by Gem Frost
Yesterday I’d had my hair freshly cut, at the best salon I could afford, and when I’d gotten home from work I’d showered, then styled my hair the way the hairdresser had showed me. I thought the result made me look pretty damn good.
And that was important, not because I cared about how I looked, but because I wanted Mr. Harrington to be proud of me.
Blade, I reminded myself again. Tonight I wasn’t an intern, and he wasn’t my boss. He was my date, and I’d be climbing into a magical pumpkin coach drawn by prancing white horses and letting him sweep me out of my mundane life, letting him carry me away to a glittering castle filled with dancing royalty.
Or the modern equivalent thereof.
I still couldn’t figure out why he’d chosen me, of all people, to ask to this ball. I mean, sure, I knew I wasn’t hideous, but even if I were the most gorgeous guy in the world, I was still just an intern. A guy who spent his days digitizing dusty boxes of paper files. And outside of work, I didn’t have much of a life outside of watching old Will and Grace reruns. In short, I was dull. Surely someone like Mr. Harrington had a little black book filled with famous actors and singers and artists—any number of guys who were far more fascinating than I was.
So why me?
I’d turned the question over and over again in my mind, and despite all my agitated contemplation, the only answer I could find was that I must have caught his eye somehow. Maybe, just maybe, he’d noticed me when I began working at Blade Enterprises, and thought I was, you know, cute. It seemed ridiculously unlikely, on the face of it, but it was frankly the only reason I could seem to come up with.
I admit, though, that the thought that maybe he wanted me that way made me very, very happy. The idea that Blade Harrington might find me attractive made something inside me go hot and melty, like marshmallows over a campfire.
God knew I found him attractive. In the week since he’d asked me, I’d spent every waking moment preoccupied with thoughts of him—his golden eyes, his ebony hair, the way he’d looked at me after our kiss.
That kiss.
I’d thought about it endlessly, remembering the warm feel of his lips against mine, the evergreen scent of him, the way our breath had mingled. Imagining what might have happened if I’d parted my lips, just a little, allowing his tongue to slip inside my mouth…
These thoughts plagued me, especially at night. Since the afternoon he’d called me into his office, I hadn’t once managed to get to sleep without jacking off fiercely and repeatedly. I fantasized about his lips against mine, remembering the smell of him, the golden glint of his eyes, the low, deep rumble of his voice.
And I came in violent spurts, over and over again, every night.
I couldn’t afford thoughts like those right now, though. Not when I was wearing a fine woolen tux that probably cost several thousands of dollars, and not when the pumpkin coach—Mr. Harrington’s limo, I mean—would be gliding up to my doorstep any minute now. I tried to tamp down my fantasies, tried not to imagine kissing him again tonight, tried not to think about what might happen if he kissed me more deeply, if he put his arms around me and drew me against him…
Damn it.
I took a last look in the mirror and saw that I was flushed and wide-eyed. And noticeably hard. I spun on my heel and began stalking back and forth, trying to work out my excessive energy in a way that didn’t involve jerking off.
A few minutes later I heard the low rumble of a finely tuned engine. A moment later, someone knocked at the door. I glanced down and confirmed my hard-on had subsided, then walked over and opened it. There stood Mr. Harrington.
Blade, I mean.
He looked more gorgeous than ever, in a tux that matched my own, right down to the red tie (although his wasn’t lopsided). His dark hair was neatly brushed, his chiseled jawline freshly shaven, and a faint masculine cologne—the same fragrance of pine forests and snow I’d noticed before—drifted to my nostrils. He looked and smelled like—
Well, a billion dollars.
My heart pounded wildly in my chest. This was real. It wasn’t a dream or a fantasy. At long last, Prince Charming had come to escort me to the ball.
He smiled at me, the gentle expression at odds with his piercing hawk’s eyes, and offered me something. “This is for you.”
I looked down and saw a huge bouquet of pink roses. No one had ever given me flowers before, and for a long moment I stood there gaping foolishly. He must have recognized my surprise, because he smiled gently.
