Chapter Eight

  Twelfth Night arrived and with it the official beginning of the Mardi Gras season. The Westside Rapist had not been identified nor did the police have a viable suspect. As luck would have it, none of the women who had survived the attacks were pregnant.

  The killings, however, continued and the city was in a panic. Guns were flying off the shelves and there were long waiting lists for self-defense classes. The FBI had been called in to provide a profile of the killer or killers. The official NOPD line was that the murders were the work of an entirely different individual. Anton, Morgan, and I knew better, but it did no good to voice our opinions to Fabiene. He refused to believe it.

  There was even some debate as to whether Mardi Gras should be canceled, but it came to naught. New Orleans was trying to rise from the floodwaters of Katrina and the increased tourism from Mardi Gras would bring much needed dollars to the coffers of local businesses.

  As one of the original Twelfth Night Revelers, Anton’s obligations to the krewe that sponsored the first party of the season meant, we would attend one of the first masked balls of the season. Because my tastes often ran contrary to what would be considered appropriate to the crème de la crème of New Orleans society — I had a penchant for Goth designs when playing dress-up — Anton had my ball gowns made by a British designer. Tonight’s offering

  was an Elizabethan creation, an eighteenth century corseted wonder of gold and silk brocade. The bodice, laced tightly, gave me the illusion of a much smaller waist and my breasts looked ready to spill over the top. Gold colored pearl beads underscored the pleated breast plates, which had a beaded cross between them. While the gown was strapless, it featured detachable gauntlet sleeves, the tops of which finished in a point above the middle fingers of my hands. The gown boasted a full skirt plumped with several petticoats.

  I held tightly to the bedposts as Anton tugged on the bodice lacing, hissing a curse. I thought my days of wearing corseted gowns had long since passed.

  “No wonder the women of your time were such empty-headed bits of fluff,” I complained. “Their laces were so tight it deprived their brains of oxygen.”

  Behind me, Anton chuckled. “That could never happen to you, cher. Besides, it’s not laced as tightly as I used to lace you and I adore the way your breasts plump up. Once again, I will have to hold your suitors at bay with threats of dire consequences. I could eat you up.”

  I snorted inelegantly. “You could do that simply by staying at home, my love.”

  “And miss all the covetous looks I get when I walk into the ball with you on my arm? Perish the thought!” He swatted my silk covered ass, and turned me to face him. “It’s a shame those expensive drawers don’t have the opening between the legs. I could take you into an alcove and fuck you while your skirts billowed round us.”

  I laughed softly and reached out to stroke him over the material of his tuxedo trousers. “Yes, it is a shame. I expect I will be too tired and out of breath to accommodate you once we get home.”

  “Is that so?” he said with a growl. He spun me around and yanked the cream-colored material down to my ankles and shoved me against the footboard.

  I licked my lips in anticipation when I heard his trousers unzip and hit the floor.

  “I’ll just have to fuck you now, my lady.” He kicked my legs apart and reached between them, to ready me. “I remember taking you like this at one of Marie Antoinette’s galas in the palace ballroom.”

  His cock was hard and pulsing as it prodded the lips of my pussy. I inhaled sharply as the large, smooth head entered me. He stopped right there and laughed when I demanded more, knowing how frustrated I became when he denied me his full length at once. He reached around and softly stroked my clit, awakening it but not fully.

  “I can feel your pussy squeezing me, cher. It wants me badly.” He gave me another inch, laughing when I moaned. “You’re such a horny bitch. I’d love to spread you out on one of their fancy banquet tables and let them all watch while I feed on you, then fuck you ’til you scream.” He advanced a bit more. “Those tight-assed society bitches have no idea how to please a man.” He held me still, stopping my attempts to thrust back against him. “And the men have no idea how to please a woman, eh cher?”

  I uttered a loud cry as he bent his knees and thrust up into me, filling me completely. I held tightly to the foot rail as Anton’s cock pounded me. His cries came husky and harsh as I met each thrust, ramming myself back onto his rock hard cock.

