“I don’t. He does,” she said, referring to his cock. “I merely translate.”
Killian chuckled. “Lucky for you, he wants to be balls deep in your cunt right now.”
Prudence raised herself and sank onto his dick. Their groans of pleasure mingled.
“So good,” she mewled.
Pushing her back against the wall, he grasped her hands and placed them above her head.
“Let’s see if the walls can stand our stamina.”
Prudence flexed her hips. “I thought we’d already tried all of them.”
Killian pulled out until only the head of his shaft was left inside her, then in a solid thrust, he bottomed out.
“Not this one.”
“Then fuck me right,” she gasped.
“My pleasure, love.”
Killian picked up his speed, pumping in and out of his mate. Sweat trickled between their bodies, and their breaths became one as their lovemaking became more vigorous.
“Killian,” Prudence cried out. Her orgasm rocked her body, inducing his own, which he released with a primal growl.
They tumbled to the floor, limbs tangled. Killian cradled Prudence’s body and sighed happily.
“I love you, Prudence.”
“I love you, Killian.”
She settled against him, tracing his most recent tattoo, placed just beneath his heart.
“Hope,” she whispered.
“Yes,” Killian said. He smiled. “A wise man once told me hope was a precious thing.” Killian cupped Prudence’s face, staring deep into her eyes. “He was right.”
The End
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BONUS SAMPLE CHAPTER
BREAK ME
Elyzabeth M. VaLey
Copyright © 2017
Prologue
Grisha Vasiliev entered the ballet studio. His five-hundred-dollar leather shoes squeaked against the vinyl floor. He frowned and stood to one side, away from the other spectators, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. The velvety smoothness of the piano chords playing from the speakers wrapped around him like the touch of a lover’s caress.
“Down, up, down, plie, tendu, pli-plie.”
Anton Phillip, the ballet master of his company, drilled instructions from the front of the room across a floor-to-ceiling mirror. A group of close to forty dancers aged fifteen and over followed his commands. They were there to learn and take their technique to the next level with the best: Anika Vasiliev’s ballet company.
His business. Grisha not only owned the city’s ballet company, which included dancers, an orchestra, managerial and support staff. He also had schools for both children and adults. Furthermore, he employed permanent staff of craftsmen for prop and costume design, as well as his own physiotherapists and physical trainers.
“Your back must turn you around, not your knee, your back. Observe,” Phillip called out.
Grisha swept his gaze around the room. His breath caught. There she was. In the front row, a few feet to the left of Phillip. She was unmistakable in her red leotard with the low scooped back and black skirt.
Ayla Clark.
She was his reason for coming to today’s master class. He’d seen her name in the registry list and he knew he had to see her up close.
Her pale skin contrasted sharply with her choice of outfit. Her dark hair, which she had pulled into a bun, caused her aquiline nose to stand out. She kept her attention on Phillip as he demonstrated the movement. She copied him.
“That’s it,” Phillip praised her.
Ayla smiled. Full lips pressed tightly together, eyes downcast. Grisha cocked his head. Always the same. He had been observing her for the past few months and her smiles were never wide or open. For him, it appeared as if she were pleased but didn’t want to show it. Either that or she felt she wasn’t good enough.
Yet, her technique was flawless. Her body lithe and flexible. When she danced, her spirit showed through and true joy reflected on her face. Those were the moments he hated her.
Grisha swallowed. His fingers trembled. He closed his hand into a fist. Easy now. It wouldn’t do to lose control here. Taking a deep breath, he turned to look at some of the other girls. There were some wonderful dancers assembled in the studio and some which would never make it far in the business. He caught sight of another girl. She turned well but didn’t land properly. Her eyes narrowed, clearly displeased. She tried again. Grisha shook his head. She was a good dancer, but she was not the best. Her movements lacked finesse.
He found himself searching for Ayla again. He followed her across the floor as she performed a chasse and a pirouette.
How could she move with such precision? In her, he saw true love for what she did. She wanted to be a dancer. It was her dream, her purpose in life.
Yet, she currently worked for a small ballet company as part of the corps, a mere background dancer. She never held a position for more than a year, even though she was good. Why? He wasn’t a dancer himself, but he had grown up in that world. He knew perfection and passion when he saw it. Ayla had both. When she danced, he could almost taste the happiness coming from her. Grisha licked his lips.
It was intoxicating.
Sickening.
