Why was she embarrassed?
"Talk to me, beautiful."
She hesitated a moment and then gave in. "Once a month, Madame Goffe would open our practices to the kids studying at the school associated with the Company. Those who performed well during the week would line up along the walls and watch us warm up, imaging themselves in our positions." She frowned, a soft sigh stirring the fine hairs framing her face. "No one except my therapist has watched me stretch since."
"I love watching you move."
"I'm not very graceful." Her gaze rested on her scar and then darted away. "Not anymore."
Tristan hated the sad, shamed frown twisting at her lips. Striding across the room to her, he held his hand out. "Come here."
She bit her lip, debating, and then reached for his hand.
Getting her up from the floor took no effort at all. Once she had her feet beneath her, he turned her until her back rested flush with his chest. She stood tense and rigid within the circle of his arms, but that didn't seem to matter. Fingers of warmth still wound their way through him.
"I like having you in my arms," he leaned in to whisper in her ear.
She tilted her head to the side and hummed a wordless response.
"What's this song?" he asked.
"It's from the ballet Giselle. Do you know it?"
"No." He skimmed his lips across her ear, causing her to shiver. "Tell me about it."
"It's a romantic ballet about jealousy, deception, forgiveness, and transcendent love," she whispered as he slid his hands from her waist onto her rib cage. "Giselle is the most beautiful woman in her village, which causes Duke Albrecht and Hilarion, the gamekeeper, to fall in love with her. But the Duke is betrothed to a princess and knows he can never truly have Giselle. In an act of sheer desperation, he disguises himself as a peasant to get close to her. His plan works, and Giselle falls deeply in love with him. Whenever he pays her call, they dance together. Their love is so apparent the village youth join in their dances, filling the village with joy. When Hilarion sees this dance, he realizes he's lost Giselle to Albrecht. His jealousy spirals out of control and he vows to find out what the Duke is hiding so he can tear them apart, thus allowing him to win her affections for himself."
Tristan listened with half an ear to her explanation, focusing instead on the way her body moved beneath his hands. When he shifted, so did she, her body adjusting to him without conscious thought. Whether the subtle movements were some left over ballerina instinct or a natural response to him didn't matter. He loved them either way.
Her heart hammered beneath his fingertips.
"And then what happens?" He pulled her earlobe into his mouth and bit, a little demand that she let go of her anxiety and relax for him. Inching his way across her ribs, he rubbed tantalizing circles beneath her breasts, teasing both of them.
Lillian groaned, attempting to arch into his touch. "Hilarion eventually unmasks the Duke," she said when Tristan refused to obey that unspoken plea and kept his hands right where they were. "But Giselle has fallen so madly in love with him that Hilarion's plan to win her backfires. When she realizes she and the Duke can never be together, she goes insane. The dance she once shared with him becomes something else, something darker.
"Albrecht watches her, heartbroken that his deception has caused her such immense pain. He pleads for her forgiveness, but it's too late. Unable to bear the heartbreak and humiliation, she grabs his sword and stabs herself with it. She dies in her mother's arms, leaving the Duke utterly destroyed."
Tristan let his fingertips graze the undersides of her breasts through the thin, form-fitting leotard. Almost instantly, her breath began to hitch. Hiding a smirk, he planted his lips against her throat, licking and sucking.
"And then what, beautiful?" he whispered against her skin, once more completely captivated by her.
"They… Ah…." she groaned as he captured her skin between his teeth before letting go.
"Tell me," he said, moving on to the fading marks he'd left upon her two nights before. The faint spots were all but gone now, and the desire to replace them gnawed at him. Something deep inside him liked the thought of leaving his mark on her, right there where everyone would see it and know she belonged to him.
At the moment, he didn't really care what that desire said about him.
