PART 1 OF THE DOUBLE UPDATE.
Aven Brooks
Masquerade.
The most overused theme of wealthy events since the beginning of time. To be hidden, to wear a disguise. It feels like themes like this appeal to my family because hiding is what we all do best. We conceal our truths and bury our secrets. I've never attended one until tonight, but a team has critiqued my appearance to a very specific standard. According to my mother, it's the event of all events. Which I doubt, considering she says this to me a lot.
But tonight isn't just a regular night in the city. It's a date.
It's a date with Ambrose.
My parents are here tonight, but I came with Ambrose. It isn't often I'm going anywhere without Zayn. It feels strange. Ambrose and a driver picked me up in a Range Rover with his name on the licence plate; he was a gentleman like I expected. He held the door, told me I looked beautiful and spent the majority of the ride asking me about myself. The questions were surface level: where I dream of travelling or what I dream of accomplishing with my legacy one day. Everything feels so business-oriented. After all, we both know business is the foundation of this marriage.
Since I arrived, I have been nothing more than an accessory to Ambrose as he socializes with his acquaintances. I sip my champagne and stick to him like glue, quiet as a mouse. Many men have looked at me admiringly, complimenting Ambrose on my beauty, as if I am not my own person. It's a strange idea to accept that I will always be this man's addition—his property. It's difficult not to overthink.
My gown is red, fiery red. It meets the floor. Thin straps, sweetheart neckline. It's an elegant dress meant to match my lacy red mask that goes over my eyes. Not only is the theme a masquerade, but it's taking place at an art museum. It's a charity event, a place of poise and image disguised as appreciating timeless art. I'm actually pleased we're at an art museum; it's refreshing from the usual banquet halls. A lot of pieces here tonight are imported straight from Italy.
It seems that many people around Ambrose respect him for his sophistication and balance. He's a skilled conversationalist and exudes confidence, making him someone my father would approve of. I understand why he is the ideal man to marry into our family, honestly, I'm surprised I wasn't introduced to him earlier. My mother is very fond of him.
I managed to slip away by telling him I was going to visit my parents. He was deeply engrossed in his conversation anyway. In reality, I'm not actually going to see my anyone; I just need some time to admire the art. I need a break from everything. The museum is enormous; the exhibit comprises mixed media of sculptures and paintings. Everyone is dressed in expensive attire and wearing masks of some sort. An orchestra is playing softly somewhere in the building.
I wander with my glass gripped in my right hand, strolling through the museum full of people. The oil paintings catch my eye as I enter another room, wall to wall. I start with the first piece of art. It's dated from the 18th century, and you can tell by the varnish despite its pristine condition. It's of a woman in a corseted dress looking in her standing mirror, her dress a train behind her. She looks sad, but I find no one looks very happy in art dated this far back. The detail is beyond my imagination: every corner of the room, every feature of her dress, even the glaze in her eyes. I could stare at this for hours. If I look close enough, I can see a tear down her face.
My chest goes tight.
In the next painting, there is a man and a woman separated by a gate. However, the man's arms hold the woman through the bars as they share a kiss. She is dressed in rich clothing, similar to the woman in the last painting. They are forbidden to be together, and it's hard to tell whether the man is stuck outside or the woman is stuck inside. Regardless, they both desire each other but cannot be together. It's tragic.
I sip my champagne and move on to the next painting.
It's a close-up shot of a woman lying in a pond, her eyes to the sky, and the crystal water barely frames her face. In a loose white gown, I'm not sure if she's on the verge of drowning or if she's at peace. Maybe she's at peace regardless. Her hair seems to be done up elegantly but falling loose by the water. Her eyes aren't dead but focused on something above her. It's most likely the sky, but with art, you never know. I wonder if she's found peace lying in the pond.
