by Lacie Thorne
And she sure as fuck was in good shape. The tights hugged her ass and thighs as she bent to scratch Blue’s chest. He paced excited circles around her, unable to sit still for longer than a few seconds at a time, as I hovered in the hallway, out of sight for the moment. She laughed, crouching down so he could give her chin a little lick as she buried her fingers in his dense fur. I never thought I’d be jealous of my dog, but right then I wanted to switch places. Have her fingers in my hair as I lapped at her skin.
She glanced up, tearing her eyes from Blue, and finally spotted me watching them. “Have a good run?”
I nodded and stepped into the kitchen to grab two bottles of water from the fridge. “Yeah. Maybe next time you could join us.”
She smiled as I handed her the water. “I don’t know. Judging by all that sweat, I don’t think I’d be able to keep up with the two of you.”
I sent her a wicked grin and drank deeply from my water bottle before setting it on the counter. I stared at her throat working as she swallowed several little sips. When she’d screwed the cap back in place, I reached out and pulled her into my arms. Another woman might have been thrown off balance, but her poise meant she only swayed a little, clutching my upper arms. I gripped her tiny waist, my thumbs kneading the barely-there flesh of her stomach.
I sealed my lips over hers, my tongue sneaking into her mouth, tasting her as she tentatively kissed me back. There was a faint hint of salt on her lips I suspected was thanks to my sweaty skin, and I hoped to hell she wasn’t put off. If she was, she didn’t show it, her face content when I pulled back a few inches.
“Come on, I think we could both use a shower.”
A little tremor rippled through her, and I took that as a resounding yes. We left Blue curling up on Emily’s yoga mat and headed upstairs to the master bath. I got the water on, careful not to make it as scalding hot as I usually liked it, then turned to Emily. Her messy bun was first to go. I set her thick hair loose, letting it tumble over her shoulders before I dropped to my knees, hands landing on her hips. I curved them around her ass and kissed her hip bones, earning a sharp gasp from her.
Emily buried her hands in my hair exactly as I’d longed for only minutes ago. I slid mine down her thighs, dragging the black and white striped legwarmers off. Her pale pink tights that fit her like a second skin were next, my fingers grazing her legs as I slowly dragged them down her thighs, knees, and calves. When they were free of her toes, I rose to my feet. Steam billowed around us in the bathroom, the hot water in the shower more than ready.
I pushed her hair aside and unfastened the little buttons at the nape of her neck, freeing the black lace collar of her halter top leotard. Emily slipped her arms out so I could peel the tight spandex and lace off her torso, down her legs like the rest of her clothes. Thank God she hadn’t bothered with pointe shoes because I doubted I’d have had the patience to fiddle with the damn ribbons.
I made fast work of my own clothes, shrugging out of them in record time, my eyes locked on Emily as much as possible. She stared, biting her lip as her gaze wandered.
I picked her up and carried her to the bath, placing her inside the tub, not quite under the spray, and climbed in behind her.
“Too hot?”
“No.” She ducked under the water, letting it soak her hair before she pushed it over her shoulder and let the hot cascade pound against her back. “It feels good. Perfect.”
Fuck. My thoughts mirrored her words, but a niggling voice in the back of my head still worried about her back. She was clearly in more pain than she wanted everyone to believe. Typical fucking dancer.
Unable to keep my hands off her, I ran my fingers over her collarbone, down the swells of her breasts and thumbed her nipples. She arched into the touch, head falling back but angled so the water rushed against her shoulder.
I grabbed my shampoo and lathered it into her hair, rinsing the suds carefully so the soap didn’t sting her eyes. She didn’t complain, not even when I soaped the rest of her body, slowly washing every inch of her skin. I knelt in front of her, unfazed by the hard tub beneath my knees, and paid extra attention to her inner thighs, making her wait for my fingers on her pussy.