Bile climbed to his throat. The bitter taste in his mouth made him grimace. Happiness. The word clanged in his head like loud church bells. A myth. A legend. There was no such thing. Women like his mother Anika, Marie, and now Ayla, equated the world of dance with bliss. It was an illusion, just like ballet. They were one and the same. Castles built on clouds. Beautiful on the outside but so sensitive a mere breeze would blow them into nothingness. The real world was bleak.
Dark.
Lonely.
Painful.
Grisha ran his fingers through his hair in a futile attempt to alleviate the growing headache in his temples. The words hammered in his skull harder and harder as they had done for the past year.
He had grown complacent, settling into a routine which lulled him into a false sense of security. In the last four years, he hadn’t felt the pull. He buried himself in his business and into a peaceful life. He tricked himself into believing he’d conquered the need to inflict pain and destroy joy. It was never the case. The monster within him lay dormant, waiting for someone to bring it back to life. Ayla had been that person. One look at her and his world had come crashing down around him.
Grisha bit into his cheek and tasted blood. His vision wavered for an instant as the image of a bloodied Ayla danced before him. She reminded him of what he’d lost and what he could never have.
He unclenched his fists.
Ayla pranced about, oblivious to him and his plan. Soon, he’d show her what life was really about. The music which made her so joyful would make her miserable, and his world would be righted again.
“Thank you very much, everyone,” Phillip said, breaking into Grisha’s reverie.
People clapped. Grisha joined them politely. The music had stopped. Dancers stretched out their kinks. Family members and observers crossed the floor to chat and congratulate them.
Grisha made his way to Phillip. Here and there chatting groups quieted as he passed them. He smirked. Although he hated the attention, it was all part of the business. If any of these ballerinas wanted to be someone important one day, they had to know who he was.
“Anton,” he called out. He’d known Phillip for many years, long before coming to the United States.
“Mr. Vasiliev,” the teacher said respectfully. “What a pleasure to see you. Thank you for coming.” Phillip strode toward him, grinning. They shook hands.
“The pleasure is mine. Wonderful class.”
“Indeed. We had some great dancers today. I am keen on inviting some to audition for us in the future or to consider joining our school,” Phillip said.
“I trust your instinct, Phillip.
”
“Thank you, sir. Although”—Phillip lowered his voice—“I value your opinion.”
Grisha clasped his hands behind his back and looked around. His gaze landed on Ayla. She sat on the floor, legs wide open, torso bent forward. A thin strand of hair had fallen loose from her bun and curled over her cheek. His mouth went dry.
“She’s exceptionally good,” Phillip whispered.
“But unstable. She never stays in a company for more than a year. You know we value commitment.”
Phillip nodded.
“True, but—”
“She’s also too old.” Grisha cut him off. “I think her registration file stated she was twenty-seven.”
“Very well, Grisha. I won’t speak to her, but do you want me to introduce you?” Phillip sneered.
Grisha’s eyes widened. He forced his gaping mouth shut.
“How dare you?” he said.
“Don’t get all offended, Grisha. It’s happened before, regardless of that stupid saying about not mixing business and pleasure. Besides, you know I would never judge.” Phillip winked.
Grisha shook his head. The man was hopeless. Phillip was a perpetual flirt and it wasn’t the first time he took a ballerina home for the evening. Nor would it be the last. Grisha allowed it as long as the girls he chose weren’t part of the company and his little escapades didn’t affect his work.
“So, how about a little introduction?” Phillip insisted. He clapped his hands, capturing everyone’s attention. “Ladies and gentleman, today we have the pleasure of having the owner of Anika Vasiliev’s ballet company here with us, Mr. Grisha Vasiliev,” Phillip announced.
Grisha nodded in greeting. He raised his hand.
“It was a delight to watch such talented people at work. Please, continue with what you’re doing. I do not wish to interrupt.”
Applause filled the air. Grisha smiled. He scanned the crowd. Ayla. She stood a few feet from him, her hands on her hips. Their gazes locked. Her eyes wide and beckoning. Daring him. Grisha’s heart jolted. Her lips parted. Roses bloomed on her cheeks. An image of her delicate features marred by pain flashed before him. Blood rushed to his head.
Phillip smacked him on the back, laughing. The moment shattered. Ayla turned away. Grisha cursed inwardly, and then took a steadying breath and shrugged. It’d be all right. She’d be his soon enough.
End of sample chapter
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Killian's Hope Page 10
