Unmasked (New Adult Romance) (The Unmasked Series) (10 page)

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Music from another part of the estate barely
penetrated Alyssa's door as she sat in silence, waiting for something to
happen, but she wasn't sure what. The lilting, strange sort of harpsichord
melody that was played by someone who knew the piece but had gotten bored with
playing a long time ago took her back to Sundays with old Miss Helen playing
the dusty organ at church in Newtown. Thinking about it, that organ was
probably the only thing in town with a year or two on Miss Helen.

Thoughts of long ago and far away kept her from
panicking, at least as much as she had when Peter returned and insisted on
tying her to the bedpost. He assured her it was just temporary, and that it was
because Preston had gotten scared. She didn't believe him, but couldn't exactly
fight it, either.

There were clinking glasses, as though a party of
some sort was going on down stairs, or what she assumed to be downstairs, from
where she was locked with her eyes bound, her hands tied tight around the
bedpost which earlier, she found to be made with the most exquisite
craftsmanship. It was marked with a rose.

Even as the strangely soft velveteen blindfold
blacked everything out, after a few minutes, she realized that with her vision
gone, the rest of reality was much sharper and more defined. The fuzz over her
eyes lifted and she tried to think back to what it was like as a kid, when
people talked about this place.

She shifted her shoulders back and forth a little
bit, as best she could.

Years ago, decades even, her father told her never
to go out so far, and especially not to cross the fence onto the Webb oil land.
No one knew much of anything about the oil family except that the elder one
often appeared in town and bought some piece of land or another from a real
estate office on Tarp Street which was closed when he wasn't there to buy
anything. The other time she remembered the old man, he had received a shipment
of art – big, wall covering sorts of paintings – and picked them up from the
little town museum. And then of course, she met him in the forest, with the
mushrooming lessons.

Never in her life did Alyssa think she'd ever be
here. After all, as brave as she was as a kid, she'd never hazarded to do any
more than peek from the edge of the forest, when she'd seen Preston and fantasized
about him. Now, with her eyes closed tight and a rope biting into her wrists,
Lys couldn't help but try and imagine Preston, to imagine why it was he
insisted on the covers and the blindfolds.

"I wonder if he was burned or something," she
whispered into the empty bedroom. "Dad said he thought it was scars, and Peter
mentioned the scars, but it was hard to believe some scarring would be enough
to keep someone hidden for his whole life.

A giggle escaped her lips, as unbelievable as it
was to her that only a moment ago she'd been shaking and then found herself
giggling almost uncontrollably.

"But, he kissed my hand. He snuck back through my
door and kissed my hand before he left. That's not the sort of thing a timid,
frightened person does. Maybe he's...maybe he insists on the shadows and the
hiding for other people's sakes?"

She strained her ears to make out voices. There
were plenty of them talking, but she couldn't separate any one from the others.
Northeast accents were the most prevalent, one in particular, harsh enough to
have come from an even smaller place than Newtown. But then there were a couple
of Southern accents as well dotting the cloud of noise that trickled in under
her door.

"Which one are you? Where are you, Preston?"

With her mind running amok, and her imagination
conjuring up all sorts of bizarre scenarios and personalities for this
mysterious man, she wondered if the persona he put on when he visited her at
home was just that – one of many put-ons. Just one act out of a play.

Alyssa missed the footsteps outside the door.

Two soft knocks broke the silence and pulled the
gauze from Lys's consciousness. The music from downstairs and the perfume
hanging in their air from where she'd sprayed some both became very clear, and
sharp.

"Who – is someone out there?"

Another pair of knocks, a little louder, made her
sit up in the bed as she forgot the rope around her wrists. A twist of the cord
bit deep and Lys yelped, but then almost immediately felt a warm, wonderful
sensation creep down her arms. Still, no one came in.

"Hello? Is someone out there? Don't be shy. Peter?
Is that you, Peter?"

