One Last Dance

by Angela Stephens

  The satin smooth head of his cock parted her wet folds, stretching her snug walls in tiny increments. The feeling was excruciating and exquisite. “Henry, please!” He liked to drive her to that edge of desperation and hear her plead. If that’s what he wanted, she was happy to give it to him, so long as he gave her what she wanted too.

  When the last several inches of his stiff shaft slipped inside her and he was seated to the hilt, Sophie moaned.

  “Look at me, dolce.” His lips brushed along her jaw. She raised her eyes to his and he caught her mouth in a tender kiss, tongue dancing delicately over hers, as he began to move inside her. He drew the hard length of himself out of her wet folds until the head rested just within the opening of her sopping pussy, and then pressed back inside her in that same leisurely glide. “You are so beautiful, Sophie,” he murmured against her mouth. “Seeing you like this, eyes soft with desire, cheeks flushed with pleasure, mouth swollen from my kiss while you ride my cock. I’ve never seen anything so lovely.”

  She groaned, lids fluttering. The only thing that had ever made her feel so alive was dancing, but she hadn’t felt that way since her injury and Christian’s rejection. Not until now. She felt aware of every thrumming cell of her body as he moved within her.

  “Please, Henry. I don’t know how much more I can take.” Lying so still on him while he controlled the movement was driving her mad. The pleasure was growing impossibly high within her, vibrating through her and threatening to shatter at any moment.

  He rotated his hips, curling them upward as he pressed her down onto his hard length. “You want to come, dolce?”

  “Yes! Whatever I want, you said.” Her fingers curved into his shoulders like talons.

  “I can’t go back on a promise,” he grunted as he rolled again, a half turn this time, stopping when they lay on their sides.

  Sophie whined as Henry slid out of her, his cock flushed with blood and glistening with their combined juices. He climbed to his knees and drew up her left leg to enter her, resting her slender ankle on his shoulder.

  She laid her head on her bent arm but kept her gaze on his chiseled face as he pumped into her. “Harder!” she pleaded as her left hand trailed along the curve of her breasts. A guttural groan escaped his mouth as she rolled each hard nipple between her slender fingers.

  He turned his head to press his mouth to her ankle as he plunged his cock into her, moving faster as she continued to touch herself. She moaned with aching need as his broad thumb dipped below her navel to strum across the turgid button of her clit. “So beautiful, dolce. Come for me again. One more time.”

  He rubbed small circles around her clit and she clenched with desire. As Henry swiveled his hips on his next thrust she finally broke into an orgasm that radiated from her core. “God, Henry!” she cried out as she exploded into a sharp pleasure, unable to contain herself. The force of her second orgasm was like a detonation.

  Her body clamped down hard on his cock, rippling along the rigid shaft with powerful spasms of her inner muscles. Henry grunted, plunging himself deep into her clutching sheath. “Dio!” The muscle in his jaw jumped as he gritted his teeth. He inhaled sharply. “Bella raggazza! Io vengo!”

  She didn’t know what it meant, but Sophie could feel the pulse of his cock inside her, the heated gush of his seed. The rush of warmth and the twitch of his hard flesh added a new dimension to her own pleasure. She squeezed him with her inner muscles, milking the throbbing length of his shaft.

  He thrust into her tightness once, twice, three more times before pressing himself as deep as he could. He stayed that way, chest heaving, as he stared down into her eyes. She smiled up at him, feeling sated and full to the brim with sweet languor. She saw a brief flicker of surprise in the soft black depths of his gaze before he returned her slow smile with one of his own.

  She lowered her leg from his shoulder, reaching for his left hand with hers, and drew him down beside her. They lay face to face, eye to eye, not speaking. Not needing to speak. She tangled her calves with his and draped her arm over his still heaving ribcage. Henry moved only briefly to fling away the damp green coverlet and tug the cool, clean white sheet up over them. Then he lay back down and pulled her close, positioning her head beneath his chin and stroking her back. Tucked against his throat as she was, every breath she took was redolent of Henry.