“It’s Valentine’s Day,” he reminded me.
“Thank you.” I took them from him, feeling dazed, and tried to think what I should do with them. Water. Flowers needed water, didn’t they? Of course they did.
I had an old cut-glass vase that had belonged to my grandma, which my mother had foisted off on me (along with some other useless junk, like cast-iron skillets I’d never use, considering my diet mostly consisted of ramen noodles) when I moved. I filled it with water, put the roses into it carefully, and placed it on my kitchen table.
Mr. Harrington had followed me to the kitchen, although it occurred to me belatedly that I had forgotten to invite him in. Fortunately he hadn’t stood on the porch waiting for me to remember my manners. I blushed again, and saw that he was studying the apartment as if he might find out something about me. But there wasn’t much to learn, except for the obvious and unsurprising fact that I was currently broke. There was very little to liven up the small space except a few old hand-me-downs from my mom, a crappy table or two I’d gotten from Goodwill, and a few art posters I’d bought for almost nothing and attached to the wall with thumbtacks.
“Nice apartment,” he said gravely.
I couldn’t help laughing. “It’s a hole. But it’s better than living on the street, I guess.”
“Or with your mom,” he hazarded.
“Yeah,” I admitted. “It’s nice to have a place to myself. Even if it is a hole.”
“I can imagine.” He offered me his arm. “Ready, Cinderella?”
I linked my arm in his, and grinned up at him.
“Ready, Prince.”
*****
Mr. Harrington’s limousine was so enormous that I was pretty sure you could have fit a swimming pool in it. Well, at least a hot tub. It was so long I couldn’t figure out how the uniformed driver could possibly get around corners in it, but somehow he managed. We glided through the crowded streets of downtown in luxurious royal comfort, while the peasants walked on the sidewalks, or passed us in their inferior cars, goggling at us with amazement and a touch of envy.
Mr. Harrington seemed unaware that anyone might be staring (and given the heavily tinted windows, it was obvious no one could see the two of us anyway). He filled a sparkling crystal glass from a bottle labeled Champagne Krug, and offered it to me.
“Uh,” I said, taking it awkwardly. “I don’t drink.”
He smiled at me gently. “Something else your mother didn’t approve of?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, you’re all grown up now, Val. Why don’t you take a sip and see how you like it?”
I held it for a moment, looking at the bubbles rising through the golden liquid, then lifted it to my lips and took a hesitant sip. It tasted like joy, effervescent and heady, and I eagerly drank more.
“It’s awesome,” I said at last.
“It is indeed.” He took the flute back from me, and sipped from it himself.
We passed it back and forth for a few moments. It was oddly intimate, sharing a glass with him. I felt decadent, almost wicked, riding in this ludicrously expensive car, wearing what was no doubt an outrageously fine tuxedo, and drinking heavenly ambrosia. Like Cinderella, I wanted to remain in this world forever.
But like her, I knew that at midnight I’d turn back into a scullery maid.
Or an intern, which was really pretty much the same thing.
I drained the last drop of bubbly, licking my lips, and found his eyes on me, more piercing than ever
. His eyes were a deeper, richer gold than the champagne, and more intoxicating, and I felt myself falling into them.
“You look spectacular tonight, Val.” His voice was low and rough, almost a growl, and it sent a shiver down my spine. If he was a hawk, I was a mouse in that moment, cowering on the ground as he folded his wings and shot toward me. I couldn’t have moved away if I wanted to.
And I didn’t want to.
He reached for me, making my blood pound in my ears…
And deftly retied my tie.
My heart sank, but internally, I couldn’t help but laugh at myself. What had I expected? That he was going to kiss me again? Once again I reminded myself firmly that he was rich, famous, and incredibly handsome, and he could have any man he wanted. Of course he wouldn’t want someone like…
My thoughts died in a burst of static as he caught my jaw gently in his big hand, tilted my head up, and brushed another kiss over my lips.
