by Whitley Cox
He took another step toward her, forcing her to tilt her head and look up. Her greenish-gold cat eyes were intense. Focused and wide. “I think you know exactly what.”
“Adam,” she breathed.
He took another step forward, looped his arms around her waist. Her hair was tucked up in a flawless ballerina bun, showing off her long neck. But all he wanted to do was pull out the pins and see how long her hair was. Did it brush over her nipples? He could just imagine that it was satin-soft. Wrapped around his fist as he kissed her, fucked her, it would probably feel even better. She’d kept it in a bun when she’d come over for dinner. So far he’d only ever seen her with it up. And as much as it showcased her sexy neck, he wanted to see it down, wanted to feel it between his fingers.
He had to resist the sudden urge to grab her hair and see just how long it was. They weren’t there yet. Not by a long shot.
His chest tightened as she stared up at him, so much confusion swirling in her eyes. So much sadness. He wanted to kiss away the sadness. Kiss away the pain. Instead, he took a deep breath, grounding himself. “I can’t seem to stay away from you,” he whispered. “I think about you constantly. About that dance, that kiss.”
She ducked her head and closed her eyes, her long lashes fanned out against her flushed cheeks. “I can’t.”
Adam gently lifted her head with a knuckle beneath her chin. “I don’t want to push you. I don’t. And I won’t. But you’ve gotten under my skin, Vi.”
He rocked their bodies to the music, subtly pushing his tighter against hers. She didn’t pull away. She didn’t stop him. Instead, she pressed into him. He guided one of her arms up over his shoulder while slowly running his hand along the other until their fingers intertwined. Again, she let him.
“Dance with me,” he murmured into her hair, pushing them off into the middle of the studio. She went with him. Floated in his arms, her feet and body one with his, one with the music. It didn’t matter that they’d only danced together once before; she was a true dancer, and although she didn’t believe it, she could dance with anybody. Her shine was so bright, she could make even the most awkward of lugs with two left feet look like Fred Astaire.
Around and around the floor they moved, letting the music, the moment guide them. Yes, he took his lead, but she also anticipated his moves, knew when he would pick up the pace, when he would spin her out, slow things down. She read him like a book. He just hoped he wasn’t a one-time read. That instead she’d consider him a classic she couldn’t put down, a novel whose pages she’d dog-ear, a book she’d run back to rescue if the house ever caught fire.
Because Violet was a story he wanted to know more about. She had a tale to tell, and something told him she would explain it best through her body, not her words.
When the music finally stopped, they were tight against each other in the center of the studio, chests heaving, faces red with big smiles. Smiles were what the audience wanted. Smiles were what won competitions and filled seats. He knew that from an early age, and it soon became ingrained in him. Just like he knew not to step on his partner’s toes, he knew he needed to smile when he danced.
He brought their clasped hands into their bodies and kissed her knuckles. She averted her eyes in shyness, but he couldn’t mistake the growth of her smile. She’d enjoyed that. As much as she didn’t want to, she enjoyed dancing with him, with a partner.
“Thank you,” he said, not wanting to release her but realizing he probably should. He went to let go of her waist, but she clung to him. “Violet.” He kissed her forehead, then her temple, then her cheek, slowly making his way to her lips. She lifted her head just enough to allow it.
He deepened the kiss. She didn’t pull away.
With a groan, Adam dipped his tongue between Violet’s lips and began to explore the sweet recesses of her mouth. He slanted his head just so, sealing their mouths together tightly. She clutched the fabric of his shirt along the back of his neck, pulling him closer to her, down to her. He didn’t balk and wrapped his arm more firmly around her back, holding her against his body, letting her feel just how wild she made him.
Releasing their clasped hands between them, he cupped her breast, feeling the tight point of her nipple beneath the soft, stretchy fabric of her bodysuit. She whimpered against his mouth and ground down against his thigh, his leg now wedging its way between hers. The heat of her body, of her need was making his self-control dance a very fine line.
