Pointe Noire (The Noire House Book 1)

by Lacie Thorne

  “Excuse me?” Garret asked from behind his drafting table, glaring across the room.

  His assistant rushed in after me, panting and sending me her own death stares. “I’m sorry, Mr. Lacroix. He wouldn’t listen—”

  Garret waved a hand in her direction. “It’s fine, thank you, Louise.” When she nodded and exited the room, he stood, hands shoved into his pants pockets as though trying to appear calm. Too bad for him it didn’t work. “Would you like to explain what the fuck you’re doing here? Or have you come to steal another piece of my life?”

  I scowled. “I didn’t steal anything. Emily was never yours, and it’s not my fault you were too oblivious to realize that.”

  His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t move. Frozen in place like an angry marble statue. Meanwhile, I paced, my fury needing some kind of outlet or it might boil over, and I was liable to do something I’d regret. Something Emily might never forgive. “Do you really care so little about her?”

  The bastard didn’t even respond, didn’t blink or move an inch. I’d known Garret for years, but this was the first time I’d noticed his chilled lack of emotions, the controlled expression he kept locked on his face to hide his true feelings. No wonder he wasn’t right for Emily. She needed warmth and fire, flames licking at her skin. Not this cold routine. Not a block of ice that refused to fucking melt.

  “Are you getting off on punishing her like this?” I growled.

  “Fuck you, Sam.” The words were angry, but spoken with zero inflection, all monochromatic. “You have no idea—”

  “I know that she misses you like crazy.” I swallowed the hint of jealousy churning in my gut, something I was still working on every damn day. But he needed to know exactly what he was putting her through. It might finally crack that shell he wore. “I know how much you’re hurting her by giving her this silent treatment bullshit. I know that you broke her heart today.”

  “Well, she broke mine first,” he said in that same bland tone as he sat back down.

  I barely suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. “Really? So, this is some juvenile tit for tat game to you?”

  His lip curled, a small sign I was getting to him.

  Good.

  Except he turned back to the drafting table tilted at an angle, working on whatever project he was designing this time and effectively dismissing me. Emily’s choked cries echoed through my head, and I wished I could replay them for him. Let them haunt him until he pulled his head from his own ass.

  I stepped closer to his desk, leaned my fists on the flat portion beside the drafting table, and spoke quietly as I aimed for his heart. “It’s not my fault she doesn’t love you the same way you love her.”

  His jaw clenched and fingers tightened around the pencil in his hand, proving I’d hit my target, but he carried on sketching.

  “It’s not her fault, either.” I rose and shook my head. “Punishing her like this won’t change that.”

  My anger fizzled to ashes in the face of his indifference. I didn’t know what I’d really expected from confronting him, but it definitely hadn’t been this. He could have at least shown some sort of remorse. Hell, I’d even take bellowing rage over this. I was about to leave, but as my hand touched the doorknob, he stopped me.

  “I’m not punishing her, Sam.”

  I glanced over my shoulder, but his gaze was still fixed on the designs in front of him. “It sure as fuck looks like punishment.”

  “Well, it’s not.” He finally looked at me. “I’m not trying to hurt her. Fuck, it’s the last thing I want, but—” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “You don’t know what it’s like watching the person you love with someone else.”

  “She said she’d had boyfriends in the past.”

  He scoffed. “Please. There’s a huge difference between how she was with them and what I saw—” He broke off and cleared his throat. “Look, I want her happy. I wouldn’t have paid for her to visit The Noire House, or encouraged her to go in the first place, if I didn’t want the best for her. But honestly, I expected her to find someone different.”

  I frowned, stepping away from the door and closer to his desk again. “Different?”

  He smiled, but it was a cold sort of grin. “For years, Emily shot me down because our kinks didn’t match, but I know you, Sam. We both play hard, so what makes her think it’ll work with you when she was so adamant it wouldn’t with me?”

  I didn’t have an answer. Mostly because I’d worried about the same thing. My only explanation was that I’d been gentle with her so far, played much softer than I usually did. I doubted that was the sole reason, so I kept my mouth shut. Especially when I already suspected she’d take to harder play like a pro, enjoy delving deeper into the twisted shadows of pleasure and pain.

  Silence hung between us until Garret finally broke it. “I’m not trying to hurt her, Sam. Or punish her. Or whatever the fuck else you want to throw at me.” His icy shell dropped for a moment, his heartache shining through for a split second. “But I can’t sit on the sidelines and watch her with you.”

  The same reasoning Emily said he’d given her. I’d thought it was a load of shit, some line he’d given her to conceal the truth, but now I knew for sure. There’d be no quick fix. No getting over it and moving on. Not yet anyway.

  With a nod, I turned to his office door, half expecting him to stop me with some final warning to treat her right, or he’d kick my ass. It’s what I would have done.

  But he didn’t.