Oh. Oh. I’d been dreaming about this for a week now, fantasizing about it, jerking off endlessly. I’d jacked off and jacked off, but no matter how hard I came, it was never quite enough. He’d made me wild, just from a single kiss, and having his lips against mine again didn’t do anything to calm me down. In fact it sent heat flaring through my veins, making me ache for more and more.
I needed to kiss him, to touch him. I needed him to touch me with his knowing, expert hands, to take me apart piece by piece and slowly put me back together again. To bring me the release I craved, but couldn’t seem to find on my own.
He kissed me, carefully, gently, until I couldn’t take the delicate, teasing brush of his lips anymore. I reached up, dug my fingers into his hair, and pulled his head down, smooshing our lips together hard.
Our teeth grated together, and he yanked back, giving an undignified snort.
“Am I to take it that you want more, Cinderella?”
I wanted him to ravish my mouth with his own, but I didn’t know how to say so. I just stared up at him, trying to let him know how desperate I felt, how much I needed. His amusement faded. He looked back at me, his eyes intent, and then his mouth was on mine, and it wasn’t tender or gentle or slow. It was fierce and scalding and hungry, and when his hot, slick tongue finally touched mine I shuddered and moaned.
Simple though it was, the intimate caress was more than enough to strip away all my self-control. In that moment I was all his. I would have given him anything—my mouth, my body, my few pathetic possessions.
Maybe it was silly, and I only felt that way because I was young and virginal and no one had ever touched me like that before. Maybe so.
But no matter the reason, in that moment I would have gladly given him my heart.
Chapter Four
Blade
Val’s mouth tasted incredible—sweet like strawberries, yet hot and spicy, and far more intoxicating than the champagne we’d shared. The taste of him went to my head like a drug, making me crave more of him. Making me crave all of him.
I wanted to stretch him out on the leather seats, strip off that damn tux, and explore every inch of his naked body, to lavish kisses on his throat and his nipples and his inner thighs. I wanted to make him cry out as I found his most sensitive places, wanted to hear him beg for more, to make him writhe and whimper as I slowly drew his swollen cock into my mouth. I wanted to be the first one to go down on him, the first one to swallow his come, the first one to hear him sobbing with pleasure as he climaxed.
The images flashed through my mind in Technicolor, vividly erotic, and I couldn’t help myself. I had to have him against me. Still kissing him fiercely, I pulled him onto my lap, letting him straddle me, and my hands dug into his ass, pulling his hips flush against mine.
I could feel his cock through the layers of fabric, hot and hard. I was already so turned on I ached, and the feel of him pressing against my needy flesh made me groan.
“We can’t.” He spoke against my lips, his voice barely a whisper. “The driver…”
“There’s an opaque window, didn’t you notice? He won’t lower it without permission. And no one can see in through the other windows—they’re tinted. Trust me, Val. We have complete privacy.”
He hesitated a moment longer, then seemed to accept what I’d told him. He kissed me again, sloppily but with pleasing eagerness. I clutched at his ass, pulling him against me harder, and he moaned into my mouth, hips jerking convulsively. His movements were awkward, clumsy, and it was clear he didn’t know what he was doing, but that only made him more seductive somehow. The swaying motions of the car as it sped around corners made us rock together, bringing us even more pleasure.
I thrust up against him, the heat of him sliding along the length of my cock, and he cried out.
“Oh—oh—Mr. Harrington—”
“Blade,” I reminded him hoarsely.
“Blade… oh, Blade…”
It was amazing how far gone I was already. Maybe it was just that I’d been in a bit of a dry spell lately, and hadn’t indulged in sex much since Roger. Or maybe it was the stark awareness that Val was a virgin, and that this was all new and exciting to him. Or maybe—
Well, maybe it was simply that he was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen, in a lifetime of admiring beautiful men, and that he was sweet and decent and utterly likeable besides.
