Page 23 of Entangled
Mr. Maximus: Ready when you are.
Lady Lionessa, my secret Myst persona, pays homage to my inner cat lady. I always wear my trademark gold cat mask, paired with something cheetah, leopard, or tiger print. I’ve made most of my own costumes, but I ordered the mask from a specialty shop online. The beauty of wearing a mask—aside from the anonymity it offers—is that I don’t need to worry about my makeup. Which is great because I already washed off what I applied this morning in anticipation of Henry’s arrival. I click on the dialog box and type my reply.
Lady Lionessa: Give me a few more minutes please.
Mr. Maximus: Take your time. I’m just happy to know you’re all right.
I grimace, remembering how annoyed Esme sounded on the phone after learning I compromised the network. I wish Mr. Maximus hadn’t left her those messages. At the same time, it’s nice to feel like someone cares about my wellbeing.
Lady Lionessa: I’m so sorry about that. I forgot I had a friend coming over, and they arrived earlier than we’d discussed.
It’s not a total lie. I did expect my friend—Tony, that is. His sexy replacement threw me for a loop. The thought of Henry makes me want to punch something. Or cry.
Rejection hurts more than I imagined it would. Although maybe I wouldn’t feel so bothered by the way we left things if I hadn’t been sequestered in my home for the past fifteen years. Despite how quickly it ended, it felt so wonderful to have company. Someone to talk to and share a meal with. To divulge secrets. Henry is the only person who knows I dance. For a split second, I could’ve sworn I saw jealousy written on his features. But I must have been mistaken.
I quickly weave my hair into a braid and secure it with an elastic, then slip into the tiger print bodysuit I’ve chosen. I’m keeping it simple tonight because I don’t have the energy to deal with pasties or nipple tassels.
I scroll through my Spotify playlists in search of mood music. Mr. Maximus likes when I dance to hypnotic beats with a heavy bass rhythm, so I select the playlist that starts with “Remain Nameless” by Florence + The Machine. The lyrics feel appropriate for my mood.
Cranking the volume, I tilt the screen and prepare my cameras. Now that my technology is ready to go, I dim the overhead light. When setting up for a performance it’s important to “create the vibe” as Esme always says. Tonight’s vibe is sadness. I flick the switch that controls the colorful spotlights I ordered and slide the setting to blue. After a few deep breaths, I restart the song using the remote on my dresser.
Closing my eyes, I start to move. Then switch to a live stream.
“You with me, Mr. Maximus?” I say to the empty room.
“I’m here.” His smooth, cultured voice filters through the nearby speaker. “You look beautiful tonight.” I’ve never seen the man—and have no clue who he is—but he sounds hot as fuck. I always imagine him as a lonely CEO, or a powerful monarch, but he could be hideous and a hundred and ten years old for all I know. I’d rather indulge in the fantasy of him being a very important, obscenely gorgeous man.
“Thank you.” I slowly move my hips to the music. “This song work for you?”
“It’s more subdued than usual, but I like it.”
Subdued. That’s the perfect word for what I’m feeling.
I allow my emotions to flow through my limbs, turning and swaying, making sure to show him everything he wants to see. He’s paying for this, after all. I’d hate to disappoint him. Again.
The song changes to Hozier’s “Movement,” and I lose myself in the singer’s hypnotic voice.
“Touch yourself,” Mr. Maximus commands. “It’s been too long since I’ve heard your moans.”
I wonder if he’s in bed. Naked with his cock in his hand. The thought exhilarates me, making me trail my fingertips down my throat. “Like this?”
“Give me more.”
A weird drum echoes in the background. I don’t remember hearing it the last time I played this song. Then, as quickly as it came, it stops.
I slide my bodysuit’s straps down over my shoulders in a slow tease, knowing it drives him crazy when I make him wait.
“That’s it, sugar. Take it all off for me.” Mr. Maximus’s roughened voice tells me he’s getting excited.
There goes the drum again.What the hell?
“Do you hear that?” I ask, motioning to the computer. “The song’s doing something strange.”
“Then switch songs.”
“Good idea.” I skip to the next track, “River” by Bishop Briggs. Since Myst is The River’s network, I add this song to every playlist, even though there’s no affiliation whatsoever.
“Better?” he asks.
