Exposure

by Ember Dante

  “Dance with me.”

  “Seriously?”

  He released a chuckle so soft it almost sounded like an exhale. “Yes, seriously.”

  I hesitated, then allowed him to pull me to my feet. He held me in a traditional starting position, only closer, our hips touching as he wrapped an arm around me. A wave of panic washed over me, my throat suddenly parched.

  “I’ve never really danced like this before,” I said, choking on the words. “You know, ballroom dancing.”

  “Don’t be afraid. It’s easy. All you have to do is follow my lead.” His hand splayed across my back. “You’ll step back with your right foot first.”

  With that, he stepped with his left and guided me across the floor. His voice was soft as he counted the tempo. “Quick, quick, slow. Quick, quick, slow.”

  I glanced down, fearing I’d step on his foot.

  “No, no. Emmy, look at me. Keep your eyes on me. Trust me.”

  I wasn’t sure which would be more hazardous—possibly stepping on his foot (again) or staring into his eyes. Taking a deep breath, I complied and our gazes locked. In that instant, everything faded, and I was no longer aware of the song playing, though I knew it was different from the one before. The rhythm of his hips reminded me of our night together, and my breath hitched, though it had nothing to do with the exertion of dancing. Desperate for a distraction, I tried to lighten the mood.

  “Did your mom teach you to dance, too?”

  “No. Dancing lessons were another of my father’s many requirements.”

  “Your dad?”

  He nodded. “It was part and parcel of being a Walsh. My brothers and I were expected to fulfill certain society duties.” His expression tightened. “That typically meant we had to play escort at debutante balls, and it would have been embarrassing if we didn’t know how to dance properly.”

  “You said one of his requirements. What else did he expect?”

  His steps never faltered when he closed his eyes and gave a brief shake of his head. “He’s very demanding, and the family’s reputation has always been paramount. We were expected to excel in all things, be it school, sports—whatever.”

  Recognizing his subtle deflection as just that, I changed my tack. “Well, you dance beautifully. Although I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You’re practically perfect in every way.”

  “Don’t tell Parker that.” He laughed. “He’ll start calling me Mary Poppins, or some shit.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “You’re handsome, clever, talented. You can also cook and dance. It worries me that you may be too good to be true.”

  “Thank you for that, but trust me, I’m far from perfect. You just don’t know me well enough yet.”

  “I’m hoping to remedy that,” I whispered.

  His eyes widened and darkened, his pupils dilating with arousal. The music changed yet again, the tempo slowing so we were barely moving. There was a subtle shift in the energy surrounding us, his movements becoming slow and deliberate. His lips were soft and warm when he lowered his mouth to mine. Using gentle licks, he coaxed my mouth open, and my lips parted on an involuntary sigh. Taking that as an invitation, he deepened the kiss, cupping the back of my head with one hand and tightening his arms around me. I responded in kind, twining my arms around his neck. It had only been a week, but my memory did not do him justice.

  The spell was broken when an incoming call interrupted the music. Ian pulled away, cursing under his breath. He retreated to his phone and checked the caller ID. His voice was less than pleasant when he answered. It was a side of him I’d neither seen nor expected.

  “What? Cut the crap. What do you want?”

  Feeling awkward, I collected the dishes and carried them to the kitchen to give him some semblance of privacy.

  “No. I can’t. I’m busy. Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m on a date.”

  I needed to keep busy, so I loaded the dishwasher and tried not to eavesdrop on his conversation. Evidently, he wasn’t too concerned because he wasn’t exactly keeping his volume in check.

  “No one you know, and it doesn’t concern you.” He paused. “The way I see it, you have two choices. You can either find someone else, or you can schedule another night because I’m not changing my plans for you.” He held the phone away from his ear, and the caller’s screams drifted across the room. The noise resembled that of a cackle of hyenas I once saw on the National Geographic channel. “Not my problem. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to my date.”

