Before I can reply, Deacon and Snow White show up, and Princess Bride turns to them and hugs Snow White. I huff as I realize they know each other. No wonder she laughed at my description of her.
When a fast song hits the speakers, they turn back to us, take our hands, and tug us out to the dance floor. Jasper and his twins join us. We dance, one song after another. Time blurs as people mill around us. When a slow song comes on, I ease her into my arms. We sway together, our bodies brushing against each other. You’d think we wouldn’t make a good fit with the size difference, but we do, her head pressed against my chest as my nose dips to her hair. My hands stroke her back, sliding inside the fabric at her waist to touch the lace of her panties.
This is what I know.
She doesn’t know who I am, and she wants me, not the famous footballer.
I lean down to her ear. “Be wicked with me tonight. I’ll make you forget the guy who hurt you.”
Before she can reply, Jasper pulls me aside, demanding I get cake “because he’s a great fucking party planner and it’s my tradition,” but I barely focus on what he’s saying.
I don’t want cake anymore. I want her.
But he insists, even telling them it’s my birthday, so as a group, we head upstairs to the food area. I grab a slice of chocolate cake off the dessert table, then slide in the booth where they are. My princess hikes up her dress and straddles my lap as she faces me. Her core slides against my groin, and my hands clench around her waist.
Jasper yells out encouragement to her as she flips my cap off and runs her hands through my hair. Giggling, she forks over bites of cake to me, then some for herself. “Happy birthday, my prince,” she murmurs in my ear.
As soon as the cake is gone, I ignore everyone as I sweep her up in my arms bridegroom-style. With the others hooting behind us, we venture up to the next level. I ease her down in front of me as we stop at a room with a window where the blinds have been left open. Several people are having sex, a mishmash of arms and legs.
One of the guys, in midthrust, falls off the bed and bangs his head on the wall. Another man bends to help him, loses his balance, and falls on top of him. We step away to laugh.
Holding hands, we take another set of stairs to a quieter level. She picks a room, and I follow her inside. I shut the blinds and lock the door while she roams around.
My gaze lands on a big bed with black satin sheets. There’s no theme, thank God, and just like Brogan said, condoms are on the nightstand. There’s a small fridge stocked with water and a bathroom off to the right.
“There’s a giant purple dildo,” she muses as she points to a shelf with an array of toys.
“You won’t need it,” I rumble as I take her in my arms and press my forehead against hers. “Unless you want me to use it?”
“Maybe I’ll use it on you.”
“Funny.” I card my fingers through her hair. “Do you come here often?”
“My first time.”
“But you’ve had one-night stands?” I mean, I assumed. She’s probably in her late twenties, she’s bold—
She grips the steel pipe in my pants. “Yes.”
“Fuck, that feels good,” I groan as she strokes me. Our breaths mingle as she unbuttons my shirt and tugs it out of my slacks, then tosses it over her head.
She buries her nose in my chest. “First, tell me one real thing about you. Or two.”
I hold her as we sway to music that isn’t playing. “Something real, hmm—well, I do work with my hands. I like to play guitar sometimes. I tried yoga once and nearly broke my neck doing a handstand. And you?”
“Hmm, well, there’s no picture in my locket. You guessed right about me being artsy—I am, and let’s see, what else . . . oh, I have a thing for ChapStick. I own hundreds in all different flavors.”
“Do you have any rules you want me to know?” I gaze at her upturned face.
“No kissing on the lips.”
“Why? Your lips are fucking perfect . . .”
I cup her face, studying her features, imprinting the image of her aquamarine eyes, the widow’s peak.
She avoids my question. “Anything I should know about you?”
“One night. No names. No strings. And the masks don’t come off.”
“Deal.”
I turn her around and unzip her dress, and it glides down her skin and pools on the floor. A low growl comes from my throat at the white lingerie she wears, a skimpy lace bra and a matching thong. Her hair spills down her back, and I drape it over her shoulder as my lips brush the bruise there. I move down her back, grazing my knuckles over her vivid tattoo. I read the script for it near her nape: bent but not broken. Easing down to my haunches, I kiss the two dimples above her ass. I can’t kiss her lips, but I’m going to brand myself over every other inch.
Her ass is full and generous, and my hands cup it. My fingers slide up, tracing her spine, going slow to savor her. I ease the straps of her bra off, then unhook it. It falls as I press my nose in her hair. My hands glide down her arms and back up to her shoulders. Jesus. Her skin is addictive. Soft. Hot. Fucking intoxicating.
I drift down to a scar on her side, kissing it, wondering what put it there. I caress the underside of her breasts, my hands drawing lazy circles over her globes, slow and steady, closer and closer, until I reach her nipples. I graze the pebbled peaks, and she cries out, her head falling back to my chest. I rumble in her ear that I’ll get to them later as I drift down to her waist and hook my thumbs under the lace of her thong. I drag it over her hips, my hands stroking her thighs and calves as she shifts the panties off her feet.
My fingers slide around her waist to test her core, easing in gently, then sliding back out, groaning at the wetness there. I circle her clit, slow and tortuous. “Princess, you’re hot and slick. I’m going to put my mouth there soon and taste you.”
She melts against me, her hands sliding into my hair.
“Turn around,” I say as I kiss her shoulder, and she faces me, face flushed with desire, lips parted.
My hands curl in anticipation. Petite red nipples and that glorious dark hair.
She. Is. Art.
Serenity hits. Tension loosens in my chest, and anxieties fall away. There’s so much shit in my head. She evaporates it into nothing.
No thoughts about the day I killed my father.
No fear about me turning into the monster he was.
No panic that my career is ending.
No loneliness.
I dim the lights, kick off my shoes and socks, and remove my slacks, then my underwear. I palm my cock as a breathless “Damn” comes from her.
“Come to me,” I purr.
She bites her plump bottom lip. “I hope you know how to use that thing.”
“Hmm, yeah, you’ll see. Come at me like you want me.”
I catch her in my arms when she jumps, her legs wrapping around my waist as we fall to the bed.
Chapter 4
FRANCESCA
A male hand waves at my face. Donny.
“What’s up?” I ask over the buzzing of my tattoo machine. I’m leaning over my client in the chair—not the best time to chat.
“Sorry to interrupt. I need to see you in my office when you’re done. It’s important.”
I stiffen. “All right. This is my last appointment.”