The Mask She Wears Read online

  Within the mask, she gasped for breath, forgetting to breathe through her nose. Like feathers, his fingers brushed from her breast over her stomach to stroke her inner thigh. Her body clenched and restraints stretched. Trails of fire followed every light drag of his fingers until she was ready to explode.

  Helpless to keep still, she arched against his hands and mouth, desperately wanting to feel his body against hers. Twisting as much as the restraints would allow, her back bowed with tension, but her lover remained slow, torturous, demanding.

  His mouth traveled to her neck, her shoulder, back down to her hip even as he touched her thighs. Two fingers slid into her slick entrance, causing a fresh gush of wetness. They moved in and out, driving her toward orgasm.

  Just as she was about to peak, his mouth covered her clit and sucked. Hard. She fought to remain motionless except for the muscles of her vaginal walls as they contracted again and again, expanding her release to an almost painful height.

  Sobbing now, she forced herself to relax, but he was relentless, continuing to stroke her with his tongue until the pressure built again. The weight of his thighs over her ankles, his fingers stroking her pussy and his tongue on her clit kept her careening into a world of sensation after sensation. When his other finger stroked her anus, she thought she'd collapse from pleasure.

  Now! Fuck me now! She wanted him to slam into her, possess her. This lover wasn't just screwing her. He was connecting with her through the mask, the restraints, through her self-imposed limits. He was shattering her barriers.

  Instead of completing the act and ending the encounter, he slowed the pace again. His touch softened, and he removed his fingers from her pussy, continuing to roll his tongue over her sensitized erect flesh.

  The smell of his sweat mixed with the scent of her arousal filled her nostrils, making her dizzy. The long strokes of his tongue, the clenching of his hands on her inner thigh sent her falling over the edge of pleasure again, straining and pulsating. She knew he moaned but only because his mouth vibrated against her mound, causing new ripples to fan through her body.

  Finally, his mouth left her, and his thighs pressed against hers. His fingers dug into her hips, and the heat from his skin burned her nerve endings as she teetered on the edge of another orgasm. With one thrust, he sheathed his cock into her waiting channel. Like the entire encounter, his strokes were long and slow, building their pleasure. She seemed to reach a height of pleasure but never release as he tortured her with his sensual slide back and forth.

  Catherine wondered if she could come again when his thrusts became quicker and urgent. The rapid friction of his penis against the walls of her pussy sent her into oblivion. She arched, and the restraints bit into her wrists and ankles. His body shuddered, quaking from the convulsions that once more racked her body.

  Pressure warmed her forehead through the mask. For the first time, she wanted the mask off. She wanted to know this man, connect with him.

  Never before, in the few anonymous encounters she had allowed herself, had she felt this intense need to strip away the tools that protected her from emotional risk.

  Then he eased away, and his warmth, his touch was gone, and a silent scream echoed in her dark corners of her mind.

  Chapter Three

  Justin's breath came in short gasps as he eased away from the woman. He fought the urge to rip the mask away, to touch her with more than just his body. Everything he wanted in a lover was there in this woman. A glance toward the two-way mirror reflected his face, a mask of agony and desire that even the powerful orgasm hadn't quenched.

  And it scared the hell out of him.

  He picked up his clothes and bolted out the door. Naked, he fled to a hall bathroom and dressed with shaking hands. His fingers carefully removed the spent condom, and he almost groaned as they scraped his sensitive flesh. A knock at the door made him drop his belt.

  "Justin?” David's voice was muffled through the door.

  Threading the belt through the loops, Justin opened the door and faced the older man. “Do all the men you send to her react like this?” He felt like a fool, used. Though the whole encounter had gone as he anticipated, he knew somehow this woman ripped away the smooth veneer he'd always managed to maintain. She got under his skin, and it was a first for him. One of the reasons he was good with submissives like her lay in his ability to walk away, let the encounter go.

  Not this time.

  "No.” David seemed worried. “She was ... different this time."

  Disturbed by his own reactions Justin just wanted to get out. “What do you mean?"

  "I mean, when I got the restraints off of her, she tore the mask off and began to cry."

  Justin's hands stilled on his belt buckle. “Is she okay? I didn't hurt her."

  "I know that.” David's voice was quiet. “I'm not sure what happened in there, but she's not the same woman that went into that bedroom an hour ago. Some wall she's had up for a long time crumbled.” He sighed. “I wish I knew what that meant."

  "I never intended...” He raked a hand through his hair.

  "Will you be here next week?” David asked him.

  Would he? His confidence was shaken. His encounters with submissives had been pleasant, not obsessive. He wasn't sure this woman hadn't just become something dangerous to him. And he might, perhaps, be dangerous to her.

  But would he be here?

  "Do you want me here?"

  David seemed to look right through him. Then he finally answered. “Yes. Yes, I do."

  "Then yes, I'll be here."

  * * * *

  Catherine's fingers trembled as she dressed in the darkened bedroom. What the hell had just happened? Normally, she received satisfaction from an anonymous fuck. This was different. Something about that man's touch created an emotional connection she tried to avoid. And that connection was making her reevaluate her own sexual desires.