  My scalp tingled and a ripple of unease slithered down my spine at his words. His emphasis on the word date and the change in his tone and demeanor gave me pause, making me wonder if there was more to the call than business. Old habits died hard, and I knew my insecurities were the root of my concern. Tendrils of doubt crawled through my mind, followed closely by the mantra I repeated multiple times a day since I’d agreed to our date. He’s not Brett. Give him a chance. Jules is right. He’s not Brett.

  I was so fixated on keeping myself busy, I jumped slightly when Ian rejoined me. He leaned against the cabinet, one hand on his hip, the other on the counter.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said.

  “It’s fine.”

  Concern was etched on his face. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah.” I shrugged. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  He nodded, and his eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry about the call. Do you remember when I mentioned the private clients at the club?”

  “Yes.”

  “That was the owner trying to set up a session for tonight.”

  I also remembered the owner was a woman. “You don’t owe me any explanations,” I snapped.

  He recoiled at my sharp response and leaned away from me. The tension in his jaw belied his seemingly relaxed posture. Irritated with myself, I dropped my gaze, focusing on the task of loading the dishwasher. I was being ridiculous, and my behavior was out of line, but I couldn’t stop myself. Ian grasped my elbow, his fingers exerting just enough pressure for a gentle tug.

  “Hey.”

  Embarrassed, I shook my head and kept my eyes lowered.

  “Emmy. Look at me.” He tilted my chin with one finger, forcing me to meet his gaze. His blue eyes were filled with concern as they searched mine for answers. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

  “I just…” Sighing with another shake of my head, I forced myself to push away the unpleasant memories. “I overreacted. I’m sorry. Old habits.”

  “It’s okay. I get it.”

  He turned off the water and moved to stand behind me, resting his hands on the edge of the sink and caging me between his arms. The incessant pounding of my heart filled my ears, and I felt feverish all over. I exhaled deeply and sank into the heat of his body, allowing my head to fall against his shoulder. Given the way I’d snapped at him, I halfway expected him to toss me out on my ass, but he didn’t. Instead, he moved closer and pushed the hair from my neck, grazing my skin with his fingers. A low moan bubbled up from my throat at the light touch, and my head automatically tilted in the opposite direction to grant him greater access. The touch of his lips upon my neck sent sparks shooting through me, straight to my core. One song bled into the next, and I recognized it—Secret, by Maroon 5, another favorite—just as his mouth reached my ear in time to sing the next line. It wasn’t a surprise that his strong, deep voice was pitch-perfect.

  The combination of his voice, his breath against my face, and the warmth of his body was my undoing. I turned into him and fisted the soft cotton of his shirt with my damp fingers, clinging to his toned shoulders. He lifted me onto the edge of the sink, and on pure instinct I parted my legs, allowing him to step closer. My breath came in rapid bursts, matching the tempo of my heart. Neither of us said a word. I didn’t know what to say other than to tell him how badly I wanted him. But he already knew that.

  Our gazes locked,
each searching the other, and the air crackled with life. He moved closer until only a few inches separated us. My gaze dipped to his mouth, those perfect lips, and he pounced. Gone was the hesitancy of his earlier kiss. His mouth slanted over mine, demanding total submission, igniting a raw, primal ache deep within me. Damn, he knew how to kiss.

  I released his shoulders to tangle my fingers in his hair, gripping tight. It wasn’t enough—I needed more—so I clasped my legs around his waist, desperate to be closer. He got the hint and jerked me forward to grind my hips against him.

  Our lips parted, and he rested his forehead against mine. “Please tell me you want this, Emmy.”

  “Yes.” I panted, breathless. “I want this. I want you.”

  “Thank Christ,” he sighed and gripped my backside. “Hold on to me, baby.”

