Black Butterfly

by Sienna Mynx

  “Nolen, oh, don't stop, oh, please . . .”

  “I won't,” he breathed hoarsely against her ear. He kept thrusting in and out of her channel, which she felt grow tighter with each withdrawal. He flicked his tongue against her earlobe. “You're mine now, Sydney, mine.”

  Nolen withdrew and turned her. Sydney was forced to her knees by a gentle tug of her hair. He slammed into her and she gasped then rolled her ass, moaning softly. He cupped a hand and swatted the left side of her ass in time with his slow methodical thrusts. Her eyelids dipped as every delicious veined inch of him filled her.

  He swatted her again and she cried out in delight. Sydney pushed back against his tunneling cock wanting him to go deeper, further.

  “Don’t move,” he growled.

  How could she obey such a request? Her inner muscles clamped down on his cock, released, and clamped down again, she needed movement. He released her hair to run both hands down her dipped spine, slick with sweat. He then grabbed both sides of her ass and she silently prayed he’d give it to her, really give it to her.

  Nolen forced her thighs to shut locking his cock inside of her with his balls brushing against her clit.

  Sydney held her breath and tried to be still, but she quivered from her waist below with anticipation. And then it came. Slow, lovely thrusts that were so tender she felt tears form behind her tightly shut lids. He moved as if synchronized to music and her lips parted with a deep sigh.

  “How’s that babe?” Nolen asked.

  “Oh so good Nolen.” She said obeying his wish not to move, but to allow him to move her.

  “It will be, always, good between us.”

  He started again, working himself in and out of her, picking up momentum and speed until she and he both crashed on top of the mattress.

  And soon she knew what he meant. His entire body locked and she was crushed beneath him. He moved a hand between them and fondled her clitoris as he pumped away, driving them both to a shared, glorious orgasm.

  When he withdrew and cool air covered her flushed body she released another sigh of relief. The man had been more than even she had imagined. He turned her to him, his breath on her face and his promise of more pleasure to come in her heart, she crashed under him, releasing with him and groaning loudly. They remained locked in each other’s arms. Sydney couldn’t tell where she began and he ended. They were one.

  Exhausted, his warm body slick with sweat and her body felt glued to his. Both of them were panting, wanting to say more, but finding it impossible to speak. He eventually withdrew. He kissed her face and fell over to his side. “You're amazing.”

  “It wasn't just me,” she said, breathing hard, her hand rising to touch her tender throat.

  He looked at her, puzzled. “Of course it was just you.”

  “You don't understand. I've never gone this far.”

  “So?”

  She turned and looked at him. “So? This is a first for me, I don't know what I'm doing.” Nolen laughed. He propped himself on his elbow and gazed down at her. “Trust me, you know how to make a man want to worship you day and night with the way you release for him.”

  “But you've had all these other women.”

  “And I had sex with each and every one of them. I've only made love to one other person in my life. Just like you, I'm a novice at this.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You could've fooled me.”

  “You're going to be a star. Do you know that?” he asked.

  “Will you love me when I'm famous?” she joked.

  “I sure will, and I'll sell you your first overpriced condo.” He winked.

  She playfully punched his chest. He moved the covers from under him so they could both climb inside.

  “Now lie in my arms and let me have you all night.”

  “And tomorrow?” She scooted close to him.

  “We deal with tomorrow, tomorrow.”

  “I like the sound of that.” She yawned, drifting in the warmth and pleasure she found with her face pressed to his chest.

  Nolen rolled over to feel Sydney next to him. She moaned and came in closer to him when he withdrew.

  Her hand went to his chest. A night of passion with her was like a dream. They lay in bed talking, making love, and talking again. She told him of her life in Carolina that revolved around her father's rules. His objections to her dreams of being a dancer came as a crushing blow to her.

