Burn Erotica

by Jade Stone

  Over the next few weeks, Nathan and I somehow managed to keep our relationship secret from the press. Until one day when I went to the supermarket, and there I was. I picked up the magazine from the rack, and looked back at myself kissing Nathan in front of the house. Nathan’s Nanny Love! the headline screamed.

  Darn, it had been such a quick kiss, too, before he went to work. I put the magazine down, but instead of feeling angry, I realised I actually didn’t care.

  I smiled to myself. I was in love, and the happiest I had ever been in my life, and I didn’t give a shit what anyone had to say about it.

  Unmasked

  I’ve always had a fascination for men in masks. When I was a kid, it was Batman, Phantom of the Opera, and David Bowie in Labyrinth. I would pretend it was me they were taking down to their lairs. Funny how, even as a kid, you don’t know what sex is, but you know what you find attractive. There is another masquerade scene in Batman Returns with Michelle Pfeiffer’s Catwoman and Michael Keaton’s Bruce Wayne which is equally as hot as the scene in Labyrinth.

  Those types of scenes don’t happen in real life, at least I thought they didn’t. But as a journalist who mostly covers art events, I should probably know by now that sometimes life imitates art.

  I’m not sure why I was the only journalist invited, or maybe I do, but the organisers of a masquerade charity ball invited me to cover their event, sending me a complimentary ticket worth a four figure sum. I actually didn’t want to go at first, I was meant to be interviewing one of my favourite bands that night.

  “No, you need to go to this,” said my editor.

  “Why...?” I asked.

  “You know what can happen at these things,” he replied, with a glint in his eye. “Just keep your eyes peeled.”

  A lot of celebrities and high society were attending, and any first-hand account we could get of drunken or drug addled debauchery would be a right scoop for a Sunday newspaper like ours.

  Mask mandatory, said the invitation. That would help. My face wasn’t exactly well known, but guests would be less inclined to misbehave in front of me if word got around that a hack was observing.

  I managed to borrow some clothes from my sister, who earns a lot more money than I do. I borrowed her red silk gown and a diamond necklace. This thing was as fancy dancy as you could get and I had to blend in as much as possible.

  The mask itself was a bit more tricky; with my affinity with masks I was rather fussy about that one. I finally settled on a pure black one that covered my eyes and nose only, it was covered in sequins and lace and had a long black boa.

  On the night of the event I had been working all day so got changed at work.

  “Wow,” said my colleagues as I walked back to my desk.

  “Go get ‘em,” said my editor, grinning at me. He got a hard-on for these sorts of things. Ah, I hoped to bring something back to him; he was a great boss.

  The event was held at the home of Roger and Pam Pearson, one of the city’s richest but elusive couples. Incidentally, I used to babysit their thirteen-year-old nephew when I was sixteen. I hadn’t seen him since then, but a good journalist will use any contacts necessary for a good story. Maybe now was a good time to reacquaint myself with the nephew. He’d been a sweet kid and had had a crush on me, if I remembered correctly. I’d heard he would be there.

  The cab dropped me off at the opulent iron gates, which were wide open for the evening. You couldn’t see the house from the road, but going by the latest prestige cars entering the gates I had no doubt I was in the right place. I walked the long leafy driveway, and the house soon came into view. I stopped when I saw it, it was the most stunning home I had ever seen. It resembled something out of The Great Gatsby. It was two stories, but was palatial, a beautiful man-made pond sprawled out the front, with its own jetty. Flood lights lit the whole area at the front of the house. I could do a story about the house alone.

  I entered the front door and a white gloved butler took my name as another took my coat. The foyer was stunning. A huge chandelier hung from the ceiling, and a black grand piano stood beneath it.

  I made my way toward the ballroom. Hors d’oeuvres were being served by more white-gloved waiters, and I was offered a glass of champagne. To my annoyance, I was informed that the hosts weren’t even there that night; neither was the nephew or any other family members. They were just letting their magnificent home be used as the venue. I would need to make some new acquaintances then.

