Chapter 8: First Night

On the third Friday I took the mask off in the dressing room and put it in the drawer.

I stood in black lace and silver heels, looking at my own face.

Then I went down the hall to the VIP room and opened the door as Tara.

Vaughn was standing in the middle of the carpet in his shirtsleeves, and he turned when he heard the latch.

He saw my face, and his breath went out of him.

"I thought you'd want the mask," he said.

"I thought you wanted me."

"I do."

"Then you can have all of me. Or none of me."

He crossed the room.

I had braced myself for a kiss. He stopped an arm's length away and held out a hand, palm up, and waited.

"Your hand," he said.

"You gave a lot of orders at work too."

"I give them when it matters."

I put my hand in his.

His fingers closed carefully.

He lifted my wrist and pressed his mouth to the inside of it.

It was the wrist he had held against the glass.

"I'm sorry about that," he said, against my skin.

"The wall?"

"The wall."

"It's the second-best thing you've ever done to me," I said.

His mouth curled. "What's the first?"

I pulled him down and kissed him.

It was nothing like the office.

It was slow at first.

Then he groaned into my mouth, and his hands came up into my hair, and the slowness burned away.

He backed me against the wall by the door, gently this time, and his thigh slid between mine.

I gasped. He swallowed it.

"Tell me to stop," he said, rough, against my jaw.

"Don't you dare."

He laughed, low and shaken, and kissed his way down my throat.

I fumbled with the buttons of his shirt until it opened, and I pushed it off his shoulders.

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