  “Come on!” he shouted. “Give it to me, cher.” I kept up the pace he set. “Take what you want.” My pussy began to contract around him and he pumped harder as I sobbed his name. And then, he was there, his final thrusts drawing me to my tip toes as his own release ripped through him. He buried himself to the hilt, hands on my breasts, squeezing. He pressed against me and dropped kisses on my shoulders. “Ah, God, you’re incredible, cher. I think I can manage that blasted party now.”

  I laughed softly as he disengaged from me. “Me too, darling.” I turned and he drew me into his arms for a long, lingering kiss before we finished dressing.

  *

  We rarely drove anywhere in the city, but taking a streetcar to the garden district in full formal regalia was a bigger challenge than I cared to pursue. Anton called for a limo, and it delivered us to the prestigious address at a fashionably late hour. The butler introduced us as Anton and Lillith Baudet. Though no marriage certificate bound us, we let society go on thinking what they wished. We greeted our host and hostess and Anton seated me, hurrying to fill our plates at the elegant buffet. I snagged two glasses of champagne from a passing server. The only time we ever drank was during the round of social events precipitated by Mardi Gras.

  Invites to the krewe balls are not easy to come by and to be included you had to either be a member or be invited by a member. Morgan had been our guest to the Twelfth Night Revelers Ball for the past ten years, Fabiene and Celine for the last two. When the stunning couple entered the ballroom, heads turned. They all knew Fabiene because of his status as the most competent detective on the police force, as well as our friend. Celine had come out at this very ball some ten years ago, and though it was difficult to know her well, we liked her.

  Anton squeezed my hand as they made their way to the table. He stood, greeting them as he always had, with a handshake for Fabiene and kisses on the cheek for Celine.

  Fabiene turned to me and greeted me by raising my hand to his lips, grazing my knuckles with a very proper kiss. “Lillith, dazzling as always.”

  I nodded, acknowledging, the compliment. “And you two turn heads wherever you go. It’s good to see you again.”

  “So, where is that trouble maker, Morgan?” Fabiene asked, smiling. He pulled out a chair for Celine and seated her.

  “He should be along soon,” Anton answered. “He prefers to make an entrance, as you well know.”

  Fabiene chuckled. “Indeed.”

  I turned to Celine. “Darling, I’ve been calling all week. Shame on you for not getting back to me. Suppose we’d worn the same gown to the ball?”

  Celine offered a wan smile. She looked pale and drawn. “I doubt that would ever happen, Lillith, for Anton will not give Fabiene the name of your dressmaker.”

  I casually grasped her right hand, admiring the sapphire ring she wore. “How lovely!” I could see her struggling not to wrench her hand from my grasp. Did she know I could sense her feelings by touching her?

  She disengaged her hand from mine and held it out in front of her, inspecting the large stone. “It is lovely, isn’t it? Fabiene gave it to me just tonight.” She promptly dropped both hands to her lap and looked around the room. “Well, I see the usual crowd is here. How many debutantes will be coming out tonight, Anton?”

  “I believe we have fifteen tonight, cher.” He smiled. “I remember when you were one of them, so delicate and lovely in your white dress.”

  Had she been capable of doing so, Celine would have blushed at the compliment. Instead, she offered a smile that showed her slightly elongated canines. Celine was hungry.

  Anton rested his arm across the back of my chair and leaned in to nuzzle my ear. I laughed softly, letting everyone think he’d just said something naughty to me.

  “We must keep a sharp eye on our little vampire tonight, cher. It would seem she looks for prey amongst her peers.”

  I allowed myself a delicious shiver as his tongue traced the outline of my ear, and turned my head to press my lips against his. Morgan arrived at that very moment, escorting a pixie of a girl whom he introduced as Therese Sicard. I acknowledged the girl with a smile. We French did tend to band together.

  “How is Etienne?” I asked Morgan as he leaned down to kiss my cheek.

  “He is fine, ma petite. Home with the wife tonight. I would have brought him but I chose a more captivating companion. Therese just moved to the crescent city from Baton Rouge.”