I pressed soft, barely-there kisses to her hips, then stroked my tongue down, my hands palming the spots where her ass cheeks met her thighs. I knew she wanted me to dip between her legs, but instead I traced back up to her hipbone, grazing my teeth across her skin before sinking them gently into her flesh.
Emily cried out, her hands falling to my shoulders and holding me closer so I knew it wasn’t pain—or at least not unwelcome pain. I teased her longer, kneading her thighs and ass between my hands and using my mouth, tongue, and teeth until she bucked into me, her moans turning desperate.
In a swift move, I jerked one leg over my shoulder, exposing her pussy. I feared a real touch would send her over the edge, past her point of endurance, so leaned closer and blew a hot breath against her, so close but not nearly enough stimulation. Her nails dug into my shoulders, the burn of ten pressure points searing me. I repeated the move until I was sure she’d broken my skin, then slowly set her leg back down and rose to my feet.
Her eyes were hazy as she looked up me, pleading without words. I almost took pity on her, but that would ruin my entire plan, so I kissed the hell out of her instead, driving my tongue into her mouth the way I wanted to drive my hard cock into her pussy. My hands found her breasts, toying with her nipples again to keep her on that high for a little longer. She ground her hips against me, and I hissed at the friction on my erection. I was almost as on edge as her.
Emily smiled and wrapped her hand around my cock, squeezing. My fingers tightened on her nipples, tearing another moan from her. Still she worked her hand over me, pumping her palm up and down, then focusing on the head and bringing her other hand into play. I hated how adept she was at getting a guy off, and yet she’d only ever come with me.
Stupid fucking idiots.
I came with a growl, jerking in her grip, kissing her even harder and practically mauling her with my hands. When the high receded, I traced my fingers over her, soothing her skin in apology. She shook under my touch, still on edge, still desperate to follow me into bliss.
“Soon,” I breathed across her lips.
She nodded, but her eyes had glazed over completely, her breathing ragged. I pulled her into my arms, holding her close and running my hands up and down her back, lightly massaging the muscles heated from the water.
I reached for my soap, but she took it from me, working a lather between her hands before washing me the way I’d washed her. We exited the bath, both smelling of sandalwood and a hint of sex. She’d left her bag downstairs, so I wrapped a towel around my hips while she dried off and ran to get it for her.
When we were both dressed, and she’d swept her hair up into a neat, wet bun, I treated Emily to poached eggs on a bed of spinach and half a grapefruit, pleased when she ate everything on her plate.
See, Garret, the type of food makes all the difference.
Our mutual friend feared she’d developed an eating disorder, but she didn’t seem to have trouble when presented with nutrient-rich food instead of meaningless fats and sugars.
“So, what are your plans for today?” Emily asked, sipping at her second cup of coffee, Blue curled up on the floor by her feet.
“Well, I need to stop by Garret’s office to hand in a list of changes to the renovations upstairs. Then I was hoping you’d join me at a few meetings I set up for today.”
She frowned at me from across the table. “What meetings?”
“The first is with a local dance school with some very promising talent. Most of them are still too young, but you know how our world works. Got enough skill and sometimes age isn’t such a big issue.” I shrugged. “Besides, it’s going to take time to get my company running so I want to know what up and coming artists will be available later down the line.”
Emily smiled and nodded, understanding exa
ctly why I was interested in visiting a dance school. I had to admit that I liked that about her, that I could talk to her about my job and she’d understand. Ballet was a demanding career and required a lot of dedication. Those outside that world often couldn’t understand the devotion a dancer put into it.
“I’ve also got appointments with the artistic director at the new avant-garde dance company—”
“Break Pointe?”
“That’s the one. Garret recently discovered them and suggested I take a look.” I dropped my gaze, feigning interest in my coffee. Break Pointe wasn’t Garret’s only suggestion, but I wasn’t ready to admit that to Emily. She’d find out soon enough. “I’ve heard they’re experimenting with really interesting new styles, but mostly how to incorporate lighting to enhance the audience’s experience.”
