CLOSING NIGHT: Driven Dance Theater Romance Series, Book 2 (Standalone)

by Brianna Stark

He follows me out the door. Two girls enter the can with wide eyes, and my cheeks flare up more. Then again, I’m too angry to give a damn. I storm out of the bathroom and down the hall before I turn around to give Patrick a piece of my mind.

  “You are such a shit, Patrick Moss. Always have been.” I clench my teeth together and dig my foot into the ground. Patrick’s hand has found the side of my neck to caress, and his gaze cuts into mine.

  “If refusing do this in the can—even if that means giving myself blue balls—means being a shit, then yeah. I have other plans for you, Londyn Verona. Much bigger plans.”

  His words send a shiver through me, and the look in his eyes makes my body feel boneless.

  I shake my head with a slow, creeping smile. “I am so going to kill you,” I say through my teeth.

  “You can do that when I’m done with you in, say, twenty-four hours. Think you can wait?”

  “Guess I’ll have to.” I lead him down the hall, ignoring the odd envious look from female customers. He pays the bill. We hail a cab and decide on his place, only because it’s closer.

  He shuts the door when we arrive, his lips curving upward as his eyes move down my body in that way they do.

  There’s a moment of pause as we take each other in before I yank off my blouse and step out of my skirt, and he lifts his shirt over his head.

  I push him back onto the bed.

  That killer smile is back, along with the bulge in his jeans that I quickly unbutton.

  “Don’t even think about rushing me, babe.” On his back, his gaze heats me as his palms cup my hipbones.

  “You had your turn to call the shots. Now it’s mine.” I unclasp my bra.

  “Fair enough.” His smile is gone as his rough fingers find my sensitive flesh. His jaw tics, and he closes his eyes.

  I kiss the smooth skin under his chin and run my tongue over the rim of his ear as his thumbs pinch my nipples and his teeth graze my neck. I let his large cock press along the v between my legs as I swallow the breath stuck high in my throat. I brush along the smooth skin of his erection one more time, feeling overwhelmed with desire as he opens his top drawer. I take the condom from him and hastily rip it open to roll it over his length. Then I line the thick tip of his cock up with my entrance. It’s been a while since I have had sex and with his generous size, it hurts at first but I am also super wet and ready. It doesn’t take long for him to slip all the way inside me as I lower myself over top of him.

  His moan is husky as my breath catches.

  “Fuck, you feel good.” His abs clench, with every muscle in his body.

  I let my chest be warmed by his smooth skin as his fingertips trace the length from my back to my rear, and I ride him at my tempo, which quickly becomes fast and hard.

  Because being on top of Patrick makes me ready to orgasm immediately, I have just the idea to get him close to losing it too.

  “From behind,” I suggest, breaking my first spasm, taking charge as the tips of his rough fingers graze the side of my hip. He follows along and rises to his knees to move in from behind. I lift myself up so the flexed muscles of his pecs press against my back.

  “You know that kills me, baby.” He comes in closer.

  “That’s why I like it,” I say.

  He lets out a hoarse chuckle as he wraps one strong arm across the front of my shoulders to hold me in place with his forearm. His fingers find my mouth, and his other hand parts me open.

  He slides into me.

  I press my hips back with a gasp, and he holds my upper body still against him.

  “Fuck your pussy is tight,” he utters.

  I want to fall down on my arms to bang my hips into him. But he knows me too well. He knows that if he lets me go, it will be seconds before I am crying out in release. That’s why he holds me close.

  His lips sear my neck, and hips control the motion of his dick in and out of me. I press my hips back. Deeper.

  Deeper.

  There’s nowhere to place my hands other than on his. I can’t reach between his legs and pleasure him in the way I want, so I slide the fingers of one hand along his forearm. My other hand finds the thumb that is stroking just above the place where he is inside me.

  He keeps plunging. This time it’s his tempo. His breath crawls down my neck as he groans and paints the side of my ear, my jaw, my neck—wherever he can reach—with light kisses.