  Everybody in the ballroom had certainly gone to great lengths; the masks were incredible. I suddenly felt my own was a bit tacky.

  Everybody else also seemed to have a date; I was starting to regret not having brought someone along. There were probably some people there I knew, but you couldn’t exactly scan the room and recognise anyone immediately, though my luck quickly changed. I caught a glimpse of a pinky ring I’d recognise anywhere. It bedecked a hand holding a champagne flute. Even with white gloves, he wore the pinky ring over them.

  I made my way over to him.

  “Hello, Jeff,” I said quietly, from behind.

  My old roommate turned around and looked at me curiously from behind his mask. “I know that voice...” he said, cocking his head.

  “It’s me. Rose,” I replied, grinning.

  “Oh geez, of course! Was a bit hard to tell!” He laughed.

  He gave me a hug. Jeff and I went way back over ten years, to our university days when we lived together.I was attending journalism school and he was doing his arts degree. I hadn’t seen him for about five years, but he’d worn that stupid pinky ring ever since I’d known him.

  “What brings you here tonight?” I asked.

  “I just sold them that,” he replied, winking, and gestured to a huge sculpture in the corner of the room.

  It was one of the ugliest things I’d ever laid eyes on, but Jeff always had a knack for selling—in my opinion—his ugliest art pieces for ridiculous amounts of money. It probably helped that his boyfriend ran the top art gallery in town. Jeff knew all the right people; he could definitely introduce me around.

  Jeff extended his arm.

  “Shall we dance?” he asked.

  I took his arm and we made our way to the dance floor. He asked me what I was doing there.

  “What do you think?” I replied.

  He laughed.

  “You’ll have to wait till at least midnight before people start turning into pumpkins,” he said naughtily.

  I sighed; it was only eight o’clock. It was going to be a long night. I grabbed his glass of champagne and downed it in two gulps. Somehow I didn’t think anyone would be paying attention to me to scold my lack of table manners, and who cared when we weren’t even at a table.

  Jeff twirled me around. Back in the day we’d both gone to ballroom dancing lessons and weren’t too bad on the dance floor. The band was actually pretty good, maybe this assignment wouldn’t be too boring after all. The song changed, and Jeff got ready to twirl me around again.

  “May I have this dance?” said a voice.

  I looked up. Standing next to Jeff was a tall man wearing a gold mask, his eyes looking intently at me. Jeff looked taken aback.

  “Erm, sure...” I said, without really thinking.

  The stranger cut in front of Jeff and whirled me away. He held me steadily in his muscular arms. I could tell by the way he moved that he, too, was familiar with dancing. A red rose stuck out of his jacket pocket. His hand held me firmly on the small of my back, his other hand holding mine, leading me around the floor. I looked at Jeff over the stranger’s shoulder, as he stood looking at us rather perplexed, then walked away. I looked up at the stranger. His mask obscured most of his face, over his eyes and nose but leaving his mouth uncovered. He smiled at me. He had the straightest, whitest teeth I had ever seen.

  “I don’t believe we’ve met,” I said.

  “Oh yes, we have. Rose,” he replied, winking at me behind his mask.

  He was the third man
who’d winked at me that day, but the only one who caused a flutter in my chest. And how the hell did he know my name? I made a good effort to make sure my face was never next to my by-lines in the paper.

  “I don’t think so...” I said, looking into his eyes, and grasping his shoulder a bit more than I needed to. “I’d have remembered...”

  The stranger chuckled as he stared back into my eyes, and twirled me around again. I could tell I’d already had too much champagne, I was light headed, and his aftershave was intoxicatingly sensual; it emanated around us and made me feel like I was floating. He pressed closer, bringing his mouth to my ear.

  “Let’s just say it was a while ago, but I would know that pretty face anywhere, no matter how much you try to hide it, my dear,” he teased.

  I felt his hand on my back go a little lower than necessary. I felt a flush of blood flow into all my sensitive regions. I swallowed hard; where was this going...?