  As her eyes drifted shut and sleep covered her like a blanket she thought she felt him press a brief kiss to the top of her head. And had he murmured her name? Perhaps it was just a sigh. She tried to speak his name in return, but all that came out was a low hum of satisfaction.

  Chapter Fourteen

  After a morning of breakfast and chit-chat, Henry told Sophie he wanted to show her something. Once she was dressed in yet another gift of new clothes, she got into his Maybach and they drove to a construction site in TriBeCa. It was an unfinished skyscraper.

  “You wanted to show me an empty building?” she asked, as they pulled up to the site.

  “You wanted to know what I do. I’m going to show you.”

  They made their way inside to the elevator. Much like the elevator in Henry’s building, this one moved swiftly and soundlessly. It was a little disconcerting when she felt the jolt in her feet that meant they’d reached their floor.

  She gasped as he led her into a wide foyer. The walls were unpainted and the light fixtures were missing. Halfway down the wall on her left was a single door, and Henry led her in that direction. “These will be high-end condos when the building is completed. There will be a courtyard downstairs, a gym with a pool, a bar. But for now it’s all just steel, sheetrock and wires.”

  Of course, when she crossed the threshold, sheetrock and wires were not the first things she noticed. It was the wall of windows that took her breath away. She could see the morning sunlight sparkling off the water of the Hudson.

  “Henry, it’s lovely.” It was, and yet...

  “It’s vacant,” he said. He shoved a hand through his hair. “This is just one of them. All over the country, all over the world. Empty buildings. Medina Properties buys them, builds them, and most of all, sells them. It’s someone else’s job to make sure they’re occupied, though. My job is done before a single person lives in the spaces I create.”

  He swept his hand at the bare room. A muscle twitched beside his eyes, so dark with some unnameable distress that they were black all through. Sophie wanted to smooth the muscle with her fingers, but Henry’s face was too dark at the moment. She settled for gently touching his arm. “But when it’s done it will fill with people. This will be someone’s home. Like the one Wayne and Darren are making in your other building.”

  His lips curved upward. “It was a nice change to get to see that part of it. The people who were going to live there. Normally, I don’t.”

  Sophie slid her arms around his waist and leaned into him, resting her cheek on his chest. “That’s why you don’t like to talk about what you do?”

  He still held the canvas tote in one hand, but he curved the other around her back. “It’s a pretty empty job. I travel around and look at empty buildings. Sometimes they’re just frames. Skeletons. It’s like I handle the dead. Would you talk about it?”

  “Gah,” she shivered. “That’s a morbid way to look at it.”

  “It’s how it feels.”

  She stretched up on tiptoe to brush her mouth over his. His lips still tasted faintly of the strong coffee they’d had with breakfast. “Well, this one isn’t vacant at the moment.”

  Henry set down the bag he’d brought with and cupped her face between his big hands. His eyes roved her features as if he were memorizing them. “When I saw you in Buenos Aires I was struck by the life, the passion in you. And when I saw you again through your studio window I saw you still had it, and you have it now.”

  Sophie bit her lip. His words were low and soft, full of meaning. When his mouth covered hers, she took it as an apology.

  The kiss heated, as it always did
when their lips touched. Their tongues caressed more boldly and each of them began to stroke questing hands over the other. Sophie trembled against him.

  She gasped in surprise when Henry drew away to reach into the bag he’d carried with them. He drew out a portable sound dock and his iPod, set them up deftly, and hit play.

  As the music began to pour from the small speakers, Henry straightened and offered his hand. “Dance with me.”

  Before she even thought about it, she was sliding her palm into his. Henry drew her close. Her belly pressed to his hip, her breasts to his broad, hard chest. One of his muscled thighs slid between hers. Looking up into his smoldering gaze, their lips were mere inches apart.

  He began to move them slowly through a simple eight-count, without embellishment, until they fell into a rhythm. Staring into the dark depths of his eyes, she paid only the most minimal attention to the movement of her feet. These steps were second nature to her, and with Henry they seemed even more natural.