I turn to a massive sculpture in the middle of the room, guarded with red velvet rope. It's of a man down on his knees before a sitting woman, digging his forehead against her knees and gripping the back her legs. She holds the back of his head, knitted in his hair. They're both naked; you can see the spine in his chiselled back as he's curled against her knees. He almost seems like he's kissing her skin too. She sits with power, looking down at him but it's hard to figure out if it's love or not. Regardless, he worships her.
"Looks familiar..." A deep voice whispers behind me.
As I stare at the sculpture, I feel my chest tightening with the grip around my glass. I can sense a tall figure aligning on my right, but I avoid turning my head, not wanting to give the impression that I recognize this person.
But his voice, I could recognize it anywhere.
I glance to the floor and notice a pair of black dress pants trailing down to a pair of dirty black Converse. The absurdity of the combination almost makes me smile, but I quickly divert my gaze back to the sculpture and pretend that he is not standing next to me. I sip my champagne slowly, studying the features of the woman's face. Sculptures offer a blank canvas for facial expression—I enjoy interpreting their feelings.
I switch the glass to my other hand, dropping the one between us. I don't realize how close his hand is to mine until I feel his pinky finger graze me on accident. They separate by half an inch, but I can still feel the radiation of his like heat. I don't dare look down; I keep my eyes unbothered and along every stone curve of the sculpture.
My chest rises and falls with each breath.
His pinky reaches out to mine again, ever so slowly grazing it with caution. My throat goes tight, my eyes flicking to the entrance to ensure no one affiliated with me is coming. However, being behind a sculpture, no one can see our hands.
In poor discipline, my pinky finger flexes in the direction of his. My eyes stay on the sculpture as his finger gently interlocks around mine. The touch ignites a fire through my chest, making it harder to breathe. My eyes fall frantic at the dominant man down on his knees like a sacrifice of pure devotion. I try to sip my champagne, but my mouth is too dry to enjoy it.
I feel his fingers gently shift into my palm, slowly grazing down until they weave between mine and tangle together with the weight of a feather. The sensation of his skin sends my heart racing, and I feel a sudden surge of anxiety. I shift my eyes back to the entrance to make sure no one is coming. But there's no threat in sight. I find myself softening into his hand. My eyes selfishly peek down at the touch, and I catch my name tattooed right before his thumb. I feel a sense of solace wash over me. But as my palms begin to sweat and my heartbeat aches my throat, I realize that this connection is more than just physical—it scares me.
My mind is becoming full.
I need air.
"Is there a backdoor somewhere?" I break the silence I promised myself I'd maintain.
"Mhmm..." He hums.
"Can you show me where it is?" I tip back the rest of my drink.
I hear him chuckle at the back of his throat.
For the first time, I glance my eyes up to his face. Like everyone here tonight, he's wearing a mask over just his eyes. It's black and matches with his all-black suit. His hand slips out of mine and digs into the pockets of his dress pants, walking off. I let him create a distance before cautiously following him through the museum.
Room after room, I keep a lookout for my parents or Ambrose, hoping to spot no one in my path. Eventually, we lead through the ballroom portion of the place. People sway together on the dancefloor to gentle violins and pianos. My eyes stay on Harry as he ducks a corner to a hallway, the entranceway marked with an exit sign. I casually check my surroundings, dropping my glass on the closest table and turning the corner. I see Harry turn out a back exit right as I turn into the hall, my steps quicking now that I'm alone.
I duck out of the exit and enter the back parking lot of the museum. My head turns to Harry leaning his side against the brick wall, mask still over his eyes, hands in his pockets, smirk plastering his face.
"Angel," He greets.
I shut the door.
"You're getting brave now," I warn at his stunt of being here in plain sight.
He grabs my hand and pulls me between him and the wall, grabbing my hips with a gentle rub.
"Masquerade, couldn't miss the opportunity." He gestures to his mask before looking me up and down. "You look stunning, as always."
"My father is here tonight," I warn as his hands are like fire on my hips.
"I noticed, he seemed very pleased with the sight of you and, what's his name, Ambrose?" He tilts his head before leaning into my shoulder, very innocently kissing up my neck.
"How do you know his name?"