  Early on, she had difficulty connecting with others. Relationships seemed more challenging for her than anyone she knew. It wasn't just that she wanted to submit. She didn't want any control at all. By avoiding control, she avoided being hurt or hurting someone else. It didn't help that her mother went through men like Catherine went through toilet paper. Nothing lasted and her mother ended up devastated and alone. At some point, Catherine had decided being alone was safer.

  Then she had the fantasies.

  Her first sexual experience was a disaster. It created new needs, new fetishes. What she wanted was to be touched, desired, but not connected. The only control she allowed herself was the deprivation of her face. It always worked. No kissing, no eye contact and no verbal communication during sex left no emotional impact.

  Up until now, tonight, it served her well. This man had touched her core and left her shaken. How could she go back to the life she'd chosen? Could she continue to have the anonymous sex she'd always used as a safety valve to protect her from the anguish of heartbreak?

  At the sound of the door opening, she turned quickly, hope in her heart. Had he come back? When she realized it was David, she called herself a fool. Of course the man wasn't coming back. Wasn't that her rule, her limit?

  "It didn't go quite the same way tonight, did it, Catherine?” David's voice was soft and comforting. Tears threatened to spill.

  "No.” Panic filled her, churning her stomach. “What do I do?"

  "Come back next week, love, and we'll see what happens."

  Another encounter seemed an empty prospect, but she squared her shoulders. “Okay, David. This was the choice I made, I know."

  "Perhaps things have changed."

  You have no idea.

  * * * *

  Catherine sat alone in her usual spot in the busy café brooding about the last three sleepless nights. Work had kept her busy, but the nights had been torture. Instead of a romance novel, which she couldn't stomach, she brought a biography of some world leader for a lunchtime read. She couldn't even remember his name; her mind was so busy with th
e anonymous man who rocked her world Saturday night.

  "It's me again."

  Catherine looked up at the familiar voice. Justin Travers. His eyes, so blue, seemed tired today. The planes of his face cast shadows over his eyelids giving him a thoughtful, dark expression. Something in that expression caused her stomach to flop in an exciting way. She almost sighed. It was confusing to deal with her attraction to him while being obsessed with a pair of hands and a wicked tongue.

  She tried to smile. “Would you like to share a table again?"

  "If you wouldn't mind.” He folded his frame into one of the chairs at her table. No laptop, only a sandwich and a drink.

  She inhaled, catching the scent of pine, the same as her anonymous lover. She must be out of her mind. Obsession must have affected her sense of smell. She shook her head to clear it. “You're not working today?"

  "No. I thought your conversation would be more interesting.” He shrugged. “Besides, I only bring my computer because I hate to eat alone."

  "Me, too.” Her eyebrows rose. “You seemed so confident, like eating alone didn't bother you at all."

  "It does. There's definitely a taboo about eating without company. The food tastes better with someone else sharing it."

  "I find it's uncomfortable either way. Company means I have to be entertaining."

  He cocked his head to look at her. “Really? I think the really good kind of company is when there's no pressure to be anything in particular, total acceptance."

  "Does that exist?” The bitterness in her voice made her cringe.

  "I know it does. It requires getting to know a person. Taking a risk."

  "It seems to come so easily to some. I can't expose myself so quickly.” Why was she telling him this? He'd think she was a freak.

  "Oh, I think everyone wears a mask of one kind or another."

  Catherine froze. He knew. Somehow he knew about the games she played. Maybe the emotional turmoil of three nights ago was making her paranoid. How could he know it was her unless...

  She scanned his face. It wasn't as if she could tell whether another person was in the lifestyle. Panic twisted her gut. What if it was him? Fear pressed against her temple, throbbing.

  "I've noticed that you're very shy. Have you always been that way?” He took another bite of his sandwich as if he were just mentioning the weather.

  "Yes. No.” Her mind spun in circles as she tried to focus on what he was saying. Her face was hot, and she tugged her shirt away from her body, the room suddenly stiflingly warm.

  "Which is it?"

  "I—” She cleared her throat. “I'm not great around people. I don't like crowds. Is that what you mean?” She stared at her hands clenched on the table, unable to look at him. She had to get out of there.

  "You're not the only one. Most people are afraid of rejection.” His large hand covered hers, arresting her chance of escape. “Me for instance."

  Her gaze jumped to his face. Her lips opened but felt wooden. “You?"

  He nodded. “It's tough to find a woman who is okay with the lifestyle, and I'm not willing to remain in a ‘vanilla’ world."

  "I see."

  "I hope you do. I'm not looking for a normal relationship, whatever that means.” He wiped the crumbs from the front of his shirt and stood up. “I wanted you to know."

  Catherine might have had her mask on right there, since no words left her mouth as he left the café. What the hell was that all about?

  It sounded as if he knew she lived the lifestyle, but her confusion around the last party made everything suspect. Was she reading something into his conversation that wasn't there? Was he a guy who could spot a submissive a mile away? Or did he know who she was?

  Whatever he was, he was dangerous and the last thing Catherine needed was another threat to her peace of mind.

