Author's Note: Some lemon!
Masked Delights
Swirls of colour dance along the glistening floors. The music of laughter and shrieks of pleasure fill the decadent room. Thousands of candles illuminate the chamber, shadows weaving in between the pillars and across the ornate walls. The space is alive with beauty and magic, a hint of hedonism and indulgence hiding between the dark places.
The dress is heavy on her frame, pulling down at her shoulders while she endeavours to keep her spine straight. She is uncomfortable, a fake smile plastered onto her face, her cheeks straining with the effort. The dress feels tight around her body, her feet and calves aching from the heels. Her usually wild hair piled into a tame crown of curls. She sips delicately at her champagne glass, resisting the urge to down the toxic spirit. She is in a great state of unease, unsure of the formalities, confused by the strange mix of social courtesies and the diverging debauchery as the night wears on.
Her prince is in his element, the star of the show. He dances gaily amongst the crowd, delights them with his elocution. When he grabs her hand and invites her to sway with him, she drowns her drink and hesitantly joins him, desperately summoning the knowledge she had learned with her dancing lessons. He is effortless, perfect frame, perfect posture, perfect timing as he twirls her. She struggles, unable to see clearly through her mask, stepping on his feet, unwilling to let him lead. He keeps a smile on his face, reassuring. This is something she will one day learn.
In the flash of a moment she is in the arms of another, his hands gripping her tightly, spinning her in a way that differs from the Prince. As though the music was born within his soul, as though dancing is the essence of his life. She breathes in his scent and recognises him, her heart fluttering with his nearness, the pressure of his body against hers. She realises that they are hovering just ever so slightly. "To protect my feet…" he whispers against her cheek.
An eternity passes as they dance, surrounded by a sea of masked beings. She closes her eyes for a moment, just a moment to steady herself, to push herself away from him. When she opens her eyes, they are somewhere else, hidden behind luxurious drapes. The light is dim, a soft glow illuminating their features. The feeling of soft velvet against the exposed skin of her back, the force of the hard wall behind her. His fingers reach up to grip her chin and removes her mask. She watches, almost helplessly as he tosses it onto the marble floor. He presses against her body, snaking his hand up beneath her gown, clutching her leg and wrapping it around his waist. "The other one…" he whispers against her lips. She complies, spellbound as she entraps him, the sensation of just a thin cloth and the pressure of his starch jeans against her beginning to ensnare her senses.
"Good little girl…" He breaths, one hand sliding up the length of her body to grab her arm, holding it above her head in surrender. The thumb of his other hand softly brushing her inner thigh. He kisses her, softly biting her lip, coaxing her tongue with his own. She feels him begin to slowly grind against her, his thumb drawing circles along the edge of her thigh and pelvis. She whimpers against his mouth, liquid heat pooling between her legs. He trails his tongue along her neck, up to her ear, pinning her against the wall as he increases the pressure. "You're going to lose yourself to me…and I'm barely even touching you…." The rhythm changes, a little faster. "I'm going to have you Fionna…I'm going to have you with my hand…" The circles brush even closer, just slightly sneaking past the cloth, sending sparks up her spine. He brings her hand down from above her head and sucks on the tip of her fingers, his eyes staring into hers, enthralling her. "I'm going to ravish you with my mouth…." She watches as he snakes his tongue across the tip, a taste of things to come.
He presses against her, slides his thumb into the side of her panties, just a centimetre away from touching her where she desperately wants it the most. He pins her arm back above her head, nibbling on her ear. "And I'm going to envelope you with my body….I'm going to make you fall apart…" He increases the pressure, teasing her, brushing her lips with his own. She can feel her own building, the heat rising, her heart racing.
"M-Marshall I…" He kisses her, deep, passionate.
"Fall apart for me Fionna…" His thumb brushes her bud as he captures her lips with his, sending her spiralling into her climax, her legs squeezing him against her, her nails digging into his shoulder. When she is limp in his arms, he lets her go, forcing her to find her balance. "You know where to find me…" He disappears, leaving her dishevelled and panting.
In this moment, she does not realise that she has become hooked on the drug of desire. That she will seek the intoxication he brings. In this moment, she does not realise that the carefully stitched fabric that is her life, her fairy-tale is now in shambles, frayed and unravelling into a tangled mess at her feet.
