Free The Girl Behind the Mask by Stella Knightley

most precious possession?’
    I turned in horror. Towering over me was a man in a half-mask similar to those sold in every tourist shop in the city. He was smiling but with no intention of putting me at my ease.
    I apologised for my clumsy theft, my face reddening with shame as I struggled to find the right words. I tried to step backwards but the stranger held on to my hand and unbalanced me. The rose stem was squeezed inside my palm. I waited to feel a thorn pierce my skin, but no pain came. The masked man stared at me. Behind the mask, his eyes were dark and almost animal. Like a bear’s. I was hypnotised. As I looked closer, they started to change. Far from being hard, now they seemed sad but kind. They were at odds with his cruel, twisted smile and I felt my fear begin to ebb away.
    ‘It’s yours,’ he said eventually. ‘It was waiting just for you.’
    And then suddenly that cruel mouth was upon mine, kissing me passionately. Our two hands were still joined together round the flower. His free hand was round my waist, posed as though we were dancing. He kissed me until I ran out of breath and started wilting in his embrace. The rose was forgotten as we unlaced our hands so I could wrap both my arms around his neck. He picked me up. He was strong and certain. He lifted me as though I weighed less than the broken flower. I knew he would not drop me.
    He carried me into the house, past the door to the library and on down the corridor. Still carrying me, he pushed open a door with his shoulder and took me into his chamber. In the centre of the room was a high four-poster bed made up with bright white sheets. He laid me down upon it.
    Helpless with desire, I sank into the pillows. I reached my hands up to him. He stripped off his shirt. His back was wide and strong. His arms, as I had gathered when he carried me, were hewn from thick hard muscle. I stared at his body. On his chest was a scar that looked like an exploding comet. It sat over his heart. When he leaned over me, I touched it with a tender finger. Without speaking to me, he pushed my hand away.
    He started to undress me. I was wearing clothes I did not recognise as my own. They were not even from my own time. I was dressed in a long velvet gown like the ones I had seen in paintings of Luciana’s contemporaries. While my terrifying lover struggled to unfasten the laces that held the bodice closed, I could feel the bones of a corset straining as my breath grew more ragged. Unable to untie the ribbons, my lover was angry enough to rip them instead. I gasped as I felt the bodice loosen. It was as much from relief as from the indignity.
    He devoured me with kisses. I lay helpless on the pillows as he touched every part of me greedily and without restraint. He treated me as though I were his possession. But at the same time, I knew I was precious to him. He would not hurt me. He wanted me to feel pleasure in everything he did to me. He pulled my legs apart with rough enthusiasm. I gasped at his erection. When it pressed against me, I felt like a virgin again.
    I gave myself to him without question. I abandoned myself to the bliss of our two bodies melting into one.
    ‘Take off your mask,’ I begged him. ‘Please take off your mask.’
    But he would not. He simply would not show me his face. No matter how urgently I asked him.
     
    Waking up alone in the darkness, I blinked away the last of the dream, wishing at the same time that I could close my eyes and go back to it. Three erotic dreams in as many nights. I sat up and caught my breath. Was there something about the air in Venice that was making my imagination so wild, or was it just that I’d had too many spritzes? I fetched myself a glass of water in the hope of making the next morning’s hangover less hideous. While I was out of bed, I checked my phone and my emails.
    A text from my mother. An email from an old friend. There was still nothing from Steven in response to my own last angry message. Getting