I start after, following the sound of her laughter.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Ivy

  By the time I beat Edward over the bridge—it’s hardly cheating to take a head start when my legs are at least four inches shorter than his—follow him through a maze of thickly planted tre
es near the brook, and hike to the top of a grassy knoll on the far side of the property, I’m starting to regret the ball gown.

  “Next year I’m wearing spandex pants and a tank top.” With a huff I drop the heavy fabric I’ve held bunched in my hands. The skirt swirls back around my legs, concealing my now mud-christened sneakers.

  “Formal wear is required, my love,” Edward says, motioning for me to follow him around a row of large rocks that block our view of whatever lies on the other side.

  “I’ll bedazzle the tank top, then.” I laugh at the look Edward shoots me over his shoulder. “I love you. You’re very cute when you’re horrified by sparkles.”

  “I love you. And you’re very cute when you’re naked,” he says with a grin. “When we get to the boat I want you to strip. I’ve always wanted to row a naked goddess across a moonlit pond.”

  I bite my lip, but before I can think of a reasonable excuse for disobeying a direct order during playtime, we clear the rocks, revealing a landscape that takes my breath away.

  “Oh, it’s magical.” My gaze sweeps across the dark, moonlight-smudged pond where water lilies sleep in clusters near the shore. On a small island at the center of the pond, weeping willow trees trail silver leaves down to kiss the waves, and a single paper lantern hangs from a hook dug deep into the water, sending flashes of orange light dancing across the surface. “It’s like a Monet painting at night. Or something from a fairy tale.”

  “Which is perfect. Because I have a fairy tale I want to tell you while we row.” He takes my hand, leading the way down a stretch of sandy grass to a dock where three rowboats bob in the gentle swells. “I’ve never seen another soul on the island. We should have it all to ourselves.”

  “I can’t wait to see it,” I say sincerely, even as my mind clicks quickly through excuses to keep my clothes on and my surprise covered. “But would you mind if I waited until we’re there to take off my dress? I know we were fast, but on the off chance someone else shows up while we’re rowing across…”

  “Of course.” He leans in, pressing a kiss to my cheek before whispering against my skin, “but as soon as we’re alone, the game begins. The next time I tell you to get naked, you’d better get out of that dress posthaste, or I’m going to have to punish you. So keep that in mind.”

  “Yes, sir.” I smile as I climb into the boat and settle onto the wooden seat. I love a good spanking as much as the next girl, and am not above deliberately disobeying Edward to get one, but I’m not looking for punishment tonight. I just need to make sure he doesn’t get a good look at my panties until we’re alone.

  “Tonight’s tale comes from Denmark,” Edward says as he grips the handles of the wooden oars and steers us away from the dock. “Have you heard the original version of The Little Mermaid?”

  I lean back, bracing my hands on the sides of the boat. “Yes, I have, but I forget the finer details. I just remember that she turns into sea foam at the end because of that stupid prince she was in love with.”

  “He was a stupid prince,” Edward agrees, because we always agree on important things like stories and art. “He didn’t recognize that the mermaid was the one who had saved him from drowning. And because she’d traded her voice to the sea witch in exchange for legs, she couldn’t tell him.”

  I shake my head. “If only she’d known how to read and write. Another reason education for women around the world, and under the sea, is so important.”

  “You make a good point, as usual.” He smiles. “But the part of the story I’ve always found fascinating is how much the prince enjoyed watching the mermaid dance. She was evidently quite fetching on her new legs and danced beautifully, despite the fact that every step she took in her human body felt like knives slicing at the soles of her feet.”

  “I don’t remember that part,” I murmur, admiring the flex of his muscles beneath his coat as he works the oars through the water with deep, assured strokes. “You’re very handsome when you’re rowing, by the way.”

  “You’re very beautiful when you’re being rowed. Though I would have preferred you naked.”

  “Maybe on the way back,” I say, heart beating faster as I consider how very different our return trip might be. It all depends on Edward’s reaction to my surprise. “Was that the end of the story?”

  “You know the way it ends,” he says. “I’m more interested in the middle, and the way the mermaid gave her prince pleasure with her pain. Do you think she enjoyed it? That maybe it was good for both of them?”

  “I hope so. Seems like the poor thing should have had at least some fun before she was turned to sea foam.” I cock my head, ear dropping closer to my shoulder. “Do you intend to tell me a depressing story every time we come to the ball, Master Edward?”

  He grins. “There’s nothing depressing about this story. Because we’re going to change the ending. Tonight, the mermaid’s pain is going to feel so good she’s going to beg her prince for another dose.”