  Nolen listened to the sadness and wanted to share his own. But none of the words came. His mother did the best she could he imagined. When she remarried Heathcliff Adams’ the move to Westmore changed his outlook on life—the life he wanted to lead. He nearly told Sydney that his last name wasn’t Adams, he was actually born Nolen Banks. To do so would mean he’d have to explain the trail of lies and deceit his father blazed. He wanted to tell her, but he just couldn't bring himself to do so. He had tried with a woman before, but she uncovered his weakness in the tale and used it against him. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

  Somehow she understood his silent brooding, and instead of pressuring him, she made love to him. She wanted to get on top because she said she felt his cock in ways she had never felt a man before. He found that odd, but he liked being her test subject. The more she gave herself to him the more she discovered the things she enjoyed. For instance, she liked it when he took her from behind, and she loved tongue play, no hole on her body went unexplored.

  Nolen wanted more nights like these. He'd have to talk to her in the morning. She would be his.

  Chapter 9

  Possibilities

  Sydney was late! After her passion filled night, it wasn't her fault. She’d had to fight her way out of Nolen’s penthouse. Sydney prayed that the first session hadn't started yet. But the sharp, commanding instructions from Madame Gustav echoed out into the empty hallway.

  “Great,” she mumbled. After a deep breath, she braved the door and pushed it open.

  Gustav’s head turned and she favored her with a dour look. “Vell, look who haz decided to join uz!”

  “Sorry, Madame, I—”

  Gustav waved her hand and silenced her. Sydney nodded and darted over to the ballerina barre where the other dancers were stretching and working their muscles. She tried to swallow her nervousness, but the frost in Gustav’s silent glare chilled her. Sydney’s stomach knotted, making it hard for her to breathe evenly.

  Get it together, girl. Don’t let them see you sweat, her inner voice warned. If she blew it before she’d even started, it would kill her.

  “I dink zome of you believe you don’t to have to earn it. Dat now you’ve arrived, no?” Gustav asked. “Well you’re wrong! Diz iz not a zure ding for any of you! I will cut doze who don’t carry dey weight, doze who aren’t committed; doze who dink dat discipline is zomeding you learn instead of earn. I can and I will remove you!” Gustav walked around the girls. She stopped at Sydney’s side. “Zenter Stage, shall we begin?” Sydney cut her eyes to the instructor without turning her head. She gave an obedient nod. Madame Gustav flashed her a half smile and then turned to the group. “Lez’s begin!” Trish stepped off the elevator, she panted. With her kit in one hand and the leather tote for her canvas and easel in the other, she scanned the numbers to the suite doors. She’d caught hell on the train with the business crowd, trying to make room for her supplies. Later there was more drama as she lugged her tools down Park Avenue. Searching the golden numbers on the red doors, she found Todd’s private studio at last. She propped her stuff against the wall and knocked.

  Todd opened the door within seconds, holding a black coffee mug. A look of curiosity filled his eyes at the sight of Trish, flustered and out of breath. “Trish, welcome,” he said, stepping back. His robe fell open, revealing his chest.

  “Hello,” she said, remaining in the doorway.

  “Come in,” he said, reaching with his free hand for some of her load. She passed it over to him and then lugged her other things inside.

  “
Did I come at the wrong time?” she asked, flushed. “I thought we said nine?” Todd smiled. “No, I got a late start. Excuse me while I get dressed. You can set up anywhere you like.” Trish looked around. Photos of fashion models lined the walls and she wondered if Portia knew him.

  Choosing a spot near a large window where natural light was pouring in, she unfolded her easel and stood it upright.

  Todd came back into the room wearing a long white linen shirt and wide-leg white linen pants. “Where do you want me?” he asked.

  Trish jumped and turned, eyeing his clothes critically. “Is that what you want to wear?” Todd looked down at himself. “This is Gucci.”

  “Ok, but white is kind of boring,” she said, putting down the canvas and folding her arms. “I think you would look good in blues.”

  Todd laughed. “I thought I was the client?”

  Putting her hands on her hips, she smiled. “If I were one of those models you’ve got hanging from the walls, and I came here in all white, for, let’s say, an autumn ad where you had fall colors as a backdrop, wouldn’t it throw off your balance?”