  “So does the mysterious man have a name? Or is this a guessing game?” I managed to tease back.

  “I go by many names...” he said quietly. “But tonight, you may call me Angel.”

  “Why Angel?” I pressed.

  “Would you prefer something different?”

  “No, but you do know what I do for a job, don’t you? Expect me to ask questions,” I replied.

  “Yes, my good journo, just don’t expect me to answer them.”

  I scanned his face. Even behind the mask I could tell he was handsome. He had thick dark hair and deep dark eyes with long lashes; a strong jawline lay under the mask. He pressed closer, his hand against my back pressing a little harder. I let out a gasp at the hardness that suddenly pressed against my sex. I looked up at him speechless, but as soon as he met my gaze his arousal was gone. He looked at me innocently.

  “Are you okay, my lady? You look startled,” he said.

  I couldn’t talk, my mouth was dry. “I’m sorry, I need to go,” I mumbled.

  I quickly broke out of his grasp and went outside. I didn’t realise how hot I had become until the cold air hit me. I stood on the balcony and cooled down. Who the hell was that and what the hell had he done to me?

  Jeff found me outside. “Who was that guy?” he asked.

  “I have no idea,” I replied, again taking his champagne, though sipping it this time.

  “I’d stay away from him,” he said. “Seemed like a weirdo.”

  “Yeah...” I said, not really paying attention.

  I scanned the ballroom from outside, looking for the stranger, Angel, but I couldn’t see him.

  Angel.... something was ringing a bell, from way back, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Despite Jeff’s concern, I was drawn to finding out. I left Jeff outside and returned to the ballroom.

  I stood scanning the room, looking for the gold mask, and the red rose poking out of the tuxedo but couldn’t see him.

  “Looking for someone?” asked a voice.

  I spun around, and came face-to-face with him again. He held open a silver cigarette holder, offering one to me.

  “I don’t smoke,” I said.

  “Yes, you do,” he replied.

  “A long time ago...” I started to say, because it was a long time ago that I smoked. I had stopped when I turned twenty-one.

  Angel grinned. “Really? It has been a while then, hasn’t it...?” he asked

  He popped a cigarette into his mouth and headed outside. His aftershave lingered behind, dazzling me beyond reason. I couldn’t help it. My feet followed him.

  With his back to me, he lit the cigarette, but when he turned around, I could tell he knew I’d be there.

  He eyed me from behind the mask as the smoke exhaled from his mouth. Without words, I took the cigarette from his hand, and inserted it into my own mouth. I should have gagged at the now foreign taste of tobacco, a habit I now couldn’t stand, but all I could taste was him. I savoured it in my mouth, before releasing it and slowly exhaling the smoke into the night air. He didn’t take it back, instead lighting himself a new one.

  I took another drag of the cigarette, his cigarette. The cool night air made me feel even lighter. He didn’t take his eyes off me as he took another drag. I felt I should ask him something, I was a journo after all, but my mind was blank.

  “So what does Angel do during the day?” I asked.

  It wasn’t the brightest question, but this man was making it very hard for me to think clearly. He ignored my question anyway.

  “You look as magnificent as ever...” he said softly.

  I was starting to get annoyed now. “Oh, come on, at least give me a clue; you’re driving me crazy!” I said.

  Angel grinned. “Am I just?” he said. He dragged his cigarette again. “I can’t stay here much longer,” he said. “Give me one last dance...” His eyes bored into mine. “And I might tell you...”

  It was a demand rather than a request. As he tossed his cigarette into the ash tray, I quickly tossed my own cigarette into it after his. He took my arm and led me back inside. We settled back on the dance floor, his hand again on the small of my back. His other hand firmly held mine as he once more led me around the floor.

  “So, how do you know the hosts?” I asked.

  “I know them very well,” he replied.

  So he was likely someone of some importance then, but my mind was still blank at how we could possibly know each other.

  I felt his hand on my back, pressing that little bit harder once more and again lowering just a bit more. His aftershave again wafted over me, reigniting all my sensitive regions, but even more intensely than previously. I was finding it hard to breathe.