  Chapter Four

  On Saturday night, Catherine dressed in the same bedroom she had every night she'd attended one of David's gatherings. Instead of pleasant anticipation, all she felt was dread.

  Though she and David hadn't discussed it, she assumed he would choose another anonymous partner to wipe away the memory of her last encounter. She had mixed feelings about that. Part of her knew another sexual encounter would regulate the last one, put it where it belonged, in her memory. She gave last week's encounter too much importance.

  Anxiety she'd never experienced before swept through her, which made her muscles tight and her throat hurt. As she adjusted the straps and zippers to cover her face, claustrophobia swamped her like the very first time she'd put on the mask. It had been years since she felt this unsure, this afraid. Her breath was shallow and tight.

  If she looked at it honestly, it was clear she avoided intimacy with a sexual partner. She knew why it was necessary and that hadn't changed. So, why was she so afraid?

  Her heart whispered “Because he was different."

  She ignored the voice. No, he hadn't been different. He'd been a body, a pair of hands. That was all.

  But her heart knew the lie even as her mind thought it.

  She squared her shoulders and rolled her neck to shake off the nervous tension. When she opened the door to the bedroom, David was there, as always. It was comforting that here was someone who didn't change or waver.

  "Well, love, are you ready?"

  She couldn't motion her head one way or the other, since she didn't really know. She stood motionless in the doorway, afraid to step out, afraid to remain still.

  The concern in his eyes touched her. “You don't have to go out. I can just choose a man. You know most of the men in the room know the rules and none of them have to see you."

  She shook her head vigorously. Hiding in the bedroom seemed cowardly. That wasn't the experience she wanted. Reaching out, she took his arm indicating her readiness to go down to the basement.

  There were more guests than usual, and she scanned the room. Which one was he? Was he here tonight? Filtering out the doms and the subs, she tried discern whether her last mystery lover was there, waiting.

  Her tension must have translated somehow to David. He patted her shoulder. “Let me handle this. You go up to the bedroom early tonight."

  Catherine nodded, but as she headed for the stairs, she glanced over her shoulder and allowed the fear in her gaze to communicate her vulnerability to David. His grey eyes met hers, and he seemed to understand. She had to trust him.

  The walk to the bedroom was the longest she'd ever taken. It was even longer and more nerve wracking than the very first time she trusted David to choose for her. It was agony. Somehow, she had to work through this. Trust in him was the first step to breaking away from the fear that dominated her life.

  She also had to trust herself. This was her choice, her decision. Vulnerable, but resolved, she lifted her head and entered the bedroom.

  * * * *

  As soon as Justin saw Catherine going upstairs, he stepped from the corner where he'd stayed out of sight. David's demeanor was calm and placid as Justin strode to confront him.

  "What is your plan for her?” He didn't mean to sound aggressive, but he wasn't used to dealing with protective feelings this strong.

  Steel grey eyes clashed with his. “What is yours?"

  His gaze dropped first. “I don't know."

  "She trusts me to take care of her. I don't choose the same man twice. If I choose you again, there has to be something more there than just a great fuck."

  Justin wasn't prepared for the rage that the word brought out in him. “It wasn't just a great fuck. Don't call it that."

  David nodded. “That's a good start, but she's got issues. I'm not setting her up for the very thing that terrifies her."

  "What terrifies her?"

  "Failure."

  Justin's brows furrowed. “I don't understand."

  "She's afraid she can't connect, that she'll be rejected and more alone than she already is. It's easier for her to choose emotional disconnection than to make one and lose it.�
� David sighed. “I'm not trying to nail you down and marry you off, but she's fragile right now."

  "So you're asking me if I'm serious."

  Smirking, David said, “You could say I'm asking what your intentions toward her are."

  "I told her.” The words were out before he realized what they would mean.

  Like a razor, David's voice cut in. “You know who she is? You've talked to her? Does she know you?"

  Justin raked a hand through his hair. “Yes, I know who she is. Yes, I've talked to her, and I think she knows it was me last weekend. We have lunch at the same café by the courthouse. I've seen her there, but I didn't place her until I saw her last Saturday."

  "Does she know you've seen her here?"

  He nodded. “I made it pretty clear and judging by her reaction, she got it."

  Looking thoughtful, David put his hand to his chin. “Why did you tell her?"

  "I wanted her to know I wasn't looking for a normal relationship."

  For a few agonizing minutes, David stared at him. Then, he nodded. “Go up there. Do your thing. Tonight, I give you permission to remove her restraints afterwards. If she chooses to remove the mask, then we'll see where we are."

  "You'll be nearby right? If she needs someone she trusts."

  A rare smile lit up David's face. “Yes, I will. I'm glad you see she might need me."

  "I care about her.” And he did. When that happened, he wasn't sure, but it had.

  "I can see that, or I wouldn't give you a second chance with her. She's special."

  "Yes, she is."

  Trepidation and excitement coursed through his veins as Justin headed for the stairs. He planned to convince her to give them a chance at something real, something face to face.

  * * * *

  Breathing through her nose, Catherine tried to relax. Her heart pounded and her head spun, but she lay still. The restraints, the mask, the darkness made her restless rather than calm as they usually did. Relax. Just relax.