Her eyelashes fluttered against the blindfold and
she managed to push herself up into a sitting position with one foot hanging
off the side of the bed. The hinges groaned, and that incredibly long deadbolt
pulled back again, sliding smooth against the wood and clicking into place when
it was through.

"Hello? Preston? Is that you?"

No response. The only thing she heard, aside from
the music which was by then much louder through the open door, was steady
breathing. Not fast, not slow, and not noisy. Just nice, calm breathing that
somehow even made Alyssa a little more relaxed.

A footstep neared her, then another. Anticipation
squeezed Lys's stomach like a fist around her middle, but she stayed quiet. As
she sat, trying to keep from falling to pieces, another footstep, muffled by
the carpet that she knew was only a few feet wider than the feet of the bed,
thumped.

Smile crawling across her lips for some reason she
couldn't quite fathom, Alyssa opened her mouth and took, through nose and over
tongue, a deep, slow breath.

Roses.

The scent was very faint, but it was unmistakable.
An aroma very similar to that of the oil that Peter had marked Lys with filled
her nose and crept down her throat. The only thing she could think to do was to
ask again if Preston Webb was in the room, but she already knew the answer.

She wanted absolutely nothing more in the world
than to see what this man looked like. But, as she sat there, listening to his
calm, even breathing and his slow footsteps drawing nearer, she actually forgot
about opening her eyes. She wanted to feel his touch.

"Is that-"

"Shh," he interrupted. "I don't like sounds. Not
right now. I'm sorry for all this. Really, I am. But I can't untie you. I think
Gadsen had something to do with this, and I can't let him know that I came to
see you. I'll make him pay for doing this to you."

His voice was soft but powerful, a lot like the
swatch tied around her eyes. There was strength behind his whispered words that
made goose bumps wash down Alyssa's throat and pebbled the skin around her
nipples that then brushed against the satin gown she'd been given. Something
about the way he spoke made her relax.

And then, she felt a finger.

As music swelled from outside, or downstairs, or
wherever it was, Preston Webb traced a line down the center of Alyssa's face
with the barest touch of his fingertip. When he reached the tip of her nose,
then the top of her lip, a sneeze scrunched her face, but a sniffle calmed it
down.

Wordlessly, soundlessly, the finger made its way
around her lips and then curled underneath Lys's chin before sliding down her
throat to the gown's collar.

With a gentle gasp, Lys felt hot, like she always
did when she was either in trouble or excited. She couldn't figure out which
one, exactly, this was.

"It
is
you, isn't it?"

"Is this okay? Is it alright if I touch you? I've
been thinking about nothing else since I saw you. You have the kindest voice
I've ever heard. But now, look what's happened. I'm sorry Alyssa, I never meant
for you to be hurt."

"Y-yes," she said, her voice trembling. "You can
touch me. I've been thinking about it, too."

The fingertip moved along the dress's neckline, up
to her shoulder and the behind Lys's ear, bringing a tingle with it.

"Did Peter hurt you?"

Alyssa lost herself in the slow, patient strokes
of his fingertip, brushing her face.

"Alyssa? Please answer me."

"Oh, yes, yes, sorry," she said. "After the tussle
in the forest, yeah, Peter was nice. And that brush on the table is beautiful."

"You used that?"

His voice was vacant of any suggestion as to
whether that was good or bad. Lys tried to think of how to answer, but she
couldn't come up with anything.

"I...well, yes. I didn't know I wasn't supposed
to." She waited for a response, but then hurriedly added, "I – I wanted to look
my best for you."

"Is that so? It's a nice thought anyway." That
time, she detected a hint of disappointment in Preston's voice. He didn't sound
young, but he didn't have the gravel that often comes with age, or at least not
much of it.

The finger in her hair was joined with another
that brushed through strands before running back down her jawline and then
gently tugging her bottom lip away from the top.

"I

She wanted to tell him that no, she wasn't aware
of that, but she appreciated the compliment, but at the same time, she didn't
want to open her mouth again and interrupt whatever he was going to say.