He’d noticed when he walked in that all the blinds had been drawn, blocking out the glaring evening sun, which probably beat in unforgivingly, attempting to cook all the ballerinas. Nobody could see in. Nobody could see out. The doors were locked.
They were alone.
He pulled his mouth away from hers, her mewl of discontent making him grow even harder. His balls were now in serious protest. “Violet, I said I didn’t want to push you,” he murmured, his lips falling to the side of her head again, then down to her neck. “I’m a good guy. I listen when a woman says no.” God, how he didn’t want her to say no. “Your body … ” He pushed her away for a moment and raked his eyes down her incredible frame. She’d never looked more beautiful. Flushed, frazzled, turned on. He groaned as the tiniest, sexiest of smiles tilted up her mouth. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.”
“Adam … I … ” She licked her lips. Fuck, how he wanted to grab that bun, pull out the pins and help her to her knees, guiding those wet, pink lips around his cock. “I’m so confused.”
He nodded. The moment was fizzling. She was letting her brain get in the way of what her body wanted, what her heart wanted. What her heart possibly needed. He knew she was grieving, and he’d never tell anybody how to grieve or for how long, but as much as she was fighting it, she was also sending him signals that said she wanted to explore the attraction that they had. She wanted to open her heart and body up to the possibility again.
Another song started on the stereo. This one was much slower-paced, much sexier. He reached for her. If all they did was dance, at least she’d be in his arms. She went to him.
9
Dear God, it was all so confusing. She hadn’t felt this way about a man since Jean-Phillipe, hadn’t felt this safe, this right in another man’s arms, but at the same time, her brain kept telling her it was wrong. That she was betraying Jean-Phillipe, that she could never love again, not when the love of her life was gone.
It would kill me to watch you dance with another man.
The memory of his words swirled around her brain, making everything slightly out of focus.
But the way Adam moved, the way he kissed, the way he held her in his arms and worshipped her, made her body hum and her pussy very damp.
His kisses. Oh, his kisses were lethal. And although she’d never been a risk-taker, she wanted more of his wicked lips, wanted more of them all over her body.
Right now, it wasn’t his kisses all over her body, though, it was his body. Pressed up tight as they moved seamlessly to the music, swayed and gyrated. It was like sex with clothes on while standing up. He hadn’t kissed her again but instead pressed his forehead to hers and simply watched her reaction, watched the way she responded to his touch, to their movements and his hand at the small of her back, fingers splayed wide, keeping her tight against him.
He kneed her legs apart again and pushed his thigh against the V of her legs. Her lashes fluttered closed uncontrollably from the friction. He did it again. A groan bubbled up from the back of her throat. She pushed into his thigh, worked her body, her clit, over it until the stirring in her belly whipped into a froth and she was breathless.
The music pulsed around them, a sexy beat she couldn’t remember putting on her playlist but at the moment was glad it was there. It was perfect for how they were dancing—if you could even call it that. Sensual and slow, but with an underlying beat that made you envision people making love, thrusting and pumping. This was music to have sex to.
He rubbed his thigh over her clit again and aga
in, letting the friction of her tights work its magic. Though she would argue until her dying breath that with the right kind of look and zero friction, Adam could get a woman to orgasm. The man was just that sexy. Heat and need spiraled through her. Her clit pulsed. Her belly stirred. She was so close. They were still clothed, just dancing, and she was but a breath away from a glorious orgasm.
“Baby … ” he whispered against her shoulder, his short-trimmed beard prickling and tickling her sensitive skin. He began peeling the fabric away, sinking his teeth into her bare flesh. He rocked his leg against her clit one more time, and she came.
Squeezing her eyes shut, her mouth open in a silent plea and her head tilted up to the ceiling, Violet let the climax take over. Let it rock through her, hitting every cell, ever fiber, ever nerve inside her until her whole body hummed with a warmth and bliss she hadn’t felt in much too long.
“That’s it, baby,” he purred. “You come beautifully.”