  Somehow, we made it through dinner, though the conversation lagged and our guests acted strangely subdued. Try as I might, I was unable to engage Celine in any meaningful conversation. She ate nary a bite, saying the excitement of the night had stolen her appetite. Her eyes constantly scanned the room. Normally a big eater, Fabiene, too, had no appetite, furthering our suspicions that something was amiss with our friends.

  Finally, our hosts declared the season open and led the way to the ballroom where the bouquet-toting debutantes stood waiting on the landing of a grand double stairway. Lining the stairs, young men waited to escort the ladies, two apiece for each girl — one from an esteemed military prep school and the other a member of southern society, thirty in all, dressed in a variety of military uniforms and tuxes.

  As a girl’s name was called, her two escorts stepped to her side, each offering her an arm to lead her down the stairs where she was officially introduced to society. Introductions complete, the ball commenced. The ballroom was a sea of white as the girls danced with their beaux and the adults stood off to the side, smiling fondly.

  Despite the cool of the evening, they had thrown open the French doors and couples strolled outside to enjoy a breath of fresh air. Morgan and I watched as Fabiene and Celine stepped out and made their way to the formal gardens. I caught Anton’s eye and stared at the door, indicating I intended to follow. He nodded and turned back to his conversation with one of the krewe members. He would be along as soon as possible. From the verandah, I watched Fabiene lead his beloved onto a path that led deep into the formal rose garden. Taking a deep breath, I walked casually in their direction. They were so quiet, I would have run into them had I not heard Fabiene scolding Celine.

  “Not here, Celine!” he said.

  “But I want her,” Celine declared. “Besides, she deserves it. She always treated me as though I were beneath her.”

  “Fine, take her, ma petite, just not here, not now.”

  “But I’m hungry, Fabiene.”

  I could picture the look on her face as she spoke to him. She would be pouting, looking up at him with those large blue eyes, entreating him to let her have her way.

  “Then let’s go,” Fabiene insisted. “There will be revelers aplenty along Bourbon Street.”

  “Oh, all right!” Celine huffed. “But I grow weary of drinking the blood of drunkards. It gives me a headache.”

  I heard the swish of skirts and nearly panicked. I was too close, they would see me, even if I nipped into a nearby alcove. Just in the nick of time, a hand closed around my arm and I was dragged into that alcove and hauled onto Anton’s lap.

  “Laugh or moan, cher,” he urged, thrusting his hand beneath my skirt. His finger found me and I did moan, then he bent me back over his arm and thrust his tongue into my mouth.

  A shadow hovered just outside the alcove and we knew they watched us, wondering.

  “Take me home, Anton,” I said in a husky voice. “I need you inside me.”

  The shadow moved. Fabiene cleared his throat. “I suggest you take her home, mon ami, before you discover, as we have, that the gardens are filled with young people seeking a quiet place to play.”

  “Oh!” I said, pretending at being startled. Then I wrapped my arms around Anton’s neck. “Yes, cher, police orders. Take me home.”

  Fabiene chuckled. “Indeed. And we shall do the same.” Grasping Celine’s arm, he propelled her down the path.

  I looked at Anton and he shrugged. Only time would tell if we had fooled them or not.

  Chapter Nine

  “No! I refuse to believe it! He couldn’t be so foolish, Anton!”

  “Then give me another explanation!”

  I shoved open the French doors and looked out onto the streets below.

  Stricken by the thought of the brutal double murder that occurred last night, I could barely whisper. “I cannot.” Below me, the streets teemed with life.

  We were well into Mardi Gras and the city was filling with people. The population would more than double by Fat Tuesday, less than four days away. Barricades were already in place throughout the Quarter and parking was by permit only, unless one was a resident. Thousands of people filled the streets to watch parades of fantastical floats, adorned in the traditional Mardi Gras colors of purple, green, and gold, pushing and shoving to grasp at beads and trinkets being tossed by the riders. Costumed people cavorted in the streets accompanied by marching bands. Street vendors lined the corners selling everything from inflatable plastic crayfish to Mardi Gras-colored Dr. Suess hats. Rich scents filled the air as vendors and locals barbecued. And everywhere, hands held geaux cups, Orleanian for go-cups, filled with their favorite intoxicating beverage.