"They bury Giselle in a glade haunted by the Wilis – spirits of wronged virgins who lure men to their deaths," Lillian said. "She becomes one of them. When Hilarion goes looking for her grave one night in grief over what he's done, the Wilis force him to dance until he dies. This… Oh God…" she moaned when Tristan let his fingers climb higher, no longer teasing the undersides of her breasts, but cupping them in his hands.
"This what, beautiful?" His question came out sounding as strained as her whisper, his teasing killing them both, but damned if that would stop him. Now that he'd been all over her, on top of her, inside of her… he wasn't sure he could stop touching her.
She didn't seem to mind his predicament.
"The music-" she broke off as he traced her nipples with a single fingertip on each, making light circles around the hardened peaks pushing against the thin fabric.
"What about the music?"
"It's from that scene. It's his final – Oh, sweet Jesus – dance. His death."
Tristan rewarded her once more by rolling her nipples between his fingers.
Her head fell back onto his shoulder, a throaty moan spilling from her lips.
"Giselle doesn't save him?" he asked, barely able to force the words out. He was hard as a rock, dying to bend her over the little table and plunge his cock into her until she shattered around him.
"No." Lillian moaned when he sucked at the pulse point in her throat, biting and then soothing it with his tongue exactly like he had so many times before.
"Keep going, Lillian," he murmured, kissing a trail across her shoulder.
"She doesn't save him. Her ghost is with the Duke when Hilarion enters the glade, so she doesn't even know he's there. No one knows if she would have saved him had she been able to do so. His jealousy was the catalyst for her greatest pain, and the Duke's greatest loss. But she saves the Duke despite his deception, because her love for him transcended even death and her new position as a Wilis. She never got the- Oh God, Tristan. Please."
Tristan smiled, triumphant, when her concentration shattered, her body going limp just as he'd wanted. She arched into his eager hands, pressing her ass into his cock.
"Close your eyes, baby," he whispered and set to work on her leotard, peeling it down her arms until her breasts spilled free of the restricting material.
Her eyes fluttered closed as the music reached a fevered pitch around them, swelling and receding as Hilarion's forced dance swept him closer and closer to death. Tristan tugged Lillian back into him and shifted until his hips cradled hers on either side.
He snaked one hand around her waist to guide her. The other rose to tease at her breasts. Her head rolled against his shoulder, a moan breaking from her lips, as he began to rock her body side to side with his own in a dance as shattering as Hilarion's, but for an entirely different reason.
Death awaited that jealous fool.
Ecstasy awaited Lillian.
Tristan couldn't wait to give it to her.
He plucked and pulled at her breasts as air escaped her in pleasured hums and little gasps. With his lips and tongue, he explored her soft skin, lapping and nipping at her like a man starving. She melted into his touch, oblivious to the fact that she danced with him. Her body moved with his easily, no hint of embarrassment or awkwardness remaining as he drove her out of that frame of mind and into one miles away. One he wanted her to feel and remember.
As the music raced toward Hilarion's tragic end, Tristan brought his mouth back to her ear, his gaze glued to her reflection in the mirrors. Her chest heaved, breasts rising and falling in his hands. Her skin was flushed with pleasure. Her mouth parted as she sucked in little, keenin
g breaths. She was radiant.
He wanted her to see that for herself.
She whimpered when he slid his hand down her stomach. Her muscles contracted and released beneath his fingers as if every fiber of her being responded to him. His fingers dipped between her legs. He pressed his palm into her center.
Hot heat seared him through the silky leotard.
He swept it aside easily, slipping his fingers underneath.
"Oh… fuck," Lillian breathed.
Her body trembled with desire as he delved into her already wet folds. He couldn't help the growl of satisfaction tearing from his chest when he felt that warm honey on his fingertips.
"Open your eyes," he said, turning them so she could see exactly what he saw in the mirror. He wanted her to see what he did, wanted her to remember it. She wasn't awkward or graceless in the least. She looked like sin, far too decadent and sensual for her own good.
Her eyes fluttered open.
