Damien and I put on our masks before leaving the car. They’re made of black cloth, both decorated with gold dust and gemstones. Faux, I assume. But then again, under the circumstances, who knows.

I check my reflection in the visor mirror. The mask covers my face almost completely, leaving only my lips free. My eyes, too, but my brows are covered, and I doubt anyone would recognize me like this. The thought relaxes me somewhat.

Then I look at Damien. At those famous, dual-colored eyes. And in that moment, I realize that he’s not anonymous at all. For that matter, how could I have ever imagined that he could be? Damien is larger than life, and the thought that something as simple as a mask could erase him is absurd.

And if Damien isn’t anonymous, then I’m not either. Because it’s no secret that I’m the only woman who would ever be on his arm.

“Something wrong? The valets won’t say a word,” he continues, apparently thinking that’s my concern. “Matthew assures me that they’re paid extremely well for their discretion. Though some people don’t even trust that. It’s common to arrive already masked. But to be honest, that didn’t even occur to me.”

“I don’t think it matters,” I say. “Damien—”

“Do you want to leave?”

I don’t know if it truly hasn’t occurred to him, if this is a test for me, or if he actually wants to be recognized. But then I realize that it doesn’t matter. Because I don’t want to leave. And, honestly, the idea that everyone inside those doors will be unknown to each other is a fantasy. The point isn’t actual anonymity. It’s the idea of it. The freedom and the rush that comes with the concept of Masque. Not from the reality.

“Nikki?” I hear the concern in Damien’s voice.

“What? Oh, no.” I look at him. At the strong jaw extending from beneath the mask, as if he’s a superhero. “No,” I repeat. “I don’t want to leave.”

I know him well enough to read his expression even with a mask, and I’m certain that it’s relief I see. He raps his knuckles on the driver’s side window, and the valet magically reappears. Two, actually, as there’s a man in livery at my side as well.

He opens my door, then helps me out. Damien picked out my outfit for the evening, and I emerge carefully, making sure that the black skirt’s thigh-high slit doesn’t reveal too much. Then I bend my head, hiding an ironic smile. If the night goes as I expect, I’ll probably be revealing a lot more than too much thigh.

Damien circles the Lincoln, and I watch him move, theoretically anonymous in his mask and slate-gray suit. But he’s not. Even without those eyes, how could anyone not know this was Damien simply from the way he carries himself, cool and confident, as if there’s nowhere he doesn’t belong, and no room he doesn’t control.

“Milady,” he says, grinning as he extends his arm for me. I take it, and we go to the entrance. Two more servants in livery and eye masks pull open the double doors. We step over the threshold and into a spacious entrance hall. Classical music plays from hidden speakers. The lighting is dim. Waiters move among the crowd holding trays of finger foods and glasses of wine and champagne. There are several bars set up for hard liquor, and I nod that direction, thinking that right now a whiskey is just the thing.

Because in addition to all the opulent normalcy, it’s clear this isn’t a normal party. The guests are masked, which is no surprise. For that matter, the sexual nature of the party shouldn’t have surprised me either. But even so, I can’t help but gawk at what I see. A nearby couple on a divan, the woman fully naked except for her mask, the man’s face between her thighs as her fingers twined in his hair.

The two topless women near the back of the room, one leaning against a pillar as they lose themselves in a wild, deep kiss.

I see a threesome walking hand in hand up the stairs. And on the other side of the room a single man in a tux walks up to a fondling couple, taps the man on the shoulder, then gestures to the woman. The first man leaves, and the new arrival steps up, boldly sliding his hand up the woman’s leg under her skirt.

“Did you see that?” I whisper to Damien, who nods and hands me a whiskey before tossing his own back and ordering a second.

I feel a bit as if we’ve gone down the rabbit hole and Wonderland turned out to be pornographic. But I’ve watched my share of porn, and most of it is raw and raunchy. This place has a beauty to it. An odd sort of class. An elegance.

I remember what Jamie said about it being formal, and she’s absolutely right.

And while I’m a bit shocked by what I see, I can’t deny that I’m also turned on.

Beside me, Damien takes my hand. “Well?” There’s heat in his voice, but I hear the question loud and clear. Do I still want to stay?

I hand my empty drink to a passing waiter, then step closer to my husband. Boldly, I reach out, pressing the palm of my hand against his crotch. He’s hard, and I keep my hand in place as I step closer, now hearing his tight, controlled breaths. “Yes,” I say. “I want to stay.” I meet his eyes. “So do you.”

He inclines his head, just a hint of motion, but in clear acknowledgment.

“Turn around,” he demands, and when I do, he slides his hand into my shirt. It’s a backless silk tank, held in place only by a single tie at my neck and another at my waist. I’m not wearing a bra, and my nipples are hard against the material. Or they were. Now their hidden behind Damien’s hands as he plays with my breasts while we both watch the crowd.

“Tell me why you like this,” he demands.

“I don’t know.”