  “Let go,” he whispers. Insanely irritated by the movements of his finger over my sex, it can’t wait any longer. He releases his grip on my pinned shoulders with a harsh breath, so I can let my weight fall onto my arms.

  The weight of my body surrenders into his thrusts, and that orgasm… oh man… it’s here. Now.

  But…

  I let his length slide out of me. He groans in agitation, but when I turn around to face him, the corners of his lips curve upward.

  “Come here, baby.” His voice is husky as his hands pull me onto his lap.

  After letting my gaze take in his incredible body, I crawl over top of him. His palms cup my butt, and I place my legs on either side of his hips, lowering myself down onto his beautiful cock. With a pained moan, he sinks back into me.

  “Much better,” he mumbles into my hair.

  “I needed to see you.” I brush my fingertips along the strong bone of his cheek and press my lips to his.

  I try to keep the rhythm slow to feel his full length, even though it drives me crazy, and I just want to push him down on the bed in missionary position and let it rip, but the way his kisses ache in my mouth and the tips of his fingers caress me, I don’t want this feeling to end.

  If it ends, I die.

  An agitated noise slips from the back of his throat.

  “You asked for slow.” I stop my hips from rocking as we kiss. He runs his fingers through my hair, the palms of his hands tilting my neck so his mouth can open to my skin. I let my hands travel up his abs, feeling every nuance of his firm muscles. It isn’t long before our mouths find their way back together.

  “Fuck, did I miss you.” His words brush my ear, and I let my gaze fall back into his.

  Our fingers tangle together as we look into each other’s eyes.

  We kiss for a long time, until I feel his erection nudge inside of me, and even though I know he wants me to keep riding him, to keep moving, the way we are sitting can’t be good for his knees, so I lift off of him slowly.

  “Londyn,” he growls, opening his eyes halfway. Maybe it’s meant to prolong the inevitable, and I keep pulling away from him, but I know he wants this to last just as long as I do. If I keep going—I am so close, and riding a very fine thread—it will all be over.

  “I just want to admire you.” I lie down on my side and pat the place on the bed beside me. His legs slide from underneath him and his biceps bulge as he crawls down beside me.

  Face to face, I let my fingertips trace his shoulders, his taut pecs, the dip of his waist, his nipples and abs, and then I lower my fingers down to the smooth velvet skin of his dick. I wiggle my hips to get closer to him as we kiss, and his strong hand—the one not propped under his head—pulls me in to him by my lower back. I lift my knee over his hip. His face is drawn with pleasure as he sinks in. I rest my hand on the curve of his waist as I rock.

  He lowers his tongue to my nipple, and my back starts to arch as I moan. As quickly as my hips pull away, he thrusts back into me with his hand cradling my ass.

  “Love you, baby.”

  His words come as he rolls me on top of him, and I push my palms into his hard flesh. My back arches and my eyelids fall shut, feeling what he said in every way. I let my head fall back as his thrusts become harder and faster and I lose all sense of reason. His deep twitches blend with mine as he moans my name.

  Then I fall on top of him as our shivers of release jerk through me.

  Us.

  Yes, yes, yes.

  When my eyes pop open in the morning and I realize where I am, I slide from underneath Patrick’s h
eavy arm and push away the sheet tangled between our legs: it’s walk of shame time.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, I rub my eyes. My frigging clothes are spread from the bedroom to the front door of Patrick’s apartment. In the nude and on my tiptoes, I attempt to collect my belongings very quietly.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  So caught.

  Patrick raises a brow. His voice is groggy but serious in tone, and I turn around, having only found my bra, which isn’t much to cover myself up with. So my hands will have to do. My cheeks are burning.

  The white sheet that tangled around us as we slept falls away from Patrick’s waist: Oh dear god, there it is again. It’s aimed straight up and looking at me.

  “Come back here.” Patrick’s hooded gaze falls to my ankles and makes its way up my body. “Or do I have to come get you?”

  “No.” I cover my private places with my hands. In the daylight, and without the help of whisky, I am so much shyer. My eyes scan the floor for the rest of my clothes, but I don’t see them.