  I wasn’t sure if that was a sign he trusted me. Or Emily. Or if it simply meant he was still too pissed at both of us to worry. Either way, I silently vowed I’d never hurt her. No matter how far into the lifestyle we explored, I’d always take extra care not to push her beyond her limits.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Emily

  Months passed, and while the missing chunk in my heart that Garret took with him never hurt any less, I was happy. Sam’s company was slowly coming together, although I vetoed the name he’d chosen—S and Em. Ridiculous, and far too glaringly obvious for those who really understood the play on our names.

  I suggested The Roche, and while he still teased about using his original idea, I knew he preferred mine. Much more professional, plus his name carried a reputation in the dance world that would draw attention.

  Meanwhile, I was finishing up my last few months with Martin’s company, my contract coming to a close once the season ended. Sam’s guest production, his own darker take on Alice in Wonderland, would be my final starring role before I officially joined him as principal—a long way from the retirement I’d feared was looming over my head not too long ago.

  A huge chapter of my life was coming to a close, and I hated that Garret wasn’t there to see it through.

  He didn’t even attend shows anymore, but I’d heard via the dance rumor mill that he was still funding Martin’s company. I wondered how much longer that would last in my absence, and I suspected Martin shared my concerns. Not that he showed it. He was heartbreakingly supportive of my transfer to Sam’s company.

  “You’re thinking too hard.” Sam’s rumbled words echoed from behind me. “Stop trying to perfect your technique, and just let your body feel the movement.”

  I stood in the center of his home studio, naked except for my black and white striped legwarmers and deep red pointe shoes with the leather straps. My hair was twisted up into a staid ballerina bun, though I felt anything but demure. Excitement tingled along my nerves as I watched Sam in the wall of mirrors, striding slowly towards me.

  He stroked a hand down my spine and over my ass, stopping to pay extra attention to the colorful bruises decorating both cheeks. His other hand circled my torso, skimming my sternum until he wrapped his fingers around my neck, grip light and teasing. I tilted my head to the side, and he obliged, kissing my jaw.

  “Try it again,” he whispered against my ear, biting the lobe before he let me go and went to restart the music.

  Ligh
theaded, I repeated the series of steps, letting the sensual music wash over me, trying not to overthink it as he demanded and just feel. I pictured the performers from Le Salon Rouge, trying to mimic the free way they moved.

  Sam was working with the owner, Penelope, to somehow incorporate her performers into his productions. I couldn’t help feeling like the weak link, but Sam kept assuring me I had the skill, I just needed to relax and stop dancing like a prim ballerina.

  Not easy when that’s what I’d been striving for my entire career.

  In exchange for sharing Penelope’s dancers, I’d be headlining every Sunday evening’s show at Le Salon Rouge, making me their seventh act for each week. La Fleur, Sam had suggested they call me. At first, I’d balked at the idea, imagining a role as another red rose, like that of Le Petit Prince, stuck under a glass cloche. Some fragile, untouched creature, and nothing at all like the sexy dancers who’d perform the other six nights.

  Of course, Sam had other plans.

  He choreographed my routine, taking inspiration from the humble dandelion. Wild and free, he proclaimed when we started putting the steps together. Dancing as one of the little dandelion seed wisps blowing on the breeze was a world away from the rose that had almost broken me after my injury. I knew Sam had done it on purpose, and I loved him even more for the care he took with me and my career.

  While my costume was a pure white ballet tutu, with LED lights sewn into the skirt, Sam and I had been practicing mostly naked to help bring out my sensuality. Thank God he had a home studio—a home we now shared. I still had my rental, but since the revelation that Garret owned it, I’d barely spent much time there. It helped that Sam wanted me with him as much as possible, so I’d all but moved into his guestroom.

  Although we either shared his bed downstairs or the one in the corner of the studio.

  I ended the dandelion routine, then turned to Sam. He stared at me with a wicked grin curling his lips. Approval shone in his eyes and sent a wave of pleasure rolling over my skin, leaving the fine hairs on my arms standing up straight.

  He opened his arms, and I leaped across the studio, soaring at him with total trust that he’d catch me. No matter what, he’d never let me fall. I believed that with every molecule inside me. I landed against his chest, our balance perfect—far more perfect than I’d ever had with another partner.

  He was my other half, both in dance and life. The piece I’d been missing all these years, unable to find it until a chance meeting in the dark. I was sure of it.

  Sam pivoted, twisting us towards the bed. “I need you,” he growled as we tumbled onto the messy sheets, still rumpled from our earlier play session.

  He fell on top of me, a heavy weight I loved pressing me into the bed, and I wrapped my legs around him, holding him tighter. Closer. I grazed my teeth over the edge of his jaw before whispering, “I’m yours.”

  With a deep groan, he took both my wrists and pushed my arms above my head, cinching them in one hand so his other was free to wander. His fingers trailed down my bare torso, skimming the side of my breast while his thumb brushed my nipple.

  I gasped, arching my body along his and wishing he’d shed his clothes so I could feel the heat of his body.

  Skin against skin.

  No barriers between us.

  He pulled back a few inches, dark brown eyes fixed on mine. “Stay.”

  I rolled my lips, staring as he slipped off the bed and undressed, revealing his sculpted body as if he’d heard my thoughts. When he was even more naked than I was, he stroked his cock, gaze traveling over me before settling at the juncture of my thighs. I didn’t need his words to know what he wanted.

