Unmasqued

She reached down, grasping the hem of her shift, and pulled it slowly up and over her head, and then she was free.

Tall, slender, pale, with a dark thatch between her legs, two dusky spots at her breasts with curving shadows beneath them, and a swath of curling hair falling behind her shoulders to whirl around her hips.

She could feel him breathing, felt herself breathing faster, more harshly. Yet she stood there, proud, bare, ready.

Ready for him.

"Step to the mirror."

Christine's heart pounded; she could see the mad pumping in her throat. Her eyes fixated on the sign of her racing pulse as she walked slowly toward the tall silver length of mirror. She stopped when she was close enough that her breath left hot circles of condensation on the glass.

"Closer."

She did.

Now her panting left larger circles. Her ten fingers, each pressing against the smooth, hard surface, squeaked softly as she positioned them. Her nipples just brushed the ice of the mirror, as cold as the Seine in January. The tips of her silk-clad toes touched the bottom of the heavy, ornate frame.

Her nipples hardened further, and the contrast between the heat of the rest of her body and the chill at her breasts sent another trail of lust skittering through her. She shifted, rubbing the very tips of her nipples against the cold, making them harder, pointier. Aching.

"Closer." The command was nothing more than a breath.

Christine moved, and now she pressed against the cold mirror as if she were lying on it, turning her head to one side. It was unbearably cold, stamping her warm skin against the silvery glass…

but she did it, breathing hard and concentrating on the feeling of stark cold versus the heat of desire. Little bumps erupted over her body and she had to close her mouth to keep from crying out at the amazing cold. Incredible that such a smooth, clear surface could cause such discomfort, such shock.

She rested her cheek flat, so close that her eyes could not focus on the image she made.

Her breasts pushed against the chill, two icy circles seeping into her hard, aching nipples.

Her hips thrust forward, the bone of her pubis trapping the mass of tight black curls between it and the silver glass.

The tops of her thighs; then her knees, slightly bent so that she could press against the looking glass.

The tender, sensitive inside skin of her arms, forming L shapes on either side of her head.

"How does that feel, Christine?"

She could not form the words, but she felt it. The hot core in her belly and the gathering moisture between her legs. The torture of her hard nipples against the glass, still so cold.

"Now, straighten your arms; grab the edge of the frame."

She did, sliding her damp hands along the freezing glass, leaving a trail of moisture behind them while her breasts crushed against the silver. She could barely reach the edges of the frame, but at last her fingers closed over the bumps of a rose on the left, and something she could not identify on the right. She curled her fingers around the edges, and felt the muscles in her arms relax, felt the pleasure of stretching her limbs.

And then, something closed around her right wrist, locking it into place from the back side of the mirror. She didn't have a chance to react before the left one was confined. Caught, tied, trussed to the edge of the mirror frame.

Her breath left her in a whoosh, a gasp, and she twisted her head against the glass, turning her face to the other side as if she thought she might get a glimpse… of something. Her cheek, her nose and mouth, her lashes… her other cheek, trapping a thick lock of hair. Pressing against the warm mirror.

"How do you feel, Christine?"

Her sex was throbbing; her nipples were in agony; her breath was coming so fast that she steamed a huge, moist circle on the mirror. She licked her lips, tried to swallow. All she could think of was how the smooth, cold glass felt against her skin.

"Angel," she breathed.

"Erik. My name is Erik."

"Erik. Please, Erik…"

Pressed against the glass, she could see nothing that was not directly in front of her face, only the wall-two, perhaps three feet away-a gas lamp, the corner of a small table.

But she heard something, and then she began to breathe harder. Her breath came in short sharp gasps, because she knew he was there. In the room with her. Somehow.

She tried to pull away from the mirror, but her arms were extended so far that she could barely turn her face from side to side. When she struggled to raise her head, her sex pushed against the glass, the coarse hairs crushed beneath it. She could not pull far enough to see anything but the small distance to her right side… or to her left.

Christine was not frightened. But she was… aware. So completely, painfully aware of every hair on her body, every muscle, every heartbeat, every breath… of the growing moisture and heat, her need…