“Because there’s something exciting in seeing someone else’s arousal. In knowing that you’re not alone in feeling such a deep desire. But it’s more than that,” he continues. “It’s wanting to claim what’s yours.” His fingers tighten on my nipples as he speaks. “In showing the world what—who—you have. And who has you. What you value. What you’re willing to claim.”

I nod, his words almost a background noise for the pleasure that’s stealing through me, so much more vibrant because of where we are.

He keeps one hand on my breast, but the other slides up the slit in my skirt. It’s too clingy, and so I’m commando tonight, and I bite my lower lip when his fingers find my slick inner thighs and seriously wet core. “You do like it,” he murmurs.

“Yes,” I admit.

He pulls me closer, so that I can feel his erection against my ass. “Me, too,” he says, sliding his fingers in and out of me in a wildly sensual rhythm that is setting my blood on fire.

His fingers are inside me like that, his other hand cupping my breast, when another couple walks over. The woman runs her tongue over her lips as she looks at Damien. “I like the way you touch her,” she says, even as the man says, “Shall we swap?”

I tense, a tremor running through me as my body clenches around Damien’s fingers. I hold my breath, certain that he’ll say no, but nervous nonetheless.

“I don’t share,” Damien says.

The man runs a slow gaze up the length of my body. “Pity,” he says, then turns and leads his partner away.

“The thought turned you on,” Damien says, and I shake my head.

“No. I don’t want that. Not ever.”

“Oh?” There’s a tease in his voice, but at the same time, I know how my body reacted and I fear that he doesn’t believe me.

“What turned me on is knowing that you wouldn’t ever do that. That I belong to you.”

I feel the rise and fall of his chest as he draws breath. Then he steps back, his hands slipping from my clothes.

I turn to face him, afraid something is wrong, but the heat I see in his eyes soon dispels that fear. “With me,” he says, then leads me to the far end of the room and up the staircase to the first landing.

“What—?”

But he cuts me off with a kiss, long and so deep a shudder runs through me, a tiny hint of the explosion that’s to come.

“Look at them,” he says, turning me around so that I’m looking down into the grand room, at the people touching and kissing and petting. I watch, my blood heating as I do, and my breath coming faster as Damien’s hands stroke lightly over my back and then down to cup my ass.

He bends forward, and I feel his breath on my neck, then I gasp when I realize that he’s used his teeth to tug the bow free. My blouse falls, attached only around my waist, my breasts now completely bare. “Mine,” he says, then starts to tug up the back of my skirt.

“Damien…”

“Trust me,” he says, as inch by inch more of me is revealed. Because of the slits, the front remains down, so I know my scars remain hidden, but soon enough I’m not only topless but my backside is bare except for Damien’s palms cupping my ass cheeks.

A tremor cuts through me, and I close my eyes. He needs this, I realize. My trust. Tonight. But I want it, too. And what I’m feeling now is as much arousal as it is embarrassment.

“Touch your breasts,” he says. “And spread your legs.”

I hesitate, but do as he says, then moan as he slides a hand between my legs, finding me ridiculously wet. “Bend forward,” he orders, “and don’t close your eyes.”

Once again, I comply, this time without hesitation, and as I watch the crowd below, I hear Damien’s zipper, then feel the pressure of his rock hard erection against my core. I gasp as he enters me, my hips thrusting back in a silent demand for him to go deeper, to thrust harder.

He keeps up a slow, steady rhythm, and as he bends over me, fucking me on these stairs for all the guests to see, he cups my breast and tells me I’m beautiful. That I’m his. And that he wants to feel me come.

“Now, baby,” he says, his fingers tight on my nipple and his cock thrusting hard into me. His other hand slides around, teasing my swollen clit. I’m incredibly wet, my body on full awareness, right on the cusp of exploding. “Come with me,” he demands, the tension building in him. Both of us climbing higher and higher until—oh, God—I actually scream when my release comes in time with his, and a dozen faces below turn and look as I shatter in Damien’s arms, my knees going weak as I sink to the ground with him beside me.

We cling to each other until sanity returns, then he finds the tie for my shirt and fastens it behind my neck.

We’re both breathing hard, but he pulls me close and kisses my temple.

“Are you okay?” he whispers, his lips brushing my ear.

I nod, my heart still pounding. “Yes. I think so.”

“Think so?” There’s concern in his voice.

“I just mean that I liked this,” I confess. “I liked it a hell of a lot more than I thought I would.”

His eyes study mine, intent behind the mask. “I will never share you,” he says, and I shake my head in a firm no. “But I liked it, too. A hell of a lot more than I thought I would,” he adds, his words mirroring mine.

“Take me home,” I say. I slide my hand around, cupping the back of his neck. “Take me home so that you can undress me and make love to me while you tell me about tonight. About what you liked the most. What turned you on. About what you want to do if we come back.” I study his face then smile. “When we come back.

“Tell me all that, Damien, while you’re deep inside me. Then do what you can’t do here. And watch my face when I come.”