  Arms still above my head, I shifted my legs apart, letting my knees fall open as wide as possible. Sam smiled as he crawled back up onto the bed. Slowly. Kissing a path from one leather-bound ankle, up my stripy legwarmer-clad calf, licking my bare thigh until he reached my pussy. He teased, stroking me with his tongue far too softly, nipping me with his teeth so gently it drove me crazy.

  “Sam,” I moaned, rocking my hips to get closer. “Harder, please.”

  He settled one palm on the lowest point of my stomach, right above my pussy, and pressed me into the bed. “Easy. You don’t control this, Emily. I decide how and when.” He grinned up at me across my torso. “Or if at all.”

  I closed my eyes and whined, hoping like fuck that he wouldn’t deny me. I was practically on edge from the sensual routine and his eyes on me all afternoon. There was no way I’d cope if he—

  His mouth settled on my clit, kissing and licking with far more pressure, enough to send me close to the cliff in seconds. When I thrashed about, his hand on my stomach held me harder while he slipped two fingers into me with the other and told me to let go. I came with a sharp cry, the orgasm going on forever as he continued to lave his tongue softly over my clit and thrust his fingers in and out in the slowest rhythm.

  Once he’d wrung out every possible ripple from my body, Sam kissed his way up until his mouth met mine, plunging his tongue between my lips. He clenched his hand around my neck, squeezing for just a second before letting it fall to my breast to tease my nipple. His mouth drifted to my other sensitive bud, licking and sucking before biting down hard and eliciting a whimper from me.

  I was barely holding on to my senses, and we’d just begun. Were still in the early stages of what he’d no doubt have planned. I knew what he was capable of now. How far he’d push me before the night was through, and I loved it. Loved the teases and torments, the bites of pain and the unyielding pleasure he gave me all at the same time.

  He was perfect. Gentle and rough, treating me with the utmost care even when he drove me further than I thought I could stand. Beyond my mental limits. And somehow I knew there’d still be so much more in our future. New thresholds to break. But I trusted Sam to understand how far he could push me without breaking me.

  He’d proven worthy of that trust over and over.

  His mouth teasing my nipple, Sam trailed his hand back down to my pussy, dipping one finger inside me. “Fuck, you’re wet, Emily.”

  His hand left me to palm his hard cock, guiding it to my entrance, then holding my hip as he slowly slid into me. I gasped at the exact moment he groaned, the sounds mingling in the studio as he pushed all the way in to the hilt, stretching me so my inner muscles gripped him tight. I was right on the edge again, ready to fall over the next cliff, but I tried to wait for Sam.

  He held himself up on one elbow, staring into my eyes as he kissed me with a quick brush of his lips against mine. “Not yet, okay?”

  I moaned, forcing back the need to come, and nodded. He fucked me hard and slow, pulling out on a long glide before slamming back in and repeating it over and over until I clawed the pillow under my head. I squeezed my legs around him to stave off the impending orgasm, knowing my inner thighs would be bruised in the morning, but I didn’t care.

  His gaze never left mine. Nor did his mouth, lips continuing to brush against me with every hard thrust. Jagged breaths meeting jagged breaths. His fingers sank into the flesh of one ass cheek, holding me closer. Upping the intensity to another level.

  “Sam,” I gasped, unsure I could wait another second.

  “Don’t,” he growled into my mouth, the hand on my ass moving to give me a couple spanks to the back of my thigh. “Your orgasms are mine. Wait until I tell you to come.”

  I cried out, but his lips swallowed the sound. He slammed into me harder. Faster. His hand moved between us to tease my clit, and I gripped him tighter, pleading with my eyes so he’d finally let me come.

  “You feel so good,” he murmured across my mouth as his cock pulsed inside me. He nipped my bottom lip, then licked the light sting before uttering one, blessed word. “Now.”

  I came apart under him, shattering into a million glorious pieces while he kissed me, pushing through my rippling inner muscles until he joined me.

  Sam held me close and buried his face in the curve of my nec
k, kissing a path up to my ear so he could whisper, low and husky. “Good girl.”

  THE END

  Final Note

  Thank you for reading Pointe Noire. I hope you enjoyed Sam and Emily’s story! I’m planning a Christmas novella to continue their Kinkily-Ever-After, and then Garret will be tormented—uh, I mean, seduced by his very own heroine. Look out for his book coming in 2019.

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to my amazing critique partners—Janet, Megan, Gia, Marty, Lee, Livi, and Lucy. It truly takes a village to write a book, and I don’t know what I’d do without all of you and your unwavering support. You’ve gone above and beyond the call of duty, and I am eternally grateful!

  About the author

  Lacie Thorne is a faithful reader and writer of romance, with a splash of BDSM and darker themes. A lifelong night owl, you can often find her awake well into the early hours of the morning, either immersed in a book by a favored author, or exploring her own shiny new characters. Follow her on Twitter (@lacie_thorne) to keep up to date with all the latest news.