  “No proper goodbye?” He licks his full lips, and I’m scooting over to grab the sheet on the floor, which is the only thing around to cover up with, when he stands up. In seconds, his hands are on my hips.

  Goodbye. I hate that word.

  “The thing is…” I start to feel vulnerable, naked in the light of day. “I never wanted to say goodbye.” The emotional words tug at me as his hands slide down to my hips.

  “And I can’t say goodbye.” His thumbs roll over my hipbones until he’s back on the bed and I’m crawling over top of him, and his huge cock, as he reaches for another condom.

  “We had a deal,” I remind him, and myself, while letting him push into me for the last time. I shudder as his rough fingers guide my hips until he’s balls deep inside of me. My muscles clench around him, and I ride him one last time into release. The look in our eyes is unflinching. Hot, yet shadowed with regret. Through each flutter, grasp, moan, and violent twitch, we come back.

  Pleasure. Pain. Love. Reality.

  Explosion.

  We slide apart. He turns away so I can get dressed, and I slip out the door, knowing it’s finally over.

  10

  I light up on the steps of Driven after a trip to my Brooklyn apartment to have a shower and change into a pair of Genetic Denim leather skinny pants and a white cashmere sweater. It is a relatively quiet winter day, and a steaming Americano warms my fingers.

  That’s until booted footsteps thud from up the street, and just hearing the swagger in their rhythm sends a cool shiver up my spine.

  “Howdy.”

  Lake Leduc winks at me in his all-black attire as he hops up the stairs.

  “You shouldn’t smoke. It’s bad for your health.” His lips curve into a sly smile, and I scowl at the black helmet propped under his elbow. I butt out my cigarette and walk right past him, while he leaps in front of me to open the door.

  “Thanks. But there’s nothing wrong with my health.” My lips curve up into a tight smile.

  “Just looking out for you, kid.” The gleam in his eyes is condescending, or maybe that’s just how I feel about all sexy men at the moment.

  “Back in town?” I only ask to break the long, awkward silence as we wait for the elevator.

  “What can I say? The fast lane was calling.” He grins. The elevator bell dings. He holds out his arm for me to step in and then presses the number for the wardrobe floor. When it’s my turn to get out, he holds open the door, and I step out, shaking my head to myself as he follows. I walk down the hall to wardrobe, ignoring him, and reach into Mansur Gavriel for my keys.

  He’s hovering.

  “Can I help you with something?” I flip my hair over my shoulder, not waiting for a response.

  He snorts at my words, and I roll my eyes. Men. He glares at me, and a few strands of dark hair fall into one eye.

  “I have a fitting.” He looks at me funny, and I look up at the calendar on the wall. Sure enough, there’s a notice from Cory tacked overhead that I had purposely ignored yesterday, being annoyed with him. “And I am sorry about giving you the ribs last time. That wasn’t very nice of me.” He cocks a lip.

  “Apology accepted, so long as you don’t cry in my wardrobe.” I place the notice on my table.

  “Ouch.” He smiles.

  When I turn around, Lake is already undressed and sitting on one of my stools.

  “You can put your clothes back on, because your costume isn’t ready yet.” I press my lips together.

  There’s a pause before he says, “But I’m getting so good at this.”

  “Cute.” I flip through the rest of the papers piled on the counter below the bulletin board, hoping he’ll go away, but that doesn’t work. “You can check back at say…” I look up at the clock on the walls. “Three o’clock.” Maybe by then I will have the means to deal with another man who’s way too full of himself.

  His bare feet hit the floor as he hops off the stool, and he zips up his pants.

  “Happy hour. My favorite time of day.” He extends his arms into a black tee and pulls it overhead in a way that ensures I’ll get a flash of his cut chest and abs.

  Once he’s dressed, he palms the door and looks back at me with a curl of his lip. I pull a cooler kind of smile in response, before fixing my eyes on the one thing I need to do if that costume is going to be anywhere near ready for three.