  My nipples tighten beneath my dress. “Does this mean you brought the clamps?”

  “Maybe,” he says. “Guess you’ll have to wait and see. You’re not the only one who traffics in surprises, you know.”

  But my surprise will be more exciting than nipple clamps.

  At least, I hope it will. I adore clamps, but I love Edward—so much. I’m minutes away from knowing if I’ll be listening to his strange, sexy stories forever, and the thought makes my stomach flutter. But thankfully the pond is small. There isn’t time to get too nervous before we reach the island and Edward pulls the boat up onto the smooth white pebbles of the shore.

  Neither of us speaks as he takes my hand and leads me through another gathering of willows, past fat camellia bushes heavy with blossoms, and into a clearing with more magic waiting at the center.

  There, a statue of a mermaid reclines on top of a stone clamshell, chin propped on her fist as she gazes out across the water on the other side of the island. But this time it isn’t the skill of the artist that takes my breath away; it’s the carved wooden starfish that extends from the base of the mermaid’s clamshell toward the ground.

  The starfish is larger than I am, with five long arms, each one equipped with unbuckled leather restraints.

  “Clothes and shoes off, princess,” Edward whispers as he captures the zipper between my shoulder blades and draws it down. “Mask, too, this time. I want to see your face when you realize you’re bound and completely at my mercy.”

  “Yes, sir.” I wait for my dress to puddle at my feet then step free. I toe off my shoes and toss my mask to the ground, shaking my hair free as I pad barefoot across the leaves, wearing nothing but my red lace thong.

  Once I reach the starfish, I glance over my shoulder to see Edward pulling off his mask, granting me a clear view of his face. I pause, soaking in the hunger and affection in his expression, certain I’ve never been so grateful for moonlight.

  Now I just need the clouds to stay away for a few more minutes so the man I love can see the surprise I’ve sewn into my panties just for him.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Edward

  Ivy lies down on the bondage star and spreads her arms and legs. I bind her wrists then her ankles—pressing a kiss to the delicate bones as I pull the leather straps tight—and stand back, drinking in the view of my willing prisoner.

  For a moment I forget how to breathe.

  She is so beautiful, so perfect, and I have no doubt that I’m the luckiest bastard in the world. And not because her pale breasts, which seem to glow softly in the moonlight, are the most stunning pair of tits I’ve ever seen, or because the rest of her is equally flawless and sexy, and fucking her is an unparalleled pleasure that gets better every time I take her. It’s because of her good heart and clever mind and the way she smiles just for me when she brushes my hair from my forehead in the mornings with a soft “beep, beep, beep.” Her internal clock wakes her up at exactly six fifteen each day, and she insists on being my own personal, sweet, oh
-so-sexy alarm clock.

  I love her so much “love” doesn’t seem like an accurate word anymore, but I’ve yet to find another to surpass it.

  “Cat got your tongue, sir?”

  “It does.” I kneel on the ground between her spread legs, resting my palms lightly on her thighs. “I’ve run out of words. I think I’m going to have to start making up new ones.”

  “New words for what, sir?” She gazes down the landscape of her body at me, her eyes glittering as I lean in to press a kiss to her stomach.

  I tongue the pulse beating there, circling her navel before making my confession against her sweet skin. “For how much I love you.”

  She sighs. “Me, too. Words aren’t enough.”

  I cup her breasts in my hands, teasing her nipples between my fingers. “Then I’m only seeing one way this can go.” I stand, lengthening myself on top of her as I brace my hands on the bondage star above her head. “I’m going to have to show you how much I love you with something better than words.” I cover her lips with mine, kissing her hard and deep until she moans into my mouth.

  I wait until she’s squirming beneath me, arm muscles flexing against her bonds, before I kiss my way down her throat to her breasts, pressing her beautiful tits close so I can attend to both of her nipples at once.

  “Yes, please,” she cries out, arching closer. “I love your mouth, sir.”

  I hum low in my throat, showing her how much my mouth loves her nipples. I lick and suck and bite, making love to her breasts until she’s panting beneath me. Only then do I reach for the clamps in my pocket, affixing first one, and then the other, to the taut, wet buds.

  She cries out as I turn the screws, pinning her sensitive flesh tight between the metal. “God, sir. Oh please, touch me. I’m so wet for you.”

  “Patience, beautiful.” My voice is rough and my cock is pulsing between my legs, but my hands are steady as I pull away, slowly stripping off my coat. “I have a surprise for you.”