  “Have you been to this house before?” he asked quietly.

  “No, I have not,” I replied.

  “Perhaps you should have a tour...”

  Now that would be something. I should have been imagining writing some good copy of what was featured in this house beyond where the party was being hosted, but all I could think about was getting somewhere private with this man.

  “How many bedrooms?” I asked.

  “More than they need...” he replied.

  “You’ve seen them?”

  He pressed harder against me. “Yes, I have...”

  “Tell me about them...”

  “Would you prefer, if I showed them to you?”

  And I felt it again, the hardness in his pants against me. Desire washed over me. “Sounds good,” I whispered.

  “Follow me,” he instructed.

  He let me go and left the dance floor. I got the distinct feeling I wasn’t to follow him too closely. I made my way back into the crowd, watching him as he headed toward the grand stairwell. I waited until he was halfway up the stairs before I went in the same direction.

  I was on the first step as I saw him disappear into the darkness of one of the corridors.

  When I got there the corridor was completely dark. There was no sign of him.

  “Angel?” I called. I felt silly, knowing it wasn’t his real name, but I didn’t know what else to call him.

  “I’m here, Rose,” he said, from within the darkness.

  And there he was, standing against a doorway, with one hand in his pocket, illuminated by the flood lights from outside. He extended his hand, which I took. My knees barely keeping me upright, I followed him into the room. He closed the door behind us.

  Once we were in the room he let go of my hand. He put another cigarette in his mouth and casually lit it. “This is one of the guest rooms,” he said, taking a drag.

  The room was very striking. A large luxurious bed covered in pillows sat at the back of the room, a sparkling chandelier hung from the ceiling. A huge ebony dressing table with diamond drawer handles sat opposite the bed. An equally huge mirror sat on top of the dressing table.

  As I stepped toward him, he took the rose out of his breast pocket. He brushed the rose against my face, down my cheek, under my jaw, down my chest, over my cleavage. He inhaled on the cigarette, it ex
haled through his nose.

  “My beautiful Rose...” he said, softly.

  I couldn’t answer him. The sexual tension between us was so thick you could slice it with a knife. Breathless, I reached up and stroked his face as he carefully fastened the rose behind my ear. Then he walked away from my touch and went over to the dressing table, where he stubbed out the cigarette in an ashtray. I found myself following him to the dressing table, where I stood in front of it, looking in the mirror.

  He stood behind me. As he pressed against me, my breath caught. I felt his hardness against my ass. He put his arms past my waist, his hands meeting the edge of the table. He put his head next to mine. We both looked at each other in the reflection, through our masks.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he said huskily.

  Was he talking about the mirror, or the reflection in it? I couldn’t find the words to ask; instead I lifted my hand to his face. His mouth met my ear, kissing my ear, then slowly down my neck. I tried to remove his mask, but he moved his face away from my hand. As I pushed my hair over my shoulder, he kissed the nape of my neck. His hands moved from the edge of the dressing table to the front of my dress.I felt the hardness in his pants getting larger as he ran his hands over my breasts.

  “Tell me what you want, Rose Thornton,” he breathed into my ear.

  He ripped the mask off my face, causing the rose to fall out of my hair. It landed on the dressing table along with the mask. As he clasped my breasts with both hands, he eyed me, unmasked, in the mirror. His hand lowered down past my stomach, reaching my pussy through my red dress, his fingers meeting the most sensitive part. I let out a soft cry as the sensations gushed through me.

  “Tell me what you want,” he whispered again.

  “I want an Angel,” I gasped back.

  “How do you want me?”

  I gripped the edge of the dressing table, the flesh between my legs throbbing as he ran his fingers over my sex, and over my nipples through my dress. “Inside me.”

  His hands left my front, and went to the back of my dress. He lifted my dress up to my waist, I felt my underwear sliding down, and I could hear his zipper coming undone. His hands came back around my waist and held me tight. His cock was hard against the back of my thighs.