“Did I hurt you?”
A small surge of emotion bites at my throat and stings at the corners of my eyes as I think of everything I’ve learned the past two days. I swallow the sadness and look up. I want to push that stupid hood off his head and tell him I’ve already seen him. But I can’t.
“No. It felt good … to be taken.”
He wraps his arms around my shoulders and, sliding my arms around his waist, I bury my face in the front of his sweatshirt. Then I allow myself a few more tears. A moment passes and he loosens his hold on me so he can tilt my face up to look at him.
“I’m going to make love to you properly now.”
Make love? I almost say the words aloud, but I stop myself just in time.
Love.
Ha.
I lick my lips then I stand on my tiptoes so I can press my lips to his. I brush my lips against his mouth without kissing him. He nuzzles his nose against mine and I feel the longing in the pit of my belly. That desire that I’ve tried to deny myself since his last visit.
I slide my tongue into his mouth and it pleases me when I hear him groan softly. I clutch the front of his sweater and pull him down so I don’t have to stand on my tiptoes. He takes that as a cue to squat down a little and wrap his arms around the tops of my thighs. Then he lifts me off the floor and carries me to the bedroom.
I can hear his belt buckle clinking, dangling from his pants as he lays me down on the bed. This is okay. I can do this the normal way. We can call it making love. But this time, I’m going to be in control.
I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed. Then I reach for his pants so I can pull them down.
“What are you doing?” he asks softly.
“I want to taste it.”
His jeans fall to the floor and I grab his hips to push him back a little. Then I kneel on the carpet before him.
I bite my lip nervously as I stare at the shadowy outline of his penis. I stick my tongue out and slowly lean forward until it makes contact with the tip. It’s a little wet and slippery. It tastes like me and a little salty.
I pull it out of my mouth and reach up to touch the tip. I swipe my finger over the small slit, then rub my fingertips together. I smile as I slide my hand between my legs and use the stickiness to rub my clit.
I moan and he takes that as his cue. He threads his fingers into the hair on the back of my head, then he pushes the tip of his cock into my mouth. I try to do what all those women’s magazines say to do, and I cover my teeth with my lips. It seems to work as he slowly builds the pace of his thrusts.
I continue to fondle myself as he works his way a bit farther into my mouth with each stroke. I’m about to come when he pulls his cock out of my mouth and steps back. He kneels before me and grabs my hand to pull it out from between my legs.
“Stand up.”
I stand and he grabs my waist to force me to sit on the edge of the bed. He spreads my legs and rests each leg on either of his shoulders. Then he kisses my clit as if it were my mouth.
“Oh, my.”
I can’t see him, but the soft sucking and humming noises he makes gives me a strong impression that he is enjoying himself. A lot. And, oh yes, so am I. So. Am. I.
He thrusts his tongue into my vagina and I let out a fragmented whimper. I grab the top of the black hood on his head, desperate to push it back, but he pushes my hand away.
“I want to see you,” I breathe.
He licks his way back up to my clit and begins sucking on it gently, the way I was sucking on his cock. Up and down. Then he flicks it softly and I want to crawl away from him. It feels so good it’s almost painful. He closes his lips around my clit, his tongue fluttering over it as he sucks gently. I thrust my hips upward and he maintains his position as he brings me to climax.
He licks me softly, as if he’s licking my wounds, until my body finally ceases spasming. Standing up, he kicks his shoes and pants aside.
“Take it off, please,” I beg.
He knows I’m referring to his hood, but he doesn’t oblige my request. He bends over me, wraps his arm around the small of my back, and scoots me further up the bed so he can position himself between my legs. Once he’s lying on top of me, I wrap my legs around his hips and he leans down to whisper in my ear.
“Come with me this weekend to an event. A masquerade ball. A benefit for a fallen comrade. After the ball, I will show you my face.”
A sharp pain twists inside my chest. This is not what I wanted. Then a small voice sounds inside my mind and a new plan begins to form.
“Yes.”
“You’ll come?” he asks, unable to hide his surprise.
“Yes. I can wear a mask, too, can’t I?”
He slides his cock into me and I gasp. He plants a soft kiss on the tip of my nose as he rocks his hips back and forth.
“Of course, ma chérie. Anything you want.”
Chapter Ten
The ritual of applying my makeup to be seen in the light is much more drawn out than the application I use for nighttime activities. But if I’m going to be seen by a roomful of police officers and detectives, a simple Venetian mask is not enough of a disguise.
I’m actually quite excited about going out in public in a new costume. After all, according to Daimon, I am a woman now. And women love shopping for clothes and playing dress-up.
Daimon offered to buy my dress and shoes if I didn’t feel comfortable shopping in public, but I settled for letting him pick out my mask. I ordered my dress and shoes online and had them overnighted to me. I have to maintain a small shred of control over this public outing.
I use my industrial makeup when I go out in the light. The kind of face spackle used by Hollywood makeup artists. It’s sticky and uncomfortable, which is another reason why I haven’t been out in the daylight in years — except to investigate Detective Rousseau. Nevertheless, this makeup packs so much punch, you need a lot of experience to apply it properly. Which is why I have to apply it in the full light of day.
I yank the cord dangling below the window in the bathroom to raise the blinds. The room is flooded with light and my stomach clenches as I prepare myself to turn around and meet my reflection for the third time this week.
I slowly turn my feet and take a deep breath, then I look up into the mirror. I’m naked because I’ll have to apply the makeup all over my body. My hair is completely dry so the makeup on my neck and left shoulder doesn’t run when I apply it. My natural auburn color always appeared drab to me.
I once asked my mother if I could dye all my hair auburn to hide the white streak. My mother responded by asking me why I would want to dye my hair the color of dried blood streaks.
Running my fingers through my hair, I admire the new, more vibrant auburn hiding the white streak of hair. Then my gaze falls to my face and I grind my teeth against the memories. The children in kindergarten who called me a demon. My mother’s ridicule when I asked if she could take me to see the Christmas tree in the mall.
I used to stand in front of the mirror and drag my nails over the pale blotches of skin, as if they were a separate entity to blame for my misery. It wasn’t until I was ten years old that my father explained to me what a chimera is: a person with two sets of DNA. That was when I realized that I’m not just someone with a pigment discoloration of my skin, hair, and eyes. I am two persons in one body. I am a demon.
I apply my makeup slowly and methodically over all my skin from the top of my forehead and down to the tips of the fingers on my left hand. Then I put one brown contact on my left eye. When I’m done, I stand before the mirror and I realize this is the first time I have ever looked normal. Not a speck of discoloration showing. A warm sensation grows inside my belly and spreads through me as I think of my father. He would love to see me like this.
I look at the portable digital clock I set on the bathroom counter and see I have twenty minutes before Daimon arrives to pick me up at 8:30 p.m. I hastily put away my makeup and tools, then I rush into the bedroom to get dressed.