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She flipped the mask around to the back of her head. It looked like she had her face on backward as she led him by the hand up a little cobbled lane built in a century of donkeys and carts. Burnt russet hair flowed around the edges of the mask, falling over her shoulder blades as he trailed her, gripping her hand as her lithe arm extended straight back. He was sorely tempted to stop short and force her to turn so he could see her face. He knew her. He wasn’t quite sure how or from where, but her hair and the eyes that had looked out through her mask triggered some shred of recognition. He knew her. But he knew she must have had her reasons for not revealing herself. Maybe she was famous or disfigured somehow. Maybe Erenköy escort she was only playing games with his simmering imagination. Otherwise, they could’ve been any other naked couple on the planet, walking each other home through antiquated streets at dawn’s end of The Carnival. The knuckles of her spine moved with a durable yet delicate kind of precision, as if she were all sinew, bone and lace. Her ass held the shape of inflated tear drops, flexing wearily as she navigated. Slow. Sure of the way. She was completely anonymous from behind, and boldly exposed ahead. Her palm tacky and hot as his own. She moved as if she were guiding them through oncoming currents of air, as içerenköy escort bayan if they were swimming toward daylight. But the dawn was still, and the further they got from the plaza where they’d been masked in a sea of masks, the quieter the world seemed to become. He should have been wary of where she was leading him. He should have been ashamed of his semi-inflated cock wagging like someone’s lost guard dog between his scissoring thighs. Someone would have to exit a building or pass the other way sooner or later. His face was sticky with sweat and starting to itch beneath his mask. It was much like hers – black and gold visage of some haunted noble. The capes Escort Tuzla they’d been wearing to the party kept falling off his shoulder. He wanted to put his back on. But she’d told him no with a wag of her finger. It was enough to let him know: if you’re coming with me, we go naked into this dawn together. He wanted to curse himself for being captured by nothing more than a mask and waves of burnt silk hair. But it wasn’t like that. His nose was open wide and full of unseen tendrils of her aroma. The universe this morning was reduced to synergy and hunger and the cloying need to drown himself in the suspicion of what or whoever she was or could’ve been. Fucking questions. Fucking blood in his veins never stopping. Fucking strain to hold a nameless angel until she cast him down for not coming up with better sins. She brought him around a corner down an even narrower street. Sitting in front of the second building on the left was one of those old, black-shawled widows, scrubbing her face with dry, gnarled fingers.

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