Emily smiled. “I know. A friend of mine just joined their company as principal, although they don’t like those terms. They’re a lot more casual about roles and titles.” She bit her lip, a crease forming between her brows. “Aren’t they worried you’re going to steal their dancers?”
I laughed. “I’m meeting them to discuss their lighting experimentation, as a favor, not because I intend poaching their dancers. Garret helped them out with a bit of seed money, so technically the favor is his, but when they heard my name, well—”
I shrugged. My name and reputation in the dance world got me into helpful positions, but it always left me a little uncomfortable. Maybe because I remembered my humble beginnings with Martin, and I knew what it was like not to have the privilege of a weighty name behind you. Garret didn’t suffer the same guilt, happily throwing his money at everything to get him further. I shifted in my seat and tried to push the discomfort aside.
“So, this friend of yours.” I met Emily’s gaze. “What does she—or he—think of the company?”
“She,” Emily emphasized, “is very happy. She used to be in all my ballet classes, but she doesn’t like the—the structure, the strictness of the ballet world. I think she does better in a more casual environment. They’re really easy-going there.”
“Isn’t everyone in Nola?”
“Not Martin. You should know that.”
I laughed. “True. I thought maybe he’d gone soft in his old age.”
“No luck there.”
She didn’t exactly sound unhappy by that, despite her words, and I suspected while her friend longed for freedom, Emily enjoyed the tight boundaries of classical ballet. I intended to poach her for my own company—with Martin’s permission—but I wondered if it might not suit her style
If she’d be unhappy.
I cleared my throat, determined to worry about that another time. “I thought we could do an early dinner tonight before a show.” I phrased it as a statement but waited for her nod of approval, noting with a small amount of amusement that she hadn’t asked what show. I didn’t want her to guess where we were going, wanted to see the surprise light up her face when we got there later. “We can stop by your place after my appointments so you can change.”
“Anything in particular? I don’t want to be over or under-dressed.”
I hid a smile behind my coffee cup. “Something nice, but not too fancy. Maybe a little sexy.” My grin faded. “There’s one other thing I need to tell you. Garret’s meeting us there. He knows I’m going, that I’m taking you, and he asked if he could tag along. I couldn’t say—”
“Of course not.” She smiled, but the tension around her lips and hint of sadness in her eyes gave her away. “He’s our friend. He’d be suspicious if you didn’t let him come.”
My shoulders sagged in relief. “We’ll have to behave in front of him.”
She shrugged one shoulder. “I think we can manage for one night. Besides, it’s a show, we’ll be too busy watching the performance.”
I bit the inside of my cheek to contain my smile this time, but eager excitement coursed through my veins. It wasn’t just any old dance show we’d be watching, but I didn’t want her to know that.
Not yet.
Chapter Eighteen
Emily
I spent the day with Sam, meeting artistic directors and other companies. And it was glorious. I expected to be bored most of the day, but it was the opposite. We started with a quick stop by Garret’s office, but didn’t even see him because he was in a meeting. I was quietly relieved, already nervous enough about spending the night with both Sam and Garret.
The dance school gave a short group performance to welcome Sam, then the three top girls and two boys gave solo performances using their own choreography. Their technique wasn’t perfect, but I loved watching the passion and drive in every movement.
Sam insisted on lunch before his next appointment, and we spent the entire time talking dance while I tried not to fangirl over his career. I failed. But then reminded myself how we’d started the morning. And ended the night before. My awkward nerves didn’t exactly go away, but rather shifted. He didn’t seem to notice, too caught up in a story about how one opening night almost didn’t happen.
When we arrived at Break Pointe, the new avant-garde company, they were about to rehearse a number they’d been working on all week. Sam asked to see it, and since he was Samuel Roche, they obliged.
They were a small company, but they’d crafted a little theatre they used for all their shows, the number of seats limited to keep it intimate. I waved at Katie as she took center stage, reminded it’d been months since we’d gotten together for drinks. Her tall, slender frame was easy to spot as she graced the stage, even as the lighting department played with various effects.
