Читать книгу Masked Innocence - Alessandra Torre - Страница 13

Seven

Our kiss was interrupted by the limo’s slow turn into a short driveway, the suited chauffer waiting an appropriate amount of time before opening our door. The makeup stop turned out to be a small bungalow in an established neighborhood, a black Porsche Boxter in the driveway. Lights were on in the house, and Brad rang the doorbell, holding my hand on the front porch.

“Be patient with Jessica,” he whispered. “She gets a little excited if given too much free rein.”

I laughed. “Patient? Every woman wants free rein with a makeup professional. I’ll just try not to have too much fun.”

“Hola! I’m Marco!” A small muscular man in skintight black jeans, a white tank top and a hot-pink boa opened the door with a dramatic flourish. Behind him, I could see a curvy brunette, tattoos covering her arms and neck, and she waved enthusiastically. They moved aside for our entrance and between the hugs, handshakes and introductions, I discovered that the two were roommates, and seemed to be familiar with Brad; he headed past them to the living room.

Talking a mile a minute, Jessica pulled me into the dining room, where she had a long table covered with every makeup, hair care and skin product known to man. I saw what looked like the entire MAC lineup, as well as half of a Sally’s Beauty Supply store. I was shocked the table didn’t cave in under the weight of it all.

Brad collapsed into the living room couch, crossing his ankles and settling in. He picked up a remote and starting flipping through the channels, Marco scurrying around him, fluffing pillows and chatting him up excitedly. I saw a brief look of pain cross his face, and then I was gently pushed into a chair by Jessica. She turned on a mirrored spotlight, illuminating my face, examined it closely, then sat back with a satisfied smile.

“What look do you want to go for tonight?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never been to a party like this before. Won’t the mask hide a lot of the makeup?”

She clapped her hands and smiled at me excitedly, and turned and grabbed a thick binder from a nearby stool. “Tonight, the mask is going to be the makeup. Let me show you some examples. Then you can pick out what you like.”

Fifteen minutes later, I was ready to move in with Jessica and Marco. She was a freak of makeup nature, able to create distinct and beautiful masterpieces on ordinary faces. I did my best, but was torn between six different looks in her binder. I couldn’t decide—they were all so beautiful and different—but finally chose the one that I thought would camouflage my looks the most.

Marco had given up on Brad, and stood at a clothing rack that was pushed against a back wall. He was going through clothes, occasionally pouncing on an item and bringing it to Brad. Brad so far had rejected all of Marco’s suggestions, which was causing increased agitation to the small man. “How can you like none of these?” he complained. “I am showing you some beautiful pieces!”

Brad called to me from the living room. “He wants me to wear a jeweled thong, Julia! Talk some sense into the man.”

I frowned at Marco and shook my head, causing Jessica to swear at me. I went back to being still and tried to behave while she continued to apply eyeliner.

“I’ll just wear the same thing as last time,” Brad called to Marco.

“There is something wrong with a man as beautiful as you hiding your face. If you’re going to go that route, then at least let Jessica bejewel you.”

“Real men don’t get bejeweled,” Brad said, turning up the volume.

* * *

FIFTY MINUTES LATER, with air kisses and monetary gratitude expressed, we left the small bungalow different people than had arrived. If I can say so myself, I looked amazing. Not Julia anymore, I was now a mysterious, exotic siren. I still wore the red dress and strappy silver stilettos that I had been picked up in, but everything else had changed. Jessica had added extensions, thickening and lengthening my dark brown tresses. On my face, she had created an eye mask, with shadows, liners and a faux lace pattern. She added fake lashes and had painted my lips movie-star red that she promised would stay on “no matter what I did with my mouth.” I planned on testing out that theory.

Brad looked, well, exactly the same. Gorgeous, sexy and feral, and the closer we came to the party, the more intense his eyes became. He was aroused, I realized. He had taken only one item from Carlos, a black executioner’s hood. I was both scared and excited to see what it would look like on.

We got in the car and I waited till the driver shut the door before I turned to him. “I—”

His mouth was on me before I got the second word out. He cupped my chin in his hand and took my mouth with his. He pulled hard on my neck and I leaned forward, his other hand grabbing to pull me onto his lap. I straddled him, grinding against his crotch while we kissed. His hands gripped my ass and then traveled in between my legs, and he pulled away from my mouth with a sexy scowl when he felt my panties.

“What’s this?” he murmured, sliding a finger underneath my thong and dipping inside me, causing my eyes to close and my breath to hitch.

“I think they’re called panties,” I whispered, pushing against his hand, wanting more than his finger inside of me.

“You are already wet...” he breathed in wonder, sliding a second finger in with the first, stretching my pussy tight around his digits and moving them together in wonderful unison.

I groaned and ground against him, and he slowly withdrew his fingers, sliding his wet fingers over my clit and then away, and my eyes popped open, missing the pleasure. I pouted down at him.

“I want to keep you hot for the party,” he said gruffly. He looked up at me, smiling in the darkness. “You look so different.”

I tilted my head, grinning. “Good different?”

“I like the normal you better. This is good, though, makes me feel like I’m with a strange woman.”

I bit my lip and looked at him deviously. “Strange women can be bad.”

“I like bad,” he whispered, and I felt his fingers brush my sensitive skin, once again tugging at the lace of my thong.