  His long legs covered the distance to the bedroom in a flash. Perhaps he was afraid I’d change my mind if he didn’t hurry. Maybe he was just in a hurry. As soon as he deposited me on the bed, we became a flurry of hands, sending clothes flying to settle in random clumps scattered around us. Ian’s touch was tender, yet demanding, taking what I willingly gave. He led my body through the steps of the dance, much in the same way he had done earlier. He tempted, then teased, then fulfilled the promise of more. Our breath mingled with the soft music drifting in from the other room, creating our own unique melody as he whispered sweet words in my ear and against my skin. Ian awakened something within me, something I never knew existed—and certainly had never experienced. In a word, passion. I resisted so long, letting anyone in, and I was stripped bare—exposed—both mentally and physically. I feared I’d never be able to go back, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to, or would even if I could.

  His lips moved down my body, leaving open-mouthed kisses on my flesh until he finally covered my cleft with his mouth. With virtuoso skill, he used his fingers and tongue to push me over the edge into my first orgasm. I reached for him, grasping, pulling, guiding him up my body until our lips clashed, our tongues fighting for possession over the other. My arms and legs folded around him, holding his body close to mine. His hardness pressed against me, and all rational thought left as a white-hot heat consumed me. I tried in vain to direct his movement by threading my fingers through his hair, pulling and tugging.

  “Emmy, baby ... wait…” he groaned, his voice thick with desire.

  Wait? I didn’t want to wait. He pulled away, leaving me bereft. I lifted my head and heard the tell-tale rip of foil as my eyes strained to find him in the darkened room. He was back as quickly as he left, releasing a heavy sigh as he pushed into me and stilled, supported on his forearms. I gasped at the sensation, the exquisite awareness of being filled.

  “Are you okay?”

  Oh hell yes, I was. “Yes,” I sighed.

  He remained still and kissed me, a deep, lingering kiss, and he didn’t stop me when my legs wrapped around him. “I wanted to take this slow, but I don’t think I can,” he murmured.

  “Not slow ... please.” My voice was unsteady, and it took great effort to speak. “You can go slow next time.”

  Soft laughter punctuated his reply. “Whatever you want, beautiful.”

  He rolled his hips, pulling almost all the way out, and then plunged back inside. Contrary to his claim, he began slowly, his rhythm steady, but it wasn’t long before his pace quickened and he fucked me faster and harder until we were both panting and groaning, driven by pure need. I came quickly, one orgasm fading into the next until I was no longer aware of time. I wasn’t even sure I remembered my own name. A fine sheen of sweat covered us both by the time we reached a shared climax and collapsed, sated and exhausted.

  7

  Emmy

  Sunlight filled the room, unhindered by the open Roman shades hanging over the windows. Blinking against the brightness, I kicked off the comforter and stretched the soreness from my limbs. I couldn’t fight the ridiculous smile that spread across my face. I had taken a leap of faith and jumped into a potential relationship, putting the past where it belonged—behind me. The fear was still there, but again, there was something about Ian that made me feel safe. I trusted him. That wasn’t easy for me.

  I stretched again and sat, getting my first real look at Ian’s bedroom. A sleek, armless chair in a dark paisley print sat in the corner beside an old steamer trunk displaying a few small frames containing family photos. It was a homey touch I wouldn’t have expected in an otherwise masculine space. Mismatched end tables—another unexpected touch—flanked the bed below a pair of modern pendant fixtures. The bed itself rested in front of a brick wall with black wainscoting, under a large grouping of striking black and white photographs, both landscapes and architectural shots. The remaining walls were painted dark grey, and there were two large mirrored panels were mounted on either side of the bathroom door. Like the rest of the apartment, it was an eclectic mix that fit Ian perfectly.

  The shirt he was wearing the night before was draped haphazardly across the foot of the bed, the very place it landed when we removed it. Another smile tugged at the corners of my mouth as I reached for it and slid it over my head and down my torso. Ian’s slightly herbaceous scent permeated the material, and I pulled the front collar over my nose for another whiff of his cologne. God, I loved the way he smelled.

