Page 62 of David's Love

Nobody pays attention to them, a haunting music wafting through the air while men and women decked out in fancy clothes sip cocktails, dance, or make out.

It’s a decadent party with people determined to make it even more memorable.

We mingle in without talking to anyone in particular.

He must know the owners of the house, or we wouldn’t be here.

Whatever the setup, it works for everybody.

I, for one, like it a lot.

We get to be together in public and enjoy ourselves without the fear of being recognized.

I place my coat on a hanger in a walk-in closet assigned to the guests and follow him to the main room, my hand locked in his.

Even with a mask on and cloaked in anonymity, he still stands out.

Or I’m in love and biased.

Or both.

When he curls his arm around my waist and pulls me into his frame so we can dance, it’s like sliding into a pool of warm honey.

I get high on his closeness, the smell of his skin, and the fire simmering in his blood.

The need to lock lips presses us with a vengeance, so before long, we kiss, and it’s the most freeing, exhilarating feeling ever.

For an hour or two or the entire night, we become legitimate lovers.

His hand slides down my back and follows the swell of my rear before squeezing it gently.

The echo of his touch troubles my center greatly.

As the need for him soars in me, I relay that to him gently by running the back of my hand down his fly.

“How much longer do we need to stay here?” I ask, although we haven’t spent that much time in here, making conversation about delicious canapés and spider-shaped cookies.

“You wanna leave?” he asks,a smile on his face, my hand fully cupping his erection.

I nod, a teasing grin tickling my lips.

“I want to get naked with you,” I say, crazy lights rotating in the room, a smell of mint permeating the air.

“We’ll need to find a motel,” he says.

“A motel it is. We’re good with motels,” I say, giving him a playful grin and a soft wink.

He breathes a sultry chuckle that pushes goosebumps across my skin.

“Let’s go then,” he says, without wasting another moment.

ELIZABETH

We leavethe party like two drifters turned into petty thieves. My pockets are lined with spider-shaped cookies and mandarins, and he has a bottle of wine tucked in his jacket.

We are so anxious to get to the motel and roll between the sheets that we can’t be slowed down by little details like me being hungry and us looking for drinks in the middle of the night.

It’s enough that we don’t know where we’ll be spending the night.

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