"Unmask Me" Excerpt 2

Ali stood in what she assumed was the library and sipped her drink. She needed to get out of here. She didn't know anybody else who might be coming and wasn't the type to hang out at such a huge bash by herself. Even with so many people milling around the halls and ballroom, she'd never felt more alone.

Her face grew hot. The airy material of her costume became restrictive and confining. But she didn't want to bee-line for the door yet. She needed to cool her three-inch heels for at least a few more minutes. Ali sighed audibly. Oh, what's the point? No one would miss her if she darted out the door and ran to her car.

Ali started toward the door when something in the corner of the room caught her eye. She loved old things, although not an expert on antiques, she wanted to check out the music box that sat on a small round table near the window. As she drew closer to the box, she realized it probably wasn't even an antique. After all, why would the curators leave something of value out in the open at a public event? She shook her head at her own inanity and pivoted toward the door as two people came rushing in.

Their lips were locked together in a heated kiss and neither noticed Ali standing in the corner of the room. She should have cleared her throat and was about to when the man, dressed as a baseball player kicked the door shut, still keeping his mouth glued to the French maid she'd seen at the bar earlier.

Uh-oh, she thought and quickly hid behind the velvet drape. Of all the stupidest things—a wet smacking noise caught her attention. Don't look, don't look. Oh, for cryin' out loud, how could she not? She moved the curtain enough to view the couple. With their reflection displayed in the mirror above the mantle, she couldn't tear her gaze away. They'd moved to the desk and the ball player had, at some point, pushed the bodice of the French maid's costume down and was feasting on her pink-tipped nipples. The French maid was seated at the edge of the desk. Her dress pushed high, legs spread wide, black stilettos propped on the desk, revealing fishnet stockings and creamy, white flesh. Ali stifled a groan when she realized the ball player was pumping his fingers in and out of the maid's pussy, his mouth fused to her nipples.

She felt her own nipples harden and she pressed her thighs together. A wave of guilt spread through her. She was not a voyeur. She shouldn't be watching these people. They thought they were alone and sharing a moment of quick intimacy. Ali squeezed her eyes shut and wished for earplugs. How long would they last? They had to worry about someone walking in—she heard the door jerk open and stared wide-eyed at the dark curtain.

"I thought you two were going to wait for me," a masculine voice whispered in a rush.

Ali heard the heavy wooden door quietly click shut. Her heart hammered. Good Lord, now what the hell was she going to do? She'd figured the original couple would probably last about fifteen minutes, but now that they were a trio…

"Make…sure…oh God, that's good. Keep fingering me," the French maid panted. "Make sure you lock the door, Mitch…Oh, yeah, that's it."

The rest of the maid's words were mumbled and Ali strained her ears to hear what she was saying. No. She didn't want to know. She heard the familiar sound of a zipper being, well, unzipped, and assumed it had to be the new guy.

"Come on, Dan, time to share. I've been lookin' at Gina in that hot little come-fuck-me outfit all night and I'm dyin' for a taste."

She heard a masculine chuckle, followed by a feminine giggle, then rustling and fumbling movements about the desk. More sucking and slurping noises filled the room along with heavy breathing and small, gasping breaths.

I'm not a voyeur. I'm not going to look. Her velvet cocoon became stifling. She needed air. She needed—oh what the hell. She needed to see what they were doing.

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