He smiles against my skin, his warm breath making my stomach shudder. "Aren't you supposed to be mad at me?"
"I am mad at you." I correct.
"Yeah?"
His hands slide from my hips and graze up my back. I shut my eyes at the feeling of his lips, my core temperature rising as my hands slide up his blazer. We didn't end things on the best terms the other day and haven't spoken about it since. I am still mad at him, but I need to feel something tonight. I need to feel like a person. I glance at the cars parked along the massive lot, an impulsive thought crossing my mind. It's probably one of the worst ideas I've had.
"You got ten minutes?" I whisper.
He freezes and pulls back from my neck, looking down at me in temptation.
"Oh, I definitely have ten minutes." He nods, picking up on my tone.
I smirk and push off the wall, grabbing his hand. I pull him cautiously through the parking lot, searching for every Range Rover nearby. I spot the specific license plate of the car I came in, opening the back door and pushing us inside. It's strange that it's unlocked, I guess Ambrose's driver isn't very thorough. I straddle Harry's lap and slam the door behind us, the car dark and the windows tinted. My gown swims around us as he gazes at me with a cheeky smile, his hands gripping my hips.
"Aren't you on a date, Ms. Montanari?"
I pull his mask up, revealing his face in whole.
"Distract me, please."
"Who's car is this?" He takes my mask off, tossing it with his.
I lean into his jaw, gently taking the skin between my teeth.
"One guess," I whisper against him, kissing his neck right after.
He laughs in a tone that shows he thinks I'm insane.
"You're going to fuck me in your boyfriend's car?" He holds me tighter—closer.
"Mmm..."I smile into his neck. "Is that wrong of me?"
He grunts and dives into my neck, grabbing the back of my head and tautening me closer. I pull away from his neck and tip my head back, shutting my eyes to the sensation. His tongue flattens up the base of my throat; I hum in satisfaction.
"Very wrong of you..."
My straddling hips roll with friction against his dress pants, grinding needlingly as he sucks desperately on my skin. I grab the back of his burning neck, harshly gripping the hair.
"We need to be quick; I'm sure he's waiting." He smiles against my ear, a quiver chilling through me.
"Shut up..."
I pull off his blazer as he continues over my shoulders and the arches of my neck, panting hotly against me with hunger. His hands grab at my ass the second he's free from the blazer, leaning into me so I angle back and buck my hips closer to him. I hold the nape of his neck with one hand and his knee with the other, his lips venturing down to my cleavage. Grinding my hips, he trails the valley of my breasts before biting down on the flesh. I gasp a smile and toss my head back, feeling him kiss the skin after. Excitement coils through me as I slam his back against the seat.
My hands grab the collar of his shirt, stopping on the first button. He darts down to the touch, flicking back to my eyes when he realizes what I'm implying. His chest rises up and down more noticeably.
"Can I?" I ask.
He stares longingly into my eyes, nodding.
Excitement flushes through me as I dive back into his neck and start undoing his button-up. He drives his hands under my dress, massaging my thighs. My lips roam his skin as a distraction, breathing sharply into his ear. The heat in me increases, rising with the temperature in the confined space. He breathes heavier with every button.
Leaning the side of my head against his, I cautiously peek down once I open his shirt completely. He's not wearing anything underneath, which is never the case. He used to always wear a shirt beneath a button-up. My head pulls back, getting a better look at the exposed skin before me. The streetlights leak flawlessly along his body through the tinted window. He's a perfect sight. My eyes hesitantly glance into his.
"Are you okay?" He asks me.
I nod quickly, panting.
"I should be asking you..."
He nods with a heavy chest, rubbing my hips under my dress.
"I'm okay."
I feel a relief washing through me as my lips meet his jaw, grabbing the belt of his dress pants to unloop it. He's right; we don't have a lot of time. I get his zipper down as he moans into the side of my head, gripping my ass again. The pressure in my core is driving me nuts; I need to fuck him now.