Her gaze landed on the mirror. Smoldering brown met hungry, vivid blue and held.
"When you're with me, I don't want you thinking about that damn scar," he whispered, holding her gaze in the mirrors as he circled her clit with his thumb. He pressed a soft kiss to her exposed shoulder before moving his mouth back to her ear. "Think about this. Think about how goddamned perfect you look right now. That's what I'm thinking about, Lillian. Every time I look at you, I think about how good you look coming apart for me."
"Oh God," she mouthed, her entire body shuddering.
"Let go, beautiful." He pressed a single finger inside of her, and then another. "Watch the way you come alive for me."
Her gaze settled on his hand moving between her slick folds before darting to his other hand playing at her breast and then up to his mouth, trailing hot kisses across her throat. On to his eyes locked on her in the mirror and then back down, taking in the way she moved with him, his hips cradling and guiding her as if they'd done this a thousand times.
Every single thing he wanted her to see – from the beautiful flush of her skin to her heavy-lidded gaze – he knew she saw. Not that fucking scar or a reason to be embarrassed, but what he saw when he looked at her: pure eroticism.
She cried out as the music died, and then shattered for him. Her head dropped backward onto his shoulder and her eyes closed as she came hard around his fingers, crying out his name. He quickly released her breast and lashed his arm around her waist, holding her to him as her legs trembled beneath her, threatening to topple her.
"Beautiful," he whispered, attacking her throat with his lips, teeth, and tongue. He kept on, biting and sucking and tasting until her whimpers and tremors died and she stilled against him, sated.
She hummed his name as she came down, her lips curving upward into a satisfied, womanly smile. That same awed smile she gave him every time he made her come for him. He couldn't resist tilting her head backward and capturing her lips with his at that look.
"I fucking love watching you move," he whispered into her mouth. "Don't ever doubt that." He didn't want to let her go, but when she nodded her promise, he untangled himself from her slowly, removed his fingers from beneath her leotard, and then recovered her pert little breasts.
Her eyes were glazed and unfocused… warm brown once more melted into liquid pools. The urge to drag her back to the bed they'd shared all night raged through him once more. But this wasn't about that, and it wasn't about him. This time was all about her and what she needed.
When she met his gaze, he popped his fingers into his mouth and lapped her juice from them. She moaned softly as she watched him, rubbing her thighs together. He smirked when she reached out to steady herself with a hand on his chest.
"Can you be ready to go in an hour?"
"I… uh…" She blinked and then nodded once, clearly confused.
"Good. We're going to shoot." He reached out and ran the back of his hand gently along her cheek before striding out of the room, in desperate need of a cold shower and a little relief of his own. Pausing outside the door, he turned back toward her. "Giselle has nothing on you, beautiful. You're fucking stunning, and you would have saved Hilarion even if he didn't deserve it."
She stared at him, speechless.
He grinned and then headed toward that shower, his cock screaming for release.
Chapter Twenty
"Can I ask you a question?" Lillian asked as Tristan reloaded the magazine and popped it back into his handgun. They'd been at the empty range for a little over an hour and she'd already emptied three clips into the target he'd hung for her. He looked impressed, but hadn't let her stop yet.
"What's the question?" He checked over the weapon before cranking the slide back and handing the gun to her with a flourish, a cocky smirk on his face. All morning, he'd been sending her those cocky smirks. They were going to be the death of her.
Adjusting her stance, she popped the cushy earmuffs on and fired off a few rounds – each hitting the target – before she turned back to Tristan.
"Did you and Jayme date?" she asked, dragging the earmuffs off.
"Briefly." He held his hand out for the gun.
She handed it back over to him, her leg beginning to throb. "Define briefly."
His expression tightened as he took aim at the target and fired off several rounds.
"Define briefly," she repeated when he lowered the weapon after expending the clip.
"We went out a few times."
"And?"
