She turned slowly to stare at me, a corner of her mouth tilting upward.
I wasn't sure how long we stood there, silently watching each other, feeling the tension rise between us until it felt as sharp as a knife's edge. “What’s your name?”
“Does it matter?” She tilted her head slightly.
My brow furrowed as I thought about it, my gaze flickering to her empty left hand. She wasn’t married—that was my hard line. “No,” I answered honestly.
"What would you say if I asked you to kiss me even though you don’t know my name?" She took a step closer, closing the distance until there were only inches between us. “A name doesn’t change whatever this pull is between us, does it?”
It didn’t. Whatever this attraction was defied logic. My blood heated, and my gaze dropped her lips. "I guess you'll have to ask if you want to find out."
"Would you kiss me?" she asked, brushing her lips over my chin.
"Would you like to be kissed?" I'd never been asked before. Somehow it was always assumed that I would want to kiss whomever was bold enough to take it. It was a little thing, but her request was hot as hell.
"Yes," she whispered.
Thank you, God. It was on.
I took the back of her neck in one hand and gripped her waist with the other, pulling our bodies flush, letting that sweet angst of anticipation build for just a breath longer—which was about all the self-control I had left.
She lifted her face toward mine, and I kissed her. I kept that one soft, just an introduction of our mouths, but when I drew lightly on her lower lip, she gasped, and I took full advantage. My tongue swept inside her mouth, and I groaned at how sweet she tasted, all citrus and lime.
She gripped handfuls of my shirt as I took her mouth over and over, licking into her, exploring and teasing with swirling strokes that had my pulse skyrocketing.
Don’t lose control.
Control was something I prided myself on just as much as stamina when it came to bringing a woman into my bed—her bed…whatever surface was flat and close by. But that discipline slipped with every thrust of my tongue, every scrape of my teeth, every whimper that rose from the back of her throat.
When she threw her arms around my neck, I sucked that sweet little tongue of hers into my mouth. Her breath caught for a heartbeat, and then she arched, pressing her breasts against my chest as she kissed me like her life depended on it. I was starting to think mine did—she was that addictive, more potent than any alcohol I’d ever tasted.
My nose grazed the bottom of her mask. Who was she under all the sequins and glitter?
“What’s your name?” I asked against her lips, my hand sliding over the curve of her delectable ass.
She froze.
“Tell me,” I insisted. I had to know, had to see her again. I kissed her slowly, scraping my teeth gently over her lower lip.
“Touch me first. Talk later,” she countered, taking my hand and placing it on her breast.
Holy shit. I could live with that, especially with the weight of her breast filling my hand, the hard lines of her corset scraping my palm only to give way to soft, plump flesh. I wanted this woman naked, spread out like a seven-course meal on a table so I could devour her bite by bite.
I lifted my head long enough to see she’d shut the door to the small gallery. Then I spotted one of the wide, cushioned benches that faced each wall and lifted her by her ass, sinking back into her mouth as I carried her there. Our mouths remained fused, our tongues restless even as I laid her lengthwise on the bench, then rose above her.
She tugged off my mask, then ran her fingers through my hair, her nails scraping my scalp lightly. I lifted my hands to the edge of her butterfly mask. She swept one hand down my chest and gripped the hard length of my dick.
“Fuck,” I hissed, my eyes sliding shut as white-hot, searing pleasure raced through my veins. My hands fell away to grip the edge of the bench, bracing my weight so I didn’t fall on her like some high school kid in the back of Dad’s pickup.
“Wow,” she whispered.
“Just wait,” I promised her with a low laugh. Then I kissed and licked my way down the smooth column of her throat, lingering on the spots that made her gasp while removing myself from the reach of her hands. One more touch like that and my already fraying control would unravel completely.
Her fingers found their way into my hair again as I traveled south of her collarbone and across the swell of her breasts. I looked up to find her watching me with lust-hazed eyes, her lips parted and breaths rapid. When I lowered my mouth to the top of her corset, she arched.
I reached beneath the fabric with my thumb and forefinger and freed her breast from the confines of the lace cup, my eyes locked on her slightly widening ones. My heartbeat pounded in my ears, waiting for her to tell me if this was too much.
“Hendrix,” she whispered in a plea that hit me straight in the dick as she tugged my head toward her skin. My name had never sounded so good, so full of plea and pleasure.
But I still didn’t know hers.
I glimpsed creamy skin and a rose-colored, taut nipple just before I took her into my mouth, swirling my tongue over her tip before sucking the flesh between my teeth.
She cried out, the sound reverberating off the gallery walls as I sucked her softly and lashed my tongue over her again and again. Her hips rose as she rocked against me.
Her honest, uninhibited response took me from hard to throbbing and desperate. There were no coy games, no nervous laughter, or assessing, measured looks—she was as lost to me as I was to her, and damn if that didn’t take me further down the rabbit hole, wiping away any care of where we were.
Nothing mattered but the woman beneath me, her body shimmering in the soft light. She was the finest piece of art I’d ever seen in my life.
Her hips rocked again as color flushed her skin. I released her breast only to give the other equal attention as she writhed beneath me.
“Fuck, I want to taste every inch of you,” I said with one last lick over her nipple.
She moaned, her fingers tightening in my hair as her thighs tightened.
“I’m going to work you over so slowly you’ll be begging me to come,” I promised as my hands traced the indents of her waist, the flare of her hips.
“And if I’m ready to beg now?” she asked, gripping the sides of the cushion when I moved beyond her reach, straddling the bench.
“Tell me your name.” My hands gripped her thighs, and I grazed my thumbs over the frilled edge of her stockings. Maybe her name didn’t matter at this moment, but I’d need to find her again—I had to find her.
“Hendrix,” she begged, rocking her hips so my fingers slid under her skirt.
“That’s my name,” I teased, skimming under the straps of her garters.
“Please!”
A slow, wicked smile spread across my face as I lowered my lips to the strip of skin just above her stockings. Fuck, she even smelled sweet. I flipped her skirt up and nearly swallowed my tongue. Her thighs were toned, soft, and only a tiny piece of purple lace covered her pussy.
“Goddamn, you’re beautiful,” I muttered, taking in the entire view, from her pleading eyes to those kiss-swollen lips and hard-tipped breasts.
She only whimpered in reply.
“Tell me your name.” I kissed her inner thigh.