It was fun and free, beautiful in a different way from my own company’s productions. It reminded me of school theatre, playful and joyful, discovering new things and learning without the strict set of rules in classical ballet. Something pierced through my heart, part of me longing to join the excitement. My muscles longed for the freedom of experimentation I didn’t get a chance to explore in my own world.
I tried to brush it off while Sam and I shared an early dinner, reminding myself that I’d chosen classical ballet for a reason. It was my first love. But I couldn’t deny the twinge in my muscles that ached for new artistic expression.
Sam dropped me off at home while he went back to his place to dress for our evening plans. I made quick work of another shower and styling my hair into loose waves. Then I stared at my wardrobe, unsure what to wear. I spent too much time in leotards and legwarmers, so my fashion sense was—well, non-existent.
With the time ticking away and Sam’s return drawing closer, I quickly put on underwear and a lacy bralette. I picked out a pair of deep red, high-waisted shorts and a flowy, black blouse with a sheer back and a slit from collar to hem that exposed my skin when I moved. I tucked the blouse into the front of the shorts, then finished off the look with black thigh-high legwarmers and a pair of ankle boots, aiming for a sexy ballerina style I hoped Sam would like.
I kept my make-up light—sticking to the basics because I had no clue where we were headed. It couldn’t be a formal show or Sam would have been more precise on the dress code. I was adding a splash of lipgloss when a knock sounded on the front door. Nervous excitement coiled through my torso, circuiting between my stomach and heart. I didn’t really care where we went, as long as Sam was there.
When I opened the door, Sam looked devastatingly handsome in dark jeans and a black button-down, his hair still a little damp. He gave me a lopsided grin as his gaze raked over every inch of me, lingering on the section of bare thighs between my shorts and legwarmers. He stepped closer, wrapping one hand around my neck, thumb tracing the column of my throat, while the other went to my waist.
His lips hovered near mine, teasing me but not quite touching. “You smell like berries.”
“Lipgloss,” I whispered right against him.
I thought for sure he’d kiss me, but he didn’t. His fingers tightened around my throat, squeezing just a little. My head grew fuzzy, my breath
ing ragged, but still he didn’t kiss me. I moaned, a desperate, wanton sound I doubted I’d ever made in my life. He smiled, inching even closer without actually touching me.
I thought I’d combust if he left me like this. He was already denying—
His tongue snuck out to lick my lips, a slow glide that had me swaying. I grabbed his arms for support, hyper-focused on the wet heat of his tongue.
“As much as I want to drag you inside and finish this, we need to go.” He stepped back, hands still holding me in place so I didn’t collapse. “Garret’s waiting.”
I got the subtle reminder. We needed to behave tonight, not get wrapped up in moments like this while my best friend bore witness.
Sam stayed close while I locked up, unsteady on the heels of my boots thanks to him. A true gentleman, he held the car door open for me as I got in, then went around to the driver’s side. He really was defying what I’d expected in a dominant—not that it was a bad thing. The opposite, in fact.
He drove us to the French Quarter—while I fixed the lipgloss he’d smudged—and stopped outside a closed praline store on Royal Street.
“I don’t think they have shows here.”
Sam glared at me teasingly. “Can’t drive down Bourbon Street this time of day. We’ll have to walk the rest of the way.”
As usual, The Quarter was a hive of activity, locals and tourists alike, and it only got crazier when we reached Bourbon Street. Sam held my hand the entire walk, until we arrived at a little hole-in-the-wall style café with a glowing red sign. “Le Salon Rouge?”
Sam nodded, a smile tugging at his lips, but he didn’t breathe a word as he led me inside. It was quaint—cozy—and almost full to bursting with tables and patrons. A casual bar lined one wall, the rest covered in art nouveau posters that were at once sweet and sexy. I assumed we’d be meeting Garret here before the show, but Sam pulled me through a set of louver doors that opened up into a sort of grand foyer with a huge spiral staircase.