"Fuck," he huffed before looking at her. "We slept together a couple times before I put a stop to it. She's not exactly discreet."
"Oh." Lillian suddenly felt stupid for asking.
"Satisfied now?"
She nodded and fell silent as he reloaded the magazine and popped it back into the gun, clearly agitated. The feeling was mutual. She shouldn't have asked.
Of course he'd slept with Jayme. She looked like a freaking model, and obviously liked him.
He fired off several more rounds in rapid succession before lowering the weapon and turning back to her, his expression frustrated. "This probably makes me an asshole, but she was convenient. She knew what I did, and had no expectations for anything more."
"Oh." Lillian swallowed hard.
"I don't do relationships, sweetheart. I've never wanted to get involved. But you've been different since day one," he said quietly, "and I can't just leave you alone like I should, like I could if you were anyone else. And this?" He gestured between them. "Doesn't even fucking compare to anything I've done before. I want you more than – Hell, more than I've wanted anyone before."
Warmth ran through her at his explanation, heating her from the inside out. Lord, what the man did to her without even trying!
"I… uh…."
"You what?" He reached out to cup her cheek with his free hand before resting his forehead against hers. "Lillian…." he sighed when she didn't respond.
"I can't do certain things," she whispered, her cheeks burning with shame at that admission. She should have just let it go. But in the spirit of this newfound honesty between them, well, better to get it out there now, right? It'd only be more embarrassing later if she had to stop him because her leg wouldn't do what it should.
"You think that matters to me?"
She shrugged a shoulder, feeling about two inches tall. "I don't know. I just-"
"Did you not learn anything this morning?"
"I did," she whispered. Oh yeah, she had most definitely learned something this morning. Mirrors? Brilliant inventions.
"But?"
"But what if it's not enough? I can't do-"
"You've got to get over this leg issue," he muttered, shaking his head as he cut her off, exasperated. "I know there are things you can't do, and I'd never push you beyond your limits. It doesn't bother me. What you do to me… Christ, Lillian. Do you have any idea what you do to me?"
"What-" she cleared her throat, her stomach fluttering at the gleam in his eye. It was pure sex. "What do I do to you?"
He shot her another wicked smirk and grabbed her hand, pulling it between their bodies before pressing it onto his crotch. "This is what you do to me, beautiful. All the time. Every time I look at you, I get hard. And when I touch you?" He shook his head and didn't finish the thought. "It's enough. Believe me, it's enough."
She groaned at his admission as much as at the feel of him beneath her hand. He was rock hard against the zipper of his jeans. And she was the cause of that.
Yeah, she definitely liked knowing that.
She rubbed him through his jeans, causing him to throw his head back and groan.
"You're going to kill me, sweetheart." He grabbed her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. His eyes gleamed that predatory blue color. "You're really going to kill me."
"I know the feeling," she whispered.
"Yeah, I kinda think that you do." He smiled, more relaxed than she could remember ever having seen him. "I meant what I said though, beautiful. What I've done before doesn't even fucking compare to what I want to do to you right now. Stop worrying about it because I'm not. Your leg isn't your fault and it's certainly not a problem for me. Got it?"
"Got it," she agreed.
"Good." He went to work on the other gun strapped to him. It was smaller than the Glock, but no less serious looking. "When Davis starts being a prick about issuing a permit on such short notice, I have to be able to vouch that you can shoot."
"I could always just get a permit the traditional way." She'd had one before, but had let it lapse. Other things had taken precedence at the time – like learning to walk again.
Tristan cocked a brow and glared at her, unamused. "I don't fucking think so. We're not waiting thirty days when he can sign the damn paper today."
"You curse a lot when you're irritated," she observed instead of arguing.
"And you don't curse enough. Usually." He arched a brow and grinned as she felt her cheeks flush, and then he sobered. "Does it bother you?" He looked at her in genuine interest, as if her answer mattered to him.
Ravished (The Teplo Trilogy #1) Page 24
