“Your drink of choice, if I remember correctly,” he teases, handing me a flute.
“Thank you.” I lift it toward him before taking a sip, my gaze traveling toward the haunting tune coming from the back of the grand piano.
“Do you play?” he asks.
“My sister does,” I say. “I took vocal lessons. She took piano.”
“Dane, thank you for the entertainment tonight.” A burly man with gray-flecked temples pats Dane on the back.
“Senator Harris,” Dane says. “Thank you for coming. Your donation is much appreciated. As is your support.”
“He does good work, this one.” Senator Harris grips Dane’s shoulder tight, flashing a politician’s toothy grin and letting his paw fall. A round-faced woman in an emerald evening gown smiles from behind him. She must be his wife. I offer her a knowing wink and a nod, from one date to another, and she returns my gesture with a smile.
I lift the flute to my lips, pulling in a careful sip that doesn’t smudge my lipstick. “So what’s this charity? What kind of work do you do?”
He studies my expression and lowers his drink. “I sponsor lost boys.”
“Lost boys…” I glance around the grand hall. “Like the boys who get kicked out of FLDS compounds when they’re teenagers?”
I’ve heard a handful of tragic stories, mostly involving teenage boys being edged out of fundamentalist communities by corrupt elders bent on skewing the male to female ratio.
“Exactly.” He places his hand on the small of my back.
“That’s an interesting charity to adopt,” I say. “What made you want to get involved with lost boys?”
He clears his throat, his gaze scanning the room before returning to me.
“Because I was one.”
TWENTY-FIVE
DANE
I don’t make a habit of opening myself up personally. I’m not fond of feeling or looking weak, and I absolutely abhor the way people look at me when I tell them.
“You were a lost boy?” Her eyes mist, and I hate that she’s feeling sorry for me.
“Don’t,” I say.
“Don’t what?” Her hand covers my forearm.
“Don’t look at me like that, like I’m some lost soul you feel sorry for.”
“What those FLDS communities do to those young boys is awful. Of course I’m going to feel sorry for them. For you. You were a victim.”
I need something stronger than this Moet and Chandon, but right now it’s all I have. I toss it back and pull in a deep breath, wishing I could go back to the moment right before I told her and change course.
“I don’t feel sorry for myself, and I’ll be extremely displeased with you if you ever look at me like that again.” I set my empty flute on a passing tray, forcing her to release her hold on me.
“It’s okay to be vulnerable once in a while.”
“Not for me, and we’re done discussing it.” I adjust the knot of my tie. “Let’s make a final round before guests start leaving in droves. This party’s about to end, and a new one will be starting shortly.”
I extend my elbow, and her delicate hand hooks my arm as we veer toward a group of bishops mingling with a handful of lobbyists sponsored by wealthy benefactors. We’re all here raising money to fight the good fight.
No young man should ever be driven to a dirt road ten miles from the nearest town with no more than twenty dollars in his pocket and a sack lunch. Watching the red tail lights of the compound’s seventeenth Suburban disappear in a cloud of gravel dust was a defining moment for me.
I’d like to think that was the moment I first died inside. Discovering Jenessa’s secret was the second. I know for a fact, I’ll never meet death again because I’m already dead on the inside. I’m not capable of love, and I have no business fantasizing about such a fleeting, temporary thing.
“Dane, thank you so much for hosting this evening.” Margaret Hollingsworth floats up to my side, placing her hand on my shoulder. She has a mother’s touch and delivery of a ball-busting church elder’s wife. “We had a marvelous time. Do let us know if there’s anything you need from us.”
“You’re most welcome, Margaret. I have your number.”
We greet my leaving guests in a makeshift reception line, and after we’ve said the final goodbye of the evening, I turn to Bellamy.
“You’re quiet,” I say, eyeing the curved staircase that leads to the north wing of the estate. “Are you ready?”
Bellamy’s eyes close and slowly reopen before she releases a sweet sigh. “I’m ready.”
Caterers swirl around us, and the pianist packs up his sheet music. The cleaning crew sweeps, and spritzes, and runs about with bags of trash.
But right now, it’s just us.
No one else exists.
No one else matters.
I take her hand, leading her upstairs, and she trembles. Warmth radiates from her tender cheek the second I stroke my hand across it and cup her face. The moment we’re around the corner, I press her body against the closest wall and claim her mouth with mine.
Her tongue is champagne and velvet. The kiss is deep. Needy. I’m not sure who needs it more, but I’m not about to ruin this moment by giving two fucks. All that matters is this is happening.
I grab the back of her dress, yanking it apart in two pieces straight down the back. She gasps, pulling away from me for a second.
“I’ve been dying to do that to you.” I flash a crooked grin before smashing her lips once again. We let the dress fall to a heap on the hallway rug, and my hands slide down her back before cupping the underside of her cherry ass. She climbs me, her legs hooking around my hips, and I carry her to the last room at the end of the hall.
I kick the door shut with the bottom of my dress shoe and deposit Bellamy on the center of my four-poster bed. The lace lingerie she dons looks amazing, but I know for a fact, a naked Bellamy would look even better.
She kicks her heels off and pushes herself back against a mountain of pillows, her chest rising and falling as she watches me loosen my tie. I remove it with one fluid pull and work my buttons. My cock throbs, pressing against my pants and aching to be inside the beautiful ingénue who belongs only to me.
I’m not insensitive to the fact that this will be her first time knowing what a real cock feels like inside her. As much as I’d love to push her limits and fuck her seven ways from Sunday, I’m going to have to find some satisfactory middle ground.
“You’re on my bed, Bellamy, but I’m slightly confused as to why you’re not naked yet?” My pants fall to the floor, and I climb across the bed, delighting when I catch the faint scent of her arousal.
“Waiting for your command.”
“Good.” I reach toward her breasts, feeling the peaked nipple protruding from her lace bra. My palm rakes against it, pressing the fabric against her sensitive buds until her head falls back into the pillows. “Do you like that?”
“Yes,” she breathes. “Please don’t stop.”
I pull away, reminding her I call the shots, and I’m still very much in control here. The drawer in the left bedside table contains a few items I intended to use tonight, so I reach across and slide it out.
Restraints. A blindfold. Some toys. A condom. Since it’s her first time, we’re going back to basics.
I slip the red satin blindfold over her eyes and graze my lips across hers just enough to tease her with the false promise of a kiss. Restricting her vision will make every touch, every lick, every graze, a thousand times more potent.
“Give me your wrists,” I say. She doesn’t hesitate, and she doesn’t say a single word as I secure the black straps to the bedposts and tighten them. “Ankles.”
Her shapely legs drag up the bed cover, finding my hands in the dimly lit room. After securing her to all four posts, I retrieve a feather tickler. I skim her full lips before softly dragging it down her neck between her breasts and swirling it over top of her mound.
“Would you like me to undress you all the way?” I offer.
“Yes,” she heaves. “Please. I’m ready.”
I yank her panties off, dragging them across her constricting belly before unhooking her bra. Her breasts react to the cool evening air, swollen and pert. My mouth takes a nipple, swirling and sucking before releasing it.