One of his hands moved slowly up her back, his fingers against the bare skin between her shoulder blades, making her entire body break out into gooseflesh, despite how warm she’d become. His fingers continued on their quest, tickling and teasing until he cupped the back of her neck. He squeezed, encouraging her to tilt her head to the side. She acquiesced, and his lips fell to the sensitive spot where her shoulder met her neck.
Adam’s teeth scraped along her throat, teasing her with gentle nips, just sharp enough to get her adrenaline surging. He placed a kiss in the hollow of her throat and moved along her collarbone. She bowed her back even more over his hand, eager for him to move his mouth lower, to pull down her bodysuit and bring a peaked nipple into his mouth.
But he didn’t. Instead, his hand on her neck thrust upward into her hair. He relieved her of her pins, pulling her ballerina bun free, and threaded his fingers through her long, thick tresses. His fingers on her scalp felt divine, and she moaned when he fisted it all into a ponytail and tugged, once again forcing her to give him access to her neck.
She pushed her breasts up and against his chest. She was practically desperate for his mouth now. Needy for the wet heat to surround her tender bud.
“Vi,” he breathed against her neck. “You need to decide.”
Hadn’t she already? Hadn’t her body told her brain to take a hike and let it feel good for the first time in what felt like forever? She’d just had an orgasm on his leg. They were already halfway there. She’d already decided.
Her heart had soared when she turned around and found him standing there in her studio. And then to hear that he felt the same way she did, that he couldn’t stop thinking about her, couldn’t stay away. As much as she knew it was wrong, that it was betraying Jean-Phillipe, she couldn’t get over how right it felt being in Adam’s arms. How good it felt to dance again with a partner who seemed to know exactly how to work her body, guide her across the floor and make her feel like he’d never drop her, never let her go.
It was wrong on so many levels. So many. Too many. Too many to count. So instead, she didn’t bother counting, didn’t bother thinking about it at all, and let her desire for pleasure take over, consequences be damned.
They were still swaying to the erotic music, his mouth against her neck, his palm on her breast. She was already so wet and had felt his erection against her thigh for quite some time. Boldly, she slipped her hand between them and unzipped his cargo shorts.
He stilled.
“Vi … ”
“Yes,” she breathed. “Please.”
Growling, he removed his hands from her breast and hair and lifted her up by her butt onto his hips. He plowed them over to one of the chairs along the mirror and sat down, fishing his cock out of his shorts and giving it a couple of long, sexy strokes.
“I don’t have any condoms, baby.”
Neither did she. They weren’t something she figured she needed in her first-aid kit for the studio.
She licked her lips, perched on his lap, his cock between them, glistening with a dewy bead of precum and eager for her attention. “I have an IUD, and I’m clean.”
He nodded. “I’m clean too.”
Oh thank God.
She pushed his hand away and fisted his impressive length, working her palm up and down over the silky-soft skin. His smile made her panties even wetter.
She continued to work him with her hand; Adam pushed the sleeve of her bodysuit over her shoulder again and kissed her bare skin, twirling his tongue and making her wish that it was farther south.
He kissed her, bit her, licked along her collarbone. He tugged down the fabric of her bodysuit until her nipples were free—finally—and latched onto one painfully taut bud, drawing it into the wet warmth of his mouth, sucking just hard enough to ease the ache. Only a new ache, a familiarly wonderful ache pulsed between her legs. She needed him not just in her palm; she needed him inside her.
Adam’s hand meandered down over her belly and pushed beneath her flimsy skirt, delving under her bodysuit.
Shit.
He pulled his hands free when they both realized at the same time that her vagina was currently like Fort Knox. A bodysuit, pair of tights and a thong stood in the way of Adam’s fingers and anything else.
A small, sexy smile tugged at his lips. “That’s a lot of layers.”
“Yeah.” Her chuckle was forced and breathy.
“I’m that determined, but you probably don’t want me to rip through your clothes.”
