Page 33 of Unveil

Zy doesn’t have hand tattoos…

He nips my clit. “Give me those pretty eyes.”

I moan, “Oh God.”

“Not God. Fiancé.”

“Fiancé,” I echo instantly.

His chuckle rewards me with a teasing vibration against my clit, making my muscles tighten and my toes curl. That feeling I’ve craved since I almost captured it a year ago builds again. I can almost pretend this is a continuation of that feverish night, like time never passed, and I’m already right on the verge of coming as I grind against his mouth, chasing it.

But I’m exhausted. I’m usually keyed up after a performance, but I’m afraid the last few nights have caught up with me. My strength has almost completely drained from me.

Outside, the crowd cheers the countdown to midnight, the switch from Nox’s birthday to mine. I’m missing it, but I don’t care. I’m ringing in my twenty-second year with a damn bang.

He circles my clit, and a soft moan escapes me on a heavy breath.

My vision’s fading at the edges, and my orgasm fades with it despite how hard I’m fighting to keep it.

Wait. Is that normal?

I blink, trying to focus, but my head’s too heavy, my eyelids like sandpaper. I slump against the mirror. My legs lay limply over his shoulders, no longer pulling him in. His mask shifts over his narrowing eyes.

“Luna?” His voice is even slower and deeper than before.

My body shudders weakly. Almost like an afterthought.

“I’m… I feel…”

“Fuck, Luna.” He shoots up, snapping my panties back in place, pulling my bodice over my breasts.

“Wait! No! Come… Come back! Please,” I whine. “I want you.”

He takes my feather mask off and sets it aside before cupping my cheeks.

“Your hands… they’re rough and soft at the same time,” I mutter.

Ignoring me, his eyes scan my face. “What the fuck did they do to you?”

Worry narrows his dark brows and concern swirls in his eyes—one hazel-brown with forest green specks swirling around the center, the other its stunning opposite. Were they always that many colors? I feel like I’ve seen ones like that before… once.

I gasp.

“It’syou.”

He ignores my revelation that he’s the same guy who disappeared on my birthday and squeezes my cheeks, holding my head up.

“Focus, baby. You said you didn’t drink that drink I gave you. What else have you had?”

What’s the big deal?

My voice croaks as I form the words past the Sahara Desert in my mouth. “Shots backstage…”

“No, Luna.Here, in Masque.”

“Oh… ” I try to think. “There was Bart’s shot.”

His eyes narrow as he mouths the last two words, then curses, “Fuck!”