  I sighed as Anton’s arms circled my waist. “We must be absolutely certain before we move against him,” I said.

  “Mais naturellement.” But of course. The words were murmured against my cheek. “Come inside, cher. Brooding over these people will not help and we have yet another function to prepare for.”

  I nodded and let him lead me inside.

  Anton shut the doors and leaned back against them. “Lillith.” His voice was husky and I turned to see him undressing. “Take off your clothes.” He moved to take a seat on the chaise lounge, stretching out until he was comfortable. He was gloriously naked and his hard on jutted up enticingly. I licked my lips and disrobed.

  I straddled him, ready to lower myself onto his straining cock, but he grasped my ass and hauled me forward to sit on his chest. He raised his legs, and placed his feet at the high end of the S-shaped chaise.

  “Reach back and put your hands on my knees, cher,” he growled. “You’re going to need all the support you can get.”

  I reached back, grabbing his knees as he yanked me against his hungry mouth. His arms curled around my thighs, forcing them wider as he savored me. He had yet to shave and the stubble on his chin and cheeks rasped against my tender flesh, setting me ablaze. This was no gentle tasting; his lips and tongue pillaged my pussy, thrusting and sucking until my cries could be heard from the street.

  Someone below hollered, “Yo, fuck her good, dude!”

  “Excellent idea,” Anton rumbled. “I think I’ll do just that.”

  He moved from beneath me and hauled me to the end of the chaise, lifting my legs ’til they rested over his shoulders. “Hang on to your hat, cher, it’s going to be a bumpy ride.” He lunged, burying himself to the hilt.

  It was rough, angry sex: the kind we had when the nature of our work overwhelmed us. He grasped my ankles and spread my legs apart, watching as he fucked me. “Look at you,” he rasped. “God, I love watching your pussy swallow me. Turn over, cher, and let me fuck you from behind.”

  He released my legs and I hastily did his bidding, leaning over the humped end of the lounger, ass in the air. He drove himself into me with a force, his balls slapping against me. His hands on my hips controlled me, holding me so I could not meet his thrusts with my own. I would come his way or not at all.

  As his pace increased, I felt my body tense. He would make me come, all right, loud and hard. “Blessed Goddess!” I shouted. My toes curled and my fists pounded the sides to the chaise as I came. My body burned with heat as he slammed into me one last time, his voice harsh as he followed me into the inferno.

  He sank to the floor, pulling me with him, and curled himself around me. “Promise me you won’t do anything foolish with Celine, Lillith. Fabiene will defend her if he feels she’s threatened.”

  I reached around and stroked his cheek with my hand. “When have I ever been foolish?”

  “Let me count the ways.”

  *

  The theme for the Hermes mask was the Middle Ages myths and legends and once again I was tormented by a corset dress. Made of deep red, crushed velvet, the bodice was an off-the-shoulder style, trimmed in gold embroidered ivy and heavily boned to push the breasts up and together. Since my breasts were already full, the cleavage created was impressive. The slash sleeves were beautifully made, boasting gold organza undersleeves and more embroidery. The skirt had a moderate train, made less conspicuous by the number of petticoats Anton insisted I wear beneath it.

  “I swear, I believe you’d have us living back in Dark Ages were such a thing possible,” I grumbled.

  “Nonsense. I couldn’t live without Café Du Monde.” He gave the lacing one last tug eliciting a gasp from me. “Remember your promise, Lillith.”

  I looked over my shoulder, scowling at him. “It’s possible they weren’t invited.”

  “Not my point, as you well know.” He tied off the ribbon lacing and turned me to face him. “I don’t want you hurt.”

  I took his face in my hands and kissed him. “No one can hurt me, cher, unless She allows it. Now, finish dressing so we can get this blasted party over with.”