  She inhaled sharply as he swept her right foot and then urged her into some backward ochos. He tilted her into a side volcado as she swung her right leg into a back boleo and then forward enganche. He lifted her then, dragging the toe of her shoe across the dusty wood floor as he moved several quick steps backward. When he released his hold, Sophie slid down his body. His thigh pressed against the sensitive mound of her pussy.

  He slid around her in a media luna, the frame of his embrace strong as he turned her to face him. The dazzling view spun in Sophie’s peripheral vision. It wasn’t nearly as gorgeous as the sight of Henry’s face. Passion chiseled his handsome features into something so potent and sharp it cut her straight to the quick. Desire ran through her veins every bit as much as blood.

  The song ended abruptly, as lost as they were in each other. His breath was certainly more ragged than the simple dance called for. He lowered his head, and Sophie met him halfway, lips moist and parted. The glide of his tongue against hers was like the dance, simple and sensual and heart-pounding.

  It went on for a long time, deep and sweet. Shivers of sensation cascaded over her skin, and her pussy pulsed in time with her heart. Sophie felt wet and ripe between her legs. She clung to him as he raised his head. “How about some wine?”

  She blinked, dazed. “Henry, it’s ten in the morning.”

  “Call it an early lunch.” He sat, stretching his legs out and crossing his ankles as he unpacked several containers from the bag. There was fruit, cheese and a bottle of wine. He had prepared all this while she was getting ready. Sophie relented, sprawling in the warm sunlight pouring through the windows.

  She closed her eyes, leaned back on her hands, and turned her face up to it as Henry used a corkscrew to pop the bottle of wine open. She heard the glug as he poured them each a glass of red wine. The scent of spice, chocolate, and ripe blackberries wafted up to her nose, mingling with the light smell of plaster and dust.

  The wood floor beneath the blanket was warm from the sun. Sophie could feel it seeping through the thin, soft fabric under her fingers. Something cold touched her lips. She jumped, eyes flying open. Henry grinned at her, holding a chilled raspberry up for her. She smiled and opened her mouth so he could place the tart, sweet berry on her tongue.

  “Mmm.” She licked her lips. “I think raspberries are my favorite berry.”

  Henry tossed a blueberry into his mouth. “Really? I think most people would say strawberry.”

  “Is that your favorite?” Sophie sipped her wine. Henry cocked his head.

  “I don’t know if I’ve ever thought about it before.”

  Sophie picked one each of the blueberries, raspberries, and strawberries spread out on the blanket in their respective containers. “Let’s do a taste test. Open up.”

  Henry obliged. She popped the blueberry in first, and then, after he had chewed and swallowed, the strawberry. And then his lips were pressed against hers.

  His tongue pressed up against her mouth, seeking entrance. He explored her cheeks and the line of her teeth, even slid along her soft palate before coiling around her tongue and sucking gently.

  When he drew back, Sophie was panting. He licked his own lips. “No, you’re right. Raspberry is the best.” She held up her hand, now covered in the juices of the berry he had neglected to taste. “Any napkins in that bag?”

  He shook his head, turned her hand palm up, and lowered his head. She realized his intent a moment before his tongue came out to slide across her palm, lapping the berry pulp from her hand. One by one, he sucked each juice covered digit into his warm mouth and gently licked it clean.

  Sophie’s breath stuttered out of her. Each caress of his tongue, each time his lips slid along her skin, she remembered the sensation elsewhere on her body.

  “Henry,” she moaned.

  When her hand was clean, he trailed his mouth up to her wrist all the way to her neck. His left arm pressed along her right, the soft hair of his forearm rubbing deliciously against her skin. The heavy silk of his hair brushed her throat.

  He released her arm and reached for the wide strap of the dress, dragging it down to her elbow, along with the bra strap beneath. His mouth slid across her collarbone, teeth scraping gently as he lowered his head to run his tongue over the upper curve of her left breast, bared nearly to the stiff peak of her nipple. He tugged the bra and dress down further, trapping her arm against her side but uncovering her breast completely.

