need.
Why shouldn't they indulge themselves, and take advantage of all of this? And it doesn't have to be with Jack, she thought, stubbornly. There will be plenty of hot men at the club to play with. Why not go and play?
She smiled as she drifted off to sleep, imagining the fun they were going to have.
Greg unpacked the bag of Chinese food that had been delivered, whistling under his breath. Nicola watched him from the kitchen doorway. It was only seven o'clock, but they had to get ready to go to the masked ball after they ate.
"Come on, grab a plate," Greg called merrily to her. "Don't go telling me you're not hungry. We need to fuel up for tonight's festivities! Also, we have to eat if we're going to have cocktails. And I have a feeling we're going to have a few of those."
Nicola moved to take a plate of steaming food that he had dished up. "Look at you, you're all excited." She was excited, too. The nervous energy buzzing around like bees in her stomach was going to make "fueling up" difficult. What was going to happen? Who would they meet, and what would they do with them? What might be done to her? She tried to push these thoughts aside, as she could feel sexual energy swelling between her legs. She quickly set her plate down on the table and sat down in a chair, squirming slightly.
Greg didn't notice. He shoveled a few forkfuls of lo mein into his mouth and reached for a packet of duck sauce. "I forgot to tell you," he said after swallowing, "I bought us masks. Yours is black. Mine is silver. They're hot."
"The masks are hot?"
"I guess what I'm saying is we're going to look hot in them," he said, grinning.
Nicola laughed and dug into her dinner. Greg was always able to diffuse any uncomfortable situation with his cheerful, easy humor. She reached for an egg roll. "What are you going to wear with the mask?" she asked.
"As little as possible. I'm thinking tighty-whities and a pair of combat boots. Or roller skates. I haven't decided which."
They giggled their way through dinner.
Nicola stared at herself in the full-length mirror in their bedroom. Her hair was down and styled long and straight, so when she performed a sexy little shimmy it swung in a glossy, auburn curtain, nearly reaching the small of her back. She had made up her eyes with plenty of dark liner sweeping across her upper lids, and loads of lush, black mascara. She slipped her mask over her face and turned this way and that to admire the short, silky black dress that skimmed her body. It had straps that crisscrossed in the back, making a bra an impossibility. She wore thigh-high sheer stockings with strappy black heels and as she slipped on the black mask that Greg had bought and blew a kiss at her reflection, she knew she looked more alluring than she ever had.
Greg stopped short in the doorway. "Holy hell, Nicola. You look...Absolutely incredible."
She turned and smiled coyly at him. "Yes, I am pretty adept at transforming myself. With the right tools..."
Greg strode over to her and ran his hands up and down her waist. "Nooo," he breathed into her ear. "You're always stunning. But tonight..." His hands ran across her stomach and slid south, roaming over her inner thighs and causing a zing through her and a familiar heat to begin to build.
"Stop," she moaned, as he slipped one hand up under her dress and began to push her panties aside. "You're going to get me all rumpled! Attack me later."
"Oh, I will," he promised, sighing with disappointment. "How do I look? Now that we've determined you will be the belle of the ball. Wait, let me put on the mask for the total effect." He reached behind him to retrieve his mask from on top of his jacket that he had laid out on the bed. He slipped it on, and Nicola gazed at him, impressed.