  He smiled. “I’ll go change. And for the record, those models on the wall don’t have anything on you.” Her smile faded and she frowned. Was he flirting with her? She could tell by his suave demeanor that many women found him attractive, which made him a bit too arrogant for her taste. However, she knew her tendency to be wary of men, so she dismissed the comment.

  After she finished her setup, she walked around the loft. The floors were polished to a perfect shine. The sparse artwork was expensive, and she recognized some of the designers, but it was all impersonal and cold.

  He was an artist, too, so why would he surround himself with such shallow pieces?

  Todd came back out wearing a thin blue shirt with a wide collar and long sleeves.

  “Very nice,” she said.

  He walked over to her. “Now what?”

  “Depends on you, Todd. What type of painting is this? Portraits are usually a tribute to a person’s strengths and accomplishments. Is that what you’re seeking?”

  “I don’t care. I just wanted you to paint me.”

  The frown lines above her brow deepened. “You don’t care?”

  “I just wanted a chance to know you, Trish, to have you here with your attention focused on me.”

  “So you don’t want a painting?” she asked, clearly irritated.

  “No, no, I do,” he said, touching her hand. “But I’d also like you to treat me as more than a client. Paint me as you would a friend.”

  She removed her hand from his reach. “You want to be my friend?”

  “If you’ll let me,” he said with a meek smile.

  Trish stared at him. She stepped back and got a good look at him.

  “Something wrong?” he asked.

  “I don’t like games. I thought you were serious.”

  “Trish, don’t misunderstand me. I'm very serious about investing in your talent. I’ve never heard anyone speak so beautifully about art, my art. C’mon, we have things in common. Why is it wrong that I want to know you? How better to know you than to see myself through your art? Right?” She wondered again if she was overreacting, and blushed at her rudeness. “Well, friend, plop your bottom over there on that uncomfortable but very expensive sofa, and let’s start,” she said with a forgiving wink.

  Todd looked behind him and laughed. “That’s a ten-thousand dollar Harman original.”

  “And it’s originally ugly.”

  Shaking his head, he sat. “How should I pose?”

  “The way that’s most comfortable for you.”

  Sliding down to the end that had a raised curved arm, he put his left arm around the back of the sofa and bent his leg to rest his foot on the sofa cushion. “How’s this?”

  “Perfect.”

  Panting from Madame Gustav’s demanding workout, Sydney leapt into the waiting arms of a young, handsome dancer. He lifted her above his head and turned, then allowed her to slide down his body.

  “Zenter Stage, give me more! More!” Gustav snapped.

  She swung out of his arms and Bet, along with Emily, came up on her right. Together they continued the dance, striving to meet Madame’s demands, despite being exhausted over the grueling regimen.

  The door opened, but the troupe kept dancing. “Enuff!” Gustav finally ordered.

  Sydney wheezed, relieved to see Bet and Emily equally exhausted. The three of them were now in the lead for the prima role in the ballet. No one said it, but they all knew. And Madame Gustav made Sydney do more lifts than the others to see if her feet hindered her grace, or if her weight hampered her rise. So far she was passing the test.

  Juan stepped inside the practice studio. He had combed his platinum curls on the top of his head into a mohawk. He wore a sheer, long-sleeved pink shirt over a white tank top and pink gauchos with a pair of pink riding boots. “Ms. G, I need to take a dancer,” he said.

  Madame Gustav ignored him.

  “Ms. Thang!” he shouted to Sydney over the music. “Xenia wants to see you!” Sydney’s heart stopped. She’d avoided Xenia all morning and gone straight to rehearsal. Now she was being summoned, and that couldn’t be good.

  Madame Gustav stopped dancing and glared at Juan as Sydney walked around the dancers to reach the door. “You tell Ms. Minetti that she’s not to interrupt my rehearsal time! I will not tolerate theze intruzions!” Juan put his hands on his hips. “Really? Last I knew, you worked for Ms. Minetti, oh and I don’t work for you, so take your orders across the street to Burger King because this aint ‘have it your way’!” Sydney touched his arm. “Let’s go,” she said.