  Dropping the shirt back into place, I stood and wiggled my toes in the plush rug covering most of the burnished hardwood floor before making a quick stop in the bathroom to freshen up. After I had done the best I could with my appearance, I wandered into the other room. Ian was seated at the island, shirtless and wearing the jeans from the night before, cell phone in one hand and a laptop in front of him. There were scratches down his back, and his hair was curly from my hands being in it so often during our all-night sexcapades. Jules would say he looked well-fucked. If I were to hazard a guess, I’d say he was commando under those jeans, which made me want to climb onto his lap and demand that he fuck me again.

  “I can do Monday, but I’m booked Wednesday through Friday.” He paused. “My show opens on the twenty-second. I need to be there.”

  He noticed my approach when I was about six feet away and beckoned me closer with a breathtaking smile. It wasn’t fair, really, for a man to be that damn gorgeous, but he was. His gaze raked over me, and he nodded approval at my choice of attire. Yeah, I didn’t think he’d mind me borrowing his shirt.

  When I reached him, he transferred the phone to his other hand and pulled me closer to place a sweet kiss on my forehead. He stroked my back and continued his conversation.

  “That’s Memorial weekend.” He paused again. “No, I’m not working. I’ll be available Tuesday.”

  I tried to pull away and give him space to work, but he shook his head and tightened his grip. At the same time, he braced the phone with his shoulder so he could use his other hand on the laptop while he continued his conversation. Once again I tried to pull away and earned a frown for my effort. It was nice to feel wanted, but his reaction also lit a mischievous fire inside me. I turned and settled against him, pressing my breasts into his side. He cocked an eyebrow and gave me a questioning look, unsure of what I would do next. Truth be told, I wasn’t sure of that myself until my fingers drifted down his torso from chest to abs, barely making contact with his skin. His breath hitched at the feather-light touch, and I had to fight to contain my giggles. I really didn’t know where it was coming from, this newfound boldness. It was a new experience for me.

  He retaliated with a pinch to my backside, making me jump. I took that as a dare and dropped my hand lower to fiddle with the buttons on his fly. His eyes narrowed, and he gave me a subtle shake of his head. An innocent smile and a shrug were my only response as I popped open the first button. My brow arched, daring him to say or do something to stop me. He didn’t. I opened the length of his fly until I could slip my hand inside to grasp his growing erection. Yep, I was right. Commando. I tightened my fingers and squeezed as I stroked him from root to tip.

&n
bsp; His body shuddered, and his voice was husky and broken. “Uh-huh. Okay, that sounds good.”

  I freed his erection from its denim prison and lowered my head, swiping my tongue across the small bead of pre-cum at the tip before sucking him into my mouth. Another shudder ran through him, and his free hand weaved into my hair to pull me off him, but I wouldn’t stop.

  “Motherfucker,” he breathed.

  It was a heady feeling, affecting him that way, and I smiled around his dick as I doubled my efforts. My hand tightened and pumped his shaft while I worked him over with my tongue.

  “Nothing. I’m fine. I just spilled coffee on myself.”

  Sucking harder, I rolled my eyes upward and saw nothing but desire etched onto his face. He coughed, attempting to muffle a groan when I sucked him deeper into my throat.

  “I just got your email. Yeah. That will work. Thanks, Mark. Talk to you later.”

  The phone hit the counter with a sharp clatter seconds before he fisted both hands in my hair.

  “Oh, you naughty girl,” he whispered. “That feels fucking incredible, but I don’t want to come in your mouth.”

  He hauled me into his lap, forcing me to sit astride him. His movements were rough when he yanked my shirt to my shoulders and jerked me closer, impaling me with his erection. There it was, that fullness I was beginning to crave.

  We groaned in unison, and his mouth captured my nipple, sucking the tender bud between his teeth. The strength of his hold on my hips would surely leave bruises on my skin, but I didn’t care. It only excited me more.

  “Is this what you wanted?”

  “Yes, more please,” I breathed, my voice barely audible.

  “That’s my girl.”

  His arms moved up my back to fold his fingers over my shoulders, providing additional leverage as he pumped his hips into mine. A wild, almost feral sound echoed in my throat as I ground against him. His answering groan vibrated through me as he brought his soft lips to my ear, his hot breath sending a shudder down my spine.