Whatever the reason, the sound of his voice moaning my name was nearly enough to send me tumbling over the edge. God knew I was close, and so was he. We were both shaking and panting, trembling with need. But I reminded myself fiercely that he was a virgin, and that he deserved better than a quick and dirty session of dryhumping. He needed to be made love on opulent satin sheets, carefully and slowly, kissed and caressed until he was almost weeping with need, then brought to a lushly extravagant climax that would make him shudder with overpowering ecstasy.
Anything less than that was unacceptable.
I drew together the tattered remnants of my self-control, and shoved him back an inch or two.
“You’re right,” I whispered. “We can’t do this. Not now.”
His eyelashes fluttered open, revealing those gorgeous eyes, and in their blue depths I saw hurt and betrayal. All at once I realized he thought I was rejecting him. I ran my hand through his brown hair, soothing him.
“Later,” I promised him. “After the ball. Don’t worry, Val. I want you. I really do.”
His sooty eyelashes swept down, concealing his brilliant eyes, and he paused for a long moment, then nodded.
“Later,” he agreed softly.
*****
When we stepped into Cecilia Aldrich’s enormous ballroom, arm in arm, heads turned, mouths fell open, and eyes stared. It’s not an exaggeration to say that for a moment, all conversation ceased, and a hush fell over the room.
I’m not modest, and I know I’m handsome (I’ve been featured on more magazine covers than the average supermodel), but I’d been part of this world since I was a child, and everyone at this affair had seen me before, many, many times. But Val—Val was a novelty. He was young and beautiful, and in his tuxedo (with the tie I’d retied more neatly for him), he looked extraordinarily striking.
Roger, I thought with some degree of savagery, was going to be absolutely beside himself.
Beside me, I felt Val tense as he saw all eyes were upon us. “It’s all right,” I assured him softly. “It’s not because we’re gay. They’re staring because you’re gorgeous.”
He hesitated an instant, then gave a quick, short nod and lifted his chin. We walked down the grand curving staircase together, arm in arm.
Cecilia, the old biddy herself, met us at the bottom of the staircase. She was every bit as antique as the furniture that lined the walls, her white hair piled elegantly on her head, her face creased like a roadmap that had been folded too many times. She looked like she might be ready for the undertaker any time now, but her dark brown eyes were alive with curiosity.
“Blade!” she trilled, putting her hand on my unoccupied arm
. “It’s so wonderful to see you. And what a lovely young man you’ve brought. Who is this handsome young fellow?”
“This is Valentine Wilson.” I was aware of Val sending me a narrow-eyed look, but really, I couldn’t be expected to refrain from using his whole first name. It was just too perfect for the occasion. “Val, this is our hostess, Miss Cecilia Aldrich.”
“Ma’am.” Val inclined his head. “I’m pleased to meet you.”
She giggled like a little girl and clasped her hands together. “Such wonderful manners,” she chirped, delighted. “This one’s a keeper, Blade.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, as I had no intention of “keeping” Val. I’d brought him here simply to enrage Roger, after all. Admittedly, the fact that we’d been making out so fiercely we’d been seconds from climax suggested I might possibly have other motives here, but I didn’t feel like exploring them right now. I simply nodded.
“Thank you, Cecelia. It’s nice to see you again. Excuse us, won’t you? I’d like to have a dance with Val before the dance floor is too crowded to breathe.”
I pulled on Val’s arm, drawing him away. The crowd was already packed like sardines onto the ballroom floor beneath the huge Baccarat chandeliers, dripping with crystal and casting a pool of golden light onto the dancers. A live forties-style band had been hired to play classics; right now the male singer was crooning “The Best is Yet To Come.”
I pulled Val into my arms and began to dance. For someone who hadn’t been born into society, he danced passably well. I was willing to bet his painfully old-fashioned mother had paid for dance lessons at some point. He obviously knew how, but he was stiff, probably uncomfortable because so many curious eyes were on us.
“They’re all looking at us,” he hissed into my ear.
“They’re all looking at you, Val. I told you that you’d be the Cinderella of this ball. No one here holds a candle to you.”