The hunger takes over as I kiss down his shoulder, grabbing his hips and going lower. My back curls, my breathing staggering increasingly out of pure adrenaline. Before I know it, I'm sliding off his lap and kneeling on the car floor between his spread legs. My lips blindly kiss down his chest—his skin is burning up. It isn't until I hear him breathe heavier that I remember how sensitive his scarred skin is to my lips. I can barely think straight; all I know is I want to kiss every part of his body. I want all of him—I need all of him.
He pants laboriously—nearly whimpering and grabbing the back of my head in plead.
I get down his abs as he naturally sinks in his seat to create a curve. My fingers loop his pants at the same time, tugging them down. He lifts his hips in assistance, allowing me to fold his dick out of his boxers. He's painfully hard; it's a sight to see. As I'm down on my knees in front of him, it occurs to me that I haven't done this in a long time.
"Aven, you don't have to..." He says in caution, but panting in a way we both know he's dying for it.
"Do you want me to?" I ask.
He battles to answer, biting his lip and slowly grinning with guilt.
"Yes..." He admits.
"Then shut up..." I grab the base of his dick and stroking it. I dribble spit down his tip; it perfectly rolls along and lubricates my moving hand. He fights the desire to make a sound; I hear it almost leave his lips. My eyes look up into his as I wrap my lips around the head, swirling my tongue once to break him a little. Just like that, he groans. His jaw drops with it, barely getting to process the sensation before I begin bobbing my head.
"Oh fuck—" he sucks in a sharp breath, gathering my hair behind my head.
I take half of him in my mouth and palm him with the other. I don't want to push it; it will be hard to fix if I make my makeup smear by gagging. But with the way he's already losing his mind, he'll cum if he touches the back of my throat anyway.
"Jesus, Av—" he shifts his hips, fisting my hair so a sensation waves my scalp. I hum in satisfaction.
I bob my head as my left hand roams up his naked torso, feeling the hot skin blanketing his gravelled muscles. The second my palm meets his chest, he traps his hand over top so it stays there. He whines and tosses his head back, my mouth working him slowly. I glance up at my hand being held against his bare chest, it's such a new concept to my brain. Even back in the day, we never did this. He holds my hand there in security despite how insecure he is about the area.
"Baby—" He stifles. "I can't take much more—I'll cum if you don't stop."
I love making him weak. It's all I think about: how tragic he becomes when an orgasm approaches. He whines, squirms, pleads. No one makes him feel as good as I do. I'm soaking wet just listening to him; I desperately need this tonight.
I pull back so he doesn't finish. His eyes are a world of desire, staring down at me like I'm a fabrication of his dreams. The foggy light through the window blankets half of his body in the most artistic way. It defines his muscles down his chest and torso, illuminating his bone structure. His black dress shirt stays open and over his arms, his pants rushingly undone. The unruly hair lays partway in his face, just enough to catch his burning stare. Chest puffing up and down, I realize how much I want to make him feel the best he's ever felt.
I crawl between his parted legs, getting back on his lap. He attacks my neck this time, more feral than before. His hands slide under my dress as he wastes no time running over the crotch of my underwear. It's soaking wet; I know it is. He stifles in my neck when he feels it.
"Holy shit..." He whispers. "You're—"
"Fuck me right now," I demand in desperation, lifting on my knees and reaching under to pull my lace to the side.
We both pant for dear life as he grabs his dick with one hand while bunching up my dress with the other. He keeps his eyes deadlocked at the contact, positioning his tip against me. I grab the side of his neck and lower slowly, feeling him drive into me for a moment of pure bliss. My lungs shake out a whimper as I sink as much as I can; he clenches his teeth and grabs both of my hips harshly. I toss my head back as his tongue meets my throat, my hips jumpstarting in a slow grind. We both shamelessly moan, the windows fogging in heat. I grab the back of his head, rocking my body desperately in the tight space.
"Fuck...just like that." He pants into my jaw, hands clutching my ass and helping me rock.