  Confined as she was by the dress, she could only just brush her fingertips along the side of his face. The slight rasp of his stubble against her sensitive fingers made her shiver.

  “Oh, god,” she murmured brokenly, arching her back to press herself closer to his touch.

  Henry’s shoulders heaved with his own ragged breaths, and his tongue plunged into her mouth. He had begun playfully and sensually, but this had become something else. There was an edge of intensity in his kisses and caresses now. His practiced touch was rougher and more insistent.

  She cried out into his mouth as his right hand snaked beneath the skirt of her dress. His thick fingers brushed across her aching mound, briefly cupping her through the wet lace of her panties. Sophie rolled her hips, pressing her pussy into his palm.

  He squeezed her ripe flesh, drawing a gasp from her lips. “Dio! Sophie, I have to...” His fingers curled around the thin strap of her panties, twisting the delicate fabric. She cried out as the material bit into her skin, tightening over her slick sex. The small pain only lasted a moment as the flimsy cloth gave way and he ripped it aside.

  The rough drag of the lace over her engorged clit was a burst of pain and pleasure that had Sophie writhing beneath him. Her fingers grazed his t-shirt and curled into the soft cotton, pulling him to her. The purr of his zipper was loud in the bright, empty room.

  “Henry, yes! Please!” Sophie was turned on beyond belief by his passionate assault. The need to feel him inside her was all-consuming. She felt him hike her skirt up and brush the sleek head of his cock between her slippery lips. Henry groaned, rubbing the wide crown up and down her slick slit quickly before notching himself into place at her snug entrance and plunging into her.

  “Sophie!” he cried. “Dolce amore, Dio, che me si bruciano!”

  The words tumbled from his tongue, meaningless to her. She didn’t care. What she cared about was the press of the rock hard length of his flesh within her. She rocked her hips, sliding her pussy along his rigid shaft. Henry moaned, hitching her legs up around his waist. She locked her ankles together behind his back.

  He fell upon her, mouth crushing hers, tongue demanding against hers. The rough fabric of his jeans chafed her thighs as he pistoned his hips. Sophie panted, undulating her body to meet his every thrust.

  She heard the muffled thunk of glass hitting wood and realized one of them had knocked over her wine glass. It would be spilling across the dusty floor. They should do something about it. But the desire to stop Henry’s fevered pounding of her throbbing pussy was non-existent. The
wine could wait. Sophie could not.

  “Henry! More! Harder!” Her cries echoed back to her off the bare walls, ricocheting around the wide open space.

  His hand left her breast, sliding up to cup her cheek. With each powerful thrust, the base of his cock slapped her highly sensitized clit. Wave after wave of heated pleasure rolled through her body.

  Sophie’s fingers were claws in Henry’s t-shirt as she clung to him. He murmured unintelligible words against her skin as he dug his fingers into the soft flesh of her buttock. She could only pant his name, over and over. She licked at the salt of his skin, biting the firm mound of flesh at the base of his thumb.

  He grunted, burying the entire length of his cock inside her clutching passage. She felt the twitch and spasm of his flesh within her, the hot rush of his seed flowing inside her. It put her over the edge. Sophie’s orgasm swamped her like a molten wave, sweeping all other thought from her as her body seemed to melt with pleasure, everything else incinerated beneath the heat of that moment.

  They both stilled, remaining joined for several minutes. She stroked her hands down his back, over the soft cotton of his t-shirt. It was an odd sensation, being nearly naked beneath him while he was still fully dressed.

  “Well,” she breathed softly, mouth curving into a smile as she scanned the room. The sunlight over Henry’s shoulder was slightly lower in the sky, a little more golden. It warmed up the stark space, painting the walls a burnished yellow. They’d spilled the containers of cheese and fruit, scattering the blanket with reds, blacks, blues, and creamy whites and yellows. “This place seems decidedly more lively now.”

  “It does, doesn’t it? I should bring you along to all of the new buildings.”

  “Oh!” Her eyes went wide, remembering the sound of the falling wine glass. She glanced frantically to her side. “The wine!”