"I'm a little disappointed that you used my brush
without asking, but it makes sense. And thank you – it's an old one. My mother
owned it, but I don't know where she got it from. I like the handle."

For a moment, silence hung between the two of
them. There was a shared breath and then the fingertips moved from Lys's lips
back to the collar and slid down her chest before he pulled away.

He sat beside her, the bed creaked. Preston's
hands moved over her shoulders and closed on either side of her neck, fingers
intertwined and thumbs brushing her cheeks.

Fingers squeezed her shoulders. Gently at first,
then when she didn't calm down, harder, until she felt a deep ache where they
punched her skin. Lys tried to twist away from him but that just made the ropes
on her wrist burn into her flesh. A tingle crept from her hands up to her neck.
She drew a sharp gasp that hurt at first, and then filled her with a wave of
pleasure that burned all the way up the back of her head and then down, between
her legs.

"If this is still okay," he said, letting his
finger run along the neck of her dress, "lie back and let me try to make you
comfortable. I don't know how long this is going to last, and I'm sorry for
that." His voice was still soft, but something about the words he said made
Alyssa uncomfortable.

"What do you mean, Preston?" She said.

"There are a lot of things out of my control. But
I'm going to fix it. He's not going to win. I promise."

"What are you talking about?"

"Not now." He said, his voice changing.

She lay down. For the first time in her memory,
probably in her whole life, Alyssa just did what she was instructed to do. No
questions, no complaints or protests.

"Preston, that's..." Lys had to stop talking to
draw a breath when his soft, but insistent fingers drew a curly line up her
thighs on either side. "What are you doing? I've never..."

"Neither have I," he said. "But I can't stop
thinking about you. I can't keep myself from wondering what you feel like. I
can't stop myself from wanting..."

A delicious thrill shot up Lys's thighs from where
his fingertips burned against her. Hot little points of light, he began to
tickle her leg and she tried vainly to protest, but as soon as his brushing
fingers went past a spot a couple of inches above and inside her knee, she
turned into a puddle.

"G-good," she moaned. "It feels good."

"How is it," he said as he slid his knuckle closer
to her lower lips, "how is it that someone as smart, kind, and beautiful as you
has never been with anyone before?"

"Shy, I guess, mmm... how did you know?"

"You told me, remember?" He growled. "If you keep
turning your wrists like that, you'll get a rope burn. That's what you want,
isn't it? How can someone so innocent like things so rough and tight?"

Opening her eyes against the blindfold, she
suddenly had another desire to rub her head on something and push the cloth
away. She just
had
to put a face with this wonderfully smooth, silky
voice. When she tried to work it off, Preston put a single finger on her
forehead.

"No, Alyssa, please," he said softly. "The rest of
this might have come from someone else, but the blindfold was my idea.

"Such beautiful, soft skin," he whispered very
close to her ear. His breath caressed Lys's throat, slid behind her head and
tickled that little spot that sent chills down her back.

As Preston's lips touched her throat, Alyssa felt
him trembling just a little.

"Are you okay?" She whispered.

"I'm a little nervous, but I can't decide if this
is more nerves, or more me wanting you so badly that I can't really get over
myself."

"I didn't expect you to say that."

"Why not?" Preston chuckled softly under his
breath.

"Not sure," she whispered, "but if I could move my
hands right now, I'd use them to put yours back on my legs and make you run
your fingers all the way up to my hips.

Preston Webb chuckled softly under his breath and
climbed up beside her. The bed squeaked again under their weight and the
stubbly, close cropped beard on his face rasping against the soft, sensitive
skin on Lys's chest as she rose and fell with each breath.

Just like she asked, his hands ran up the outside
of Alyssa's thighs soft and slow.

"Anything else?"

"Then, I'd take your hands and put them on my..."

"Here?" Two fingers slid around the surface of
Lys's panties, over a wet spot that had formed and then all the way back to
where her legs came together. Still, his hands shook, but not as much as they
had moments before.

She let out a tiny moan, and he did it again, but
just a little harder.