  I scan over the pages of Sylene’s contract and sign my name at the bottom.

  Patrick and I are officially done toying with one another. We are broken up, have been for a while, and always will be. So if he wants to have a photo of us together on the cover of his breakup album, and if Vin, Terry, and Sylene think it will help his career, then I have no reason to object.

  Using the scan app on my phone, I email the signed contract to Sylene, which is a lot easier than asking Renee to do it.

  Now that it’s done, I can finish this frigging costume.

  It has already been cut out and tacked together. It just needs a few seams so it will hold together enough to give the general vision.

  I slide the material under the pressure foot of my sewing machine, position it correctly, then step on the pedal. Every once in a while I catch myself looking up at the door to see if Patrick might pop through, or at the clock to see how fast the day is going by, and even with the looming deadline, the day drags on and on.

  If Patrick keeps his promise—which I’m pretty sure he will, judging from his reaction when I left and the fact that I haven’t heard from him yet today—I will eventually get used to not having him in my life. Humans get easily attached. Patrick and I said our final goodbyes. It is just a matter of time before my heart mends. Besides, I actually gave Patrick up two years ago. I am used to life without him. Or had been. Though it felt amazing, maybe being with him has only made the healing ahead of me that much more daunting.

  “Troubling thoughts, Londyn?” Lake is standing in front of me, his hands shoved in his black jean pockets. “Want to share?”

  I don’t know why I decide to tell him what’s on my mind, but I do.

  “It’s my ex.” I pull Lake’s costume out from under the sewing machine and hang it on the rack. “We’ve had a hard time calling it off while working together, and I had this brilliant idea that… well… you know how it goes.”

  Lake shakes his head. “Sounds about as bad as me and my ex.” He pulls off his shirt and unzips his pants as I hand him his costume. “She left me for the effing music director.”

  I let out a laugh and then cover my mouth when I realize he’s serious. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh. You just caught me off-guard.”

  “It’s okay.” Lake raises a brow. “I would laugh too.” He steps into the legs of his costume and pulls the bottoms over his hips.

  It’s hard to imagine anyone leaving Lake. He is beyond gorgeous, extremely confident, charming, and obviously very talented, and by the way the other women in thi
s building look at him, he could probably have any one of them he wanted, which, rumor has it, was the case at City Ballet.

  “He doesn’t even make his own music. He just effing directs it. Actually, I don’t know what the hell he does, and she says I’m too… sensitive,” he huffs, reaching his arms into the top.

  I laugh again while cinching the material of his costume over his shoulders, and he gives me a look. “Sorry.”

  “You don’t think I can be sensitive?”

  I clear my throat and try to focus on the costume in front of me, tilting my head, looking the piece over, maybe, yep— No… this could be interesting. If anything, it’s definitely a statement piece.

  “So what did you do to get over her?” I tack the material.

  “That part was easy.” He adjusts the sleeves of his costume and resumes position. “I made myself merry and knocked boots with all of her friends.”

  “Oh.” I laugh, and he lifts his brow in warning before he shakes his head, letting me know he’s gotten over it enough to joke about it too. Sort of.

  “So how’d that go for you?” I jot down a note and look back at him.

  “Great.” He shoots me a flat smile. “I would highly recommend it. Why, are you thinking of trying it?”

  “I do like my shoes. Don’t mind the boots, either.” I pull a face, and he laughs.

  The surprising conversation almost has me smiling, until I start thinking about Patrick again, because I haven’t had the desire to knock boots with anyone other than Patrick for as long as I can remember. But I am not willing to make one more sacrifice for his career. I know too well how that story goes. Just look at Mom. Shit. I bite down and squeeze my bottom lip with two fingers in concentration, placing my focus back on work.

  “Ouch!” I prick my fingers with a pin and shake it, something that never happens.

  “You okay?” Lake cocks a brow.

  “Yeah, it’s nothing.” I blink before resuming my concentration.

  “What do you think?” I ask once everything is held in place, even though I don’t usually ask the dancers their thoughts on the design.