I tug the hair roughly at the back of his head, breathing against his ear. My nerves are tingling in ecstasy. I can't conceal it like last time. I tried so hard to disguise how weak he made me to feel superior. Now, all bets are off. I'm nearly pleading against him in pleasure—there's only so much I can take.
I pull back from his side and look down at him, my jaw dropped in weakness. My hands ball the open dress shirt as he grabs my face to keep me looking down at him. His eyes roam my features, seeing how vulnerable I'm becoming.
An arrogant smile curves up his lips.
"You should see how pretty you are right now..." He strokes my cheekbones, breathing heavily. "Desperately riding me in a thousand-dollar dress..."
I nod eagerly, whimpering.
My hands slide down his chest, his eyes darting to the touch settling down to his curved abs. He furrows his brows and clenches his teeth, grunting and tossing his head back. I get a firm grip on his sides, staring down at the chiselled torso so on display. He looks like a dream. The sculpture flashes through my brain, the stone curving the man's body like his.
He pulls my straps off, slightly dragging the dress down with it so my breasts slip out. He dives forward and takes one in his mouth as I angle back and grab his knees behind me. I start bouncing from the angle, moaning desperately into the air. He stifles in mercy, lapsing his tongue.
"Harry—" It's almost too much as I grip his knees harder behind me.
He backs against the seat and watches my dress fall to my hips, peeking out the window to make sure no one is around. He clutches my sides bouncing up and down, his eyes gazing up my naked torso. The windows are fogged with our breaths, the tight space getting harder to inhale with the heat. A whine leaves his lips, gripping me tighter.
We claw, pant, and moan with each other in a desperate hunger to get each other off as quickly as we can. Within all this chaos, our bodies work perfectly together despite the rush of it all. I can't believe we're actually doing this right now, fucking in Ambrose's car while he's probably wondering where I am. Guilt aside, there's something so hot about it.
The heat of the car is making his chest blanket in sweat. Streetlights from outside cast through the blurry windows just enough for me to see it. His hair falls damp in his face as he gets drained of energy, holding in for dear life so he doesn't finish before me. The sight of him alone brings me to my orgasm faster than I thought; his teeth clench when he looks down at our bodies moving together.
"Fuck, Harry...I'm going to..." I grind my hips again, grabbing the back of his neck and his naked side.
"Yeah?" He breathes, looking up at me. "You're gonna cum this quick?"
I whimper as his lips meet my neck, sucking gently and lapsing his tongue against the hot skin. I tug at the hair above his neck, making him moan in relief. The build in my core screams at me to be heard, my body getting pushed to the limit. It's hard to focus on anything else.
He grabs the back of my neck and brushes his lips up to my ear.
"I hope you think about this for a long time..." He whispers. "Fucking the man your family wants dead; fucking him in hope no one finds out."
"God..." I pant against the side of his head.
"Because no one will ever make you feel the same." He tightens the grip on my neck for assertion, ending his words with a bite on my jaw. "I need you to remember that."
I nearly cry out in pleasure as my orgasm takes over my consciousness, my hand pressing against the icy wet window. Rocking my hips aggressively, I feel the impenetrable build choke me out until I'm sucking in a sharp breath of release. Every muscle in me clams up in tension as my orgasm burns through me. He groans against my neck like he feels it happening around him, a warm release soaking us both. My hips shudder and lose rhythm, causing him to grab my hips and take over.
My head falls weakly to his shoulder, holding the back of his head. He sways my hips for me with a groan of satisfaction, panting hotly against my neck. His hand grabs my head and yanks it back so I look at him.
"C'mon, angel," He breathes feral. "Give me more."
I jumpstart from his words, bouncing my hips instead. He sinks into the seat and reaches his hands up to grab the back of the headrest, signifying that I'm in charge. His eyes stare down at our bodies thrashing together, jaw going sharp. He looks like art, the open shirt on his sweaty torso, his hair hanging in his drowsy eyes, his body jerking at every bounce of my hips.