She pushed herself off him. “As hot as that would be, I appreciate your restraint.” Slowly, because suddenly she felt like giving him a bit of a show, she pulled the sleeves of her bodysuit over her shoulders, shimmying it down her waist, revealing her breasts and her belly. Swaying to the music, and watching his pupils dilate and his nostrils flare, she drew her tights down at the same time, slipping them over her thighs, then her calves, all while never breaking eye contact with him.
The man hadn’t blinked. He simply sat there, watching her, his eyes a dark cerulean blue fire traveling the length of her body, searing her skin with just a look. He held his cock in his hand, but he was too stunned to even stroke it. She liked that she had such an intense effect on him.
Built like a dancer, with narrow hips, long legs, a small waist and barely-there breasts, Violet wasn’t at all ashamed of her body. Naked or clothed. There were times she wished her figure was a touch more feminine, with curves and cleavage and a bit more of an ass, but for the most part she accepted her body the way it was. Some women went to great lengths, often times dangerous lengths, to achieve what Violet had been blessed with naturally, so she kept her complaining to a minimum.
It wasn’t until she caught herself in the mirror behind Adam, and then all the other mirrors around the room, that she realized what she was doing. She had stripped—done a striptease actually—in front of a man she barely knew and was standing there, naked, but for her nude thong, in her dance studio, getting ready to climb back up on his lap and do what humans did best.
She knew she should feel embarrassed, should feel wrong and ashamed, but she didn’t. She needed this. She wanted this. She wanted him.
He held out his hand for her. “Incredible,” he whispered.
She took his hand and allowed him to tug her forward, helping her climb back up on his lap, straddling his thighs. She let her arms fall on top of his shoulders. Her fingers played with the thick, coppery-colored hair at the nape of his neck. She loved his hair, short on the sides, longer on the top, with just a touch of wave. And that short-trimmed beard, God, she could only imagine how that would feel against her inner thighs.
His fingers of one hand gently caressed the small tattoo on her ribcage, his lips making a curious but appreciative smile. “When did you get this?”
She swallowed, loving the way his fingers tickled the small pair of pointe shoes she’d had inked onto her skin so many years ago. “When I landed my first solo.”
His eyes flicked up to hers. “I like it.”
H
is hands traveled down her sides and cupped her butt. He pushed her toward him, letting his cock rock against her cleft. She shut her eyes and bit her lip, lifting her head to the sky.
“No.”
She opened her eyes and gazed back down at him, surprised by his gruffness.
“Look at me. I want to see you. All of you. I want you to watch us in the mirrors. In all of them. There are so many of us. All doing the same thing. All connected. Watch yourself come, each and every one of you. See how truly gorgeous you are.”
She did as she was told. How could she not?
Eyes on Adam, lips parted, hands on his shoulders, tiptoes on the floor, she lifted up. Releasing one of her butt cheeks, he gripped his cock and poised it at her core.
Slowly, luxuriously, sensually, she lowered herself onto him, sheathing him inside her, feeling his girth stretch her walls. It felt so damn good.
“That’s right, baby,” he ground out, reaching back around to cup her butt cheek and encouraging her to move. “So fucking good.”
Up and down she rode him. It was the perfect angle. He hit her deep, so deep, and his taut belly grazed her clit just right. He powered up into her, using her ass for leverage, grunting with each hard buck she felt all the way up to the top of her head and down to the tips of her toes.
Never once did they break eye contact. With every drop of her hips, every pump of his pelvis, they remained focused on each other, watching as their climaxes drew nearer. His pupils dilated, black invading the intense blue. His brows pinched in a scowl of concentration. A tremble began deep down inside her, and the ache she’d felt between her legs for far too long was no longer an ache at all, but a growing warmth that spread up from her core into her breasts and neck and out into her limbs. Every part of her body was feeling the effects of being with Adam, of being full of Adam.
He released one butt cheek and brought a hand between them, slipping his fingers beneath her thong and finding her wet and swollen clit. She gasped as her second orgasm took her body by storm. Her back arched, her pussy convulsed, and her fingers drilled into the back of his neck as she held on for dear life. She wanted so desperately to shut her eyes, but he’d ordered her not to.
