Page 22 of Cross My Heart

Taking their pleasure, in every possible way.

My body tightens, humming with desire as the wild, erotic scenes unfold all around me. I can feel my own breath become labored; my core aching with that tell-tale curl of need. I’m just wondering if there’s a private spot I can steal to, to help relieve the ache, when I see him.

Saint. Professor St. Clair.

He’s masked, just like the rest of us, but I swear that I would know him anywhere. He’s dressed in a black suit and shirt, the expensive fabric draped perfectly on his tall, powerful body as he moves with slow purpose down the hallway.

Instinctively, I sink back, out of sight, as he passes me by. What’shedoing here?

Of course, it makes sense. A man like him, devoted to libertine pleasure. What could be more rakish than this?

As if drawn by some invisible force, I find myself following him to a small, dimly-lit room at the end of the hall. One wall is made up entirely of windows, and the moonlight outside glitters, reflecting with the candlelight on the glass, and casting shadows on the few people gathered, sprawled on the couches and antique rugs inside.

Saint heads straight for the plush, circular divan in the middle of the room. A couple is grinding there, kissing softly as the woman rides her partner, but as Saint approaches, the man rises to his feet—literally handing the woman to him, and moving to a seat to watch, instead.

I slip into the room and find a seat in the shadows. I settle there, burning up with unfamiliar desire and curiosity, as the woman turns her attentions to Saint.

She unbuttons his shirt, kissing her way down his chest, and unbuckling his pants. He sits back, resting on his elbows, that plush mouth curled in a powerful smile as she sinks to her knees.

“That’s right, darling.” I hear his voice, low in the breathless silence of the room. “Swallow my cock. Just like that. Ahh…” His groan echoes as she frees his cock, and the sound sends a shiver rolling through my entire body.

To hear him groan like that, it feels like I’m witnessing something out of bounds.

So intimate. Soraw.

I shudder with heat, watching as the woman eagerly settles between his knees and lowers her head, taking him deep into her mouth. God, he must be big, I can see her struggle to accommodate him.

Saint just laces a hand in her hair. “Every inch, don’t stop,” he orders softly. “Shh,” he adds, gripping tighter. Pinning her in place. “You can take it.”

The woman moans in answer, and soon her head is bobbing, sucking him deep.

Oh God.

I’m so turned on, watching them, I can hardly stand it. I press my thighs together and wriggle in my seat, wishing I could touch myself. Craving some release.

What would it feel like to be the one on my knees, making him groan like that? His hands gripping tightly inmyhair, his enormous cock buried downmythroat in front of a dozen watchful eyes…

And then Saint glances up and catches my eye across the room.

I freeze, my blood pounding hotly in my veins. He can’t know that it’s me, can he?

No, I tell myself, as Saint’s gaze drifts over my body, and back up to my face again.That’s impossible. I’m wearing a mask, hidden here in the shadows, and besides, I have no connection to this world. No way of knowing this kind of event even exists. To him, I’m just another stranger in the party.

A woman watching as he gets his cock sucked in a crowded room.

Saint holds my gaze and gives me a piercing smile. “Watch,” he instructs me, as if I could even think about looking away. The woman on her knees does something to make him sound another low, pleasured groan, and I almost moan, right along with him. “Spread your legs,” he tells me, low and even. “Let me see you.”

Oh my God.

I can’t believe I’m doing this, but in my dim haze of lust, it feels like the most natural thing in the world to sit back and part my knees wider, hitching up the silk of my skirt until I’m baring myself to him, only a whisper of silk underwear covering me between my thighs.

Saint exhales in a hiss of satisfaction, and I swear his eyes darken, even behind their mask. “Good girl,” he murmurs, and fuck, if those words don’t send a fresh wave of desire flooding my core. “Now touch yourself. Show me how you like it. Play with that sweet, wet cunt.”

Fuck.

This time, I can’t hold back the moan that slips from my lips. My hand slides between my spread thighs, and I touch myself through the silk of my panties, lightly petting my swollen clit.

God, it feels good.