Page 1 of The Masks We Break

ONE

Ilove it when a brat is good with her mouth.

Scratch that. I don’tloveanything. That requires the capacity to open one’s theoreticalheart,which is literally the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard. It’s a vital organ that merely pumps blood through your body so you can continue to breathe. Yet, people seem to give it some imaginary power that has the capability to feel based on another human being.

Don’t get me wrong. I feel things—hunger, annoyance, pain. Real things. Realfeelings. Notattachments. Which is all love is. Well, that and hate. It’s all connected, both emotions twisting around each other until they’re nearly indecipherable.

That being said, I do take pleasure when a woman is on her knees, hair coiled in my fist, sucking the soul from my dick. Current case in point: a redhead I’ve snuck off with at my father’s fundraiser—a gala for the richest in Washington state. All here to measure whose cock is bigger based on how many zeros are in their bank accounts.

My father, Mr. Steel F. Barot, CEO and founder of Clean Source Energy Incorporated doesn’t have to prove anything to the piranhas circling. He’s the great white who enjoys watching them fight it out, eating one another alive while donating everything they can. My father will end up with more money tonight than most make in a year.

No matter how fucking horrible these things are, as the future heir, orpupas my father loves to spit, I’m expected to attend. Typically my friend, Lily, accompanies me and provides an entertaining distraction, but she has some therapy sessions, leaving me stranded in the infested waters alone. Every Tom, Dick, and Harry thinks they can butter me up and get in good with my father. Little do they know, not evenI’min good with the old man. Still, it’s something I use to my advantage quite often.

Like now.

This little lady was one of the many things that caught my eye under the dim candle lighting, and not in a good sense. Her red dress is the color of a fire hydrant, clinging to every bone that sticks out from her thin frame. There are at least four coats of makeup covering her face, and I’m relatively certain she came with her husband or maybe fiancé.

Even so, Sheila, or perhaps Stephanie, eye-fucked me the moment I walked in, and I’ve never been one to turn down a pouty set of lips.

One of her surprisingly rough hands wraps around the base of my shaft, while the other digs into my hip. She’s attempting to steady herself from the long strokes, and I’m beginning to grow tired of keeping her upright. She underestimated my size, and that in itself is annoying enough.

But instead of letting that ruin the fun, my eyes drift to a nearly closed like they always do, and suddenly the red hair in front of me dims to an inky black.

It’s the same black hair I think of far more often than I should and can’t seem to get off without. It’s been two years since I’ve seen her at our high school graduation, yet she’s all Iseewhen I find myself balls deep in someone warm.

Those oversized hexagon glasses frame almond-shaped eyes that make it feel like I’m staring at a sunflower in the brightest grass. Her arms slightly toned from carrying piles of books everywhere she went. And that fucking halo floating over her head was a constant reminder that she was too good, too pure for the likes of me.

Remy Solace.

The moment I think her name, lightning scorches up my spine, tightening every muscle below my waist until I release everything into the waiting mouth of my recipient.

She backs away, swiping a thumb across her bottom lip as if she’s savoring a stray crumb. Her ruby lips curl into a smile when she stands and steps forward. Her breasts ghost against my chest as she breathes, buckling my suit pants up without taking her amber eyes away from me.

“That was... fun.” Her voice is throaty and heavy with desire.

Unfortunately for her, duty calls as I hear an announcer’s voice boom through the speakers in the hallway.

“Perhaps we’ll finish this at another time.” I let the possibility hang, but I know that once bidding starts, I’ll likely sneak out of the party. After a parting smirk, I run my fingers along the edge of her jaw and move past her, slipping through the nearby door.

The coat closet we snuck off to is only a few yards away from the event—risky, but worth the quick session to help alleviate some of my stress. I follow the wide hallway into the massive foyer and nod to one of the men holding the glass door open for me.

When I emerge into the guts of the gala, my eyes narrow, trying to adjust to the influx of bright colors and overly shiny jewelry reflecting under the glowing chandeliers.

A mixture of perfume, liquor, and expensive steak assaults my nose as I move through the crowd toward the bar. If I know my father, he’ll be downing a whiskey and Coke, surveying which man has the deepest pockets, and plotting how to cut a hole in the bottom of them.

Sure enough, the old man stands stoic at the end. His black Armani suit tailored, and his beastly Rolex polished to match his loafers. He starts to run a hand through his salt and pepper strands from habit but must remember it’s gelled, so he pats the sides instead.

His dark eyes flit to mine as I near him. One of those pesky feelings, perhaps annoyance, creeps into my muscle tissue, pulling them tight. I adjust my watch and lean into the counter next to him. “Sir.”

“Where did you go?” My father doesn’t turn to look at me.

“Restroom, sir.” It’s not a complete lie. Samantha, or maybe Serena, pulled me into a stall before I directed her into the closet.

A guttural noise comes from his throat before he takes a large swig of his drink. We stand quietly for a few minutes and watch partygoers mingle. It’s not an unfamiliar silence, and I can’t help but curse the fine hairs that tickle the back of my neck. My body knows what’s coming, it’s just a matter of when.

Finally, he turns toward me, and I mirror him, readying myself for whatever he’s about to say.

His lips press into a thin line, but it’s the only change to his stoic posture. “Have you completed the fall schedule yet, son?”

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