"Fuck...look at you..." He whispers with a head shake.
I grab his forearms behind the headrest; he takes the opportunity to blindly grab my hands instead. He holds them tight, staring up at me doe-eyed. A huge part of me wants to disengage from his hands, but I don't. I hold them tight behind the headrest. Casted over him, he grips them tighter the closer to the orgasm I bring him. His body starts to squirm, making a grin plaster my face.
He cusses and looks down at our hips, groaning in his release. I moan as he pulses inside me, his eyes almost rolling back with his perfect set of teeth painfully clenching. His hands stay gripping mine behind the headrest, all the energy being sucked out of him with his orgasm. His muscles lock up in tension, flexing his abs that curve down his slouched posture.
I slow down, riding out to a gradual stop. The air goes still, heat washing over my skin. My hands slip out of his, my body slumping so my chin meets my chest. My mind is as fogged as the windows; I feel like I could pass out. The muscles in my thighs are on fire.
"Fuckin' hell..." He whispers in realization, shutting his eyes.
Oh my god.
I feel him lean forward and wrap his arms around my lower back, delicately kissing the arc of my shoulder a few times. His body is hot as a furnace, bare skin pressing against mine. I don't realize how hot the car is until we stop moving.
He grabs my arms and folds them beneath the straps, pulling my dress up. I lift my head and straighten up, still out of breath and tingling. He gently brushes my hair back over my shoulders and out of my face, watching his hands as he does it. I reach forward and do up his buttons, taking in the skin one last time before disguising it with the black dress shirt.
"Am I a mess?" I ask as I get his shirt entirely done up.
He wipes the corners of my mouth, inspecting my face with a head shake.
"You're perfect." He pulls my bottom lip.
I break eye contact and lift myself off his lap, shifting my underwear back and rotating into the seat next to him. He tucks himself back into his boxers and shifts his hips to do up his dress pants, tucking his shirt back in. I'm not used to seeing him in such formal clothes; they make his figure look insane.
I grab my mask and put it back on my face, blindly fixing myself. He runs his hair back and puts his mask on, too. He glances at me and smiles to himself, shaking his head like he's holding back on saying something.
"What?" I furrow my brows.
"Nothing." He shakes his head, doing up his belt.
"No, what is it?"
"I just can't believe you're returning to your date after I came in you." He chuckles.
"Fuck off..." I roll my eyes.
"I told you." He laughs while sliding his blazer back on.
"Speaking of, I need to go."
"You really do. But you'll need this to get back in through that door." He pulls out a lanyard with an employees-only keycard attached to it. I don't even bother asking how he got it; I'm sure I don't want to know.
He grins and opens the car door, getting out and slamming the door behind him. Before I get a chance to move, he opens my car door and holds out a hand for me to take.
"Trying to be a gentleman?"
"I've got competition now." He jokes, keeping his hand held out.
I roll my eyes and take his hand as he helps me out of the car. We meet chest to chest, his eyes beaming down into mine from the mask. Without breaking the stare, he shuts the car door behind me.
My legs are still quivering.
"You should go." I clear my throat. "You're lucky you haven't got caught yet."
"Mmm..." He examines my face and grabs my chin with his thumb and forefinger, tilting it up slightly. Before I say anything else, he pulls away and heads around the car towards the building. I watch him take out his keycard, swinging it casually like it isn't stolen. I follow behind, feeling my heart race again.
We reach the door, he leans his shoulder against the wall beside it. He gives me one more glance up and down.
"Open the door, please." I cut to the chase as he purposely keeps the card by his side.
"I was going to say he doesn't deserve you," His eyes eventually trail up to mine. "But then again, neither do I."
I stare blankly as he swipes the keycard through the system, a green light chiming and the door clicking unlocked. I part my lips to speak, but I remember it's better just to go. I swallow and pull open the door, racing back inside.
//
ARE YOU READY FOR MORE!? YOU'RE GONNA WANNA BE!
second part of the double update is up in 30 minutes!