Chapter Eight
Pushing It
Dawn Flynn
I broke Mrs. Smith’s command to silence.
“The Leather Mask? Like the Velvet Glove?”
No one responded. Mrs. Smith studied the bottom of her nearly empty tea cup. Miles Ford put down his fork, his lunch nearly finished while Mrs. Smith’s was only half eaten and mine hardly touched, pangs of hunger ignored as Mrs. Smith’s tale compelled all my attention. And I wanted to hear more.
“Don’t leave me in the middle of the story,” I said. My p***y warmed. “What the hell is the Leather Mask?”
Silence. Then Mrs. Smith cleared her throat.
“All you need to know is that anything can happen there. And often does.”
She stared at Miles who suddenly appeared nervous under that steady, hard gaze. He quickly wiped his mouth with a red cloth napkin. “My junket to Ma