  “Who the hell does that witch think she’s talking to?”

  Walking down the hall as Juanita muttered about kicking Madame Gustav’s ass, Sydney swallowed her nervousness.

  Ignoring Juanita, Sydney opened the door to Xenia’s office. Xenia sat behind her desk wearing an all-black business suit

  A silver-haired white man in the chair facing her turned around and smiled as Sydney entered. Sydney smiled back.

  “Come in and close the door, Sydney,” Xenia said politely.

  As Sydney obeyed and stepped inside, she noticed a young white man in suspenders and Clark Kent glasses staring at her. “Take a seat,” Xenia said, studying her face. Sydney sat next to the silver-haired man. The younger man spoke first. “My name is Raymond Benson, and I’m the head writer of this production.” Sydney nodded. “Nice to meet you.”

  “I’m George Davis, the director,” the silver-haired man said, extending his hand to her.

  Sydney shook it. “Nice to meet you.”

  Raymond sat down on the corner of Xenia’s desk. “Ms. Allen, we’ve tossed around many ideas from classical to modern, and it wasn’t until recently that I was inspired to create what I think will be my best work to date.”

  Sydney nodded, still confused.

  Xenia leaned forward over her desk, resting on her elbows. “I want success, and, initially, I envisioned a modern dance, but I had no unifying theme.”

  “Until we saw your performance,” George added quickly.

  “Excuse me?”

  Xenia snorted. “Your audition, honey. You do remember it, don’t you?”

  “Yes, yes, ma’am, I do,” Sydney said, blushing.

  Raymond grinned. “You inspired me! I want a modern ballet with you headlining. We’ll call it Black Butterfly.”

  Sydney’s eyes lit up in astonishment. “Really? Oh God.”

  “Don’t thank God, sweetie. Thank me.” Xenia smirked.

  “Can we take a break? It’s been two hours.”

  Trish laughed. “I’m sorry. You should have said something earlier. Of course we can.” She put down her brush.

  Todd got up to look at the painting, but she stepped around it to stop him. “I don’t think so.”

  “Come on. A peek won’t hurt.”

  “Nope.”

  He stared down
into her green eyes. “I’m sure it will be well done.”

  “Why, thank you, Todd. Now where is your bathroom so I can wash my hands?” He pointed behind him.

  “Can I trust you to be a good boy and not peek?”

  “Do I get a reward if I’m good?”

  “Your reward is that I finish the painting.”

  As soon as she left, Todd turned to look at the painting, but stopped himself, deciding to honor her request. Instead he went to the kitchen and began to fix sandwiches for lunch. Hearing Trish enter the room, he turned to see her slipping her hands into her jeans pockets.

  “We can call it a day,” she said. “I know you’re busy.”

  “Have lunch with me.”

  “What is it?”

  “Bologna. I have other deli meats, but bologna is a weakness of mine. Blame it on my grandmother.”

  “Interesting. Are you frying it?”

  He stopped. “No. That doesn’t sound very appetizing.”

  “Are you kidding me? Who eats bologna without frying it?”

  “Me, for starters.”

  “Where are your frying pans?”

  Todd retrieved a stainless steel pan, which she took graciously. “Watch and learn,” she said as she took the butter and bologna from the fridge. Turning on the stove, she dropped the butter into the pan, and he watched it sizzle into yellow bubbles as it melted. She threw in two pieces of bologna, which quickly began to swell and puff up. She quickly cut the edges to bring down the swelling.

  “The trick is to burn the edges,” she explained. “Portia taught me this.” Todd flinched at the mention of Portia, but she didn’t seem to notice.

  “I promise, after you try this, you won’t want bologna any other way,” she said, smiling.

  He moved the hair shielding the side of her face to her shoulder.

  She looked at him warily. “Don’t touch me,” she said softly.

  He frowned. “Why?”

  “I don’t like to be touched,” she said, sticking a fork into the bologna and turning it over.