by Katy Evans
He slips his hand under my dress, to the top of my thigh. I’m glad it’s dark, the light focused on the dancers, because I’m starting to color bright red. I raise my hands and stroke his hair at the collar of his shirt, caressing it. He kisses my throat and shoves the necklace I’m wearing to the side; then he dips his tongue there, to my pulse point. I nuzzle into the top of his head and melt into the sofa.
His eyes smolder.
He caresses his hand down my back and nudges me closer, until my body is nestled against his. He lowers his head to brush his lips over my mouth, then moves them to feather over my ear. “You’ve been throwing fire at me all night. I know exactly what to do to quench that.”
My arms clench around his neck and my body presses closer. His hands spread on my back and he drops a hot kiss on the back of my hair and flattens me to his chest until we’re almost one.
He lowers his hands to hold my hip bones and dips his head and kisses down my neck, to my collarbone, my shoulders, down to the nook under my necklace, and back up. His lips roam over my jaw, to my ear, and then they head to my mouth.
Aching all over, I let my hands wander up the muscles of his back, and he takes my wrists and pulls my hands up above my head to rest on the backrest of the booth. He interlaces our fingers and starts to kiss my lips, softly. I push upward to feel him, rubbing my breasts against his flat chest. “I need… God, I…” I gasp in his ear.
He expels a breath, trying to control himself. He loves foreplay, but this time it feels like we’re both too wound up. He cups my face and turns my head to kiss me, deeply and passionately, and though I can tell he’s trying to be gentle, I can taste the violence in his kiss.
“Hey, girlfriend. Hey. I bet you can’t do this.” One of the girls shakes her ass to show me.
“Just because I’m sitting on it right now doesn’t mean I can’t use it,” I flash back as I pull away from Ian.
“Oh, well, let’s see!”
My head is spinning. Did I offer that? Hell yes, I did. After his kisses I don’t feel like the black swan; I feel like the white one. Ian reaches up to sip his drink, and finding it empty, calls the waiter and tells him, “Straight up on the rocks.”
“Ian can tell us how well we rate, huh?” the girls insist.
I look at him and he’s leaning back, looking at me as he continues with his delicious caresses on my knee.
“All right.” I stand and climb up onto the table, kick off my heels, and slowly, without looking at anyone but Ian, I start to dance to “How Deep is Your Love” by Calvin Harris.
I move a little, turn my ass one way, and then the other. I laugh and though I’m not dancing ballet, I know how to move, and I notice nobody is looking at me, they’re looking at Ian. And Ian sits there, immobile, his eyes so fiery and bright he almost looks mad. His eyes crawl up and down my body hungrily, and the little bit of inhibition that remains is nearly gone as I feel the high of Ian wanting me. I’m putty and I don’t know why, or maybe I do.
Because I love him.
Because I’ve loved him for a while, no matter how much I tried ignoring it.
He looks into my honeyed eyes, outlined by sooty lashes that I spiked up tonight with the mascara I used on our way here as I tried to dress up. I thought I was underdressed. I thought, when I saw the women in the club, that there was more than enough fabric covering my body, but now Ian looks like there’s not enough.
“Okay,” I say, dropping down. “Don’t flunk me,” I warn, feeling a little high and reckless. I’ve never done that before.
“On a scale of one to ten, Ian?” one of the girls asks.
“Whoa, Ian,” the guy with curly hair, who I realize must be Loki, says.
Ian clenches his jaw and stares down at his fingers as he curls them into his hands, then uncurls them. “One to ten?” He raises his eyebrows after a few heart-stopping seconds and says, “She broke the scale.” Hilton cackles and Ian leans over and spreads his arm around me, drawing me to his side in a familiar, both protective and possessive, way.
Hilton whistles. “Ian doesn’t buy companies or buy the stock—he either owns it all or takes no part in it.”
Ian whispers in my ear, his voice husky, “Are you going to dance like this for me in private tonight?”
The sharp, clean smell of his soap envelops me, weakens me. My senses are on Ian Ford overload. I nod, and he groans as his mouth opens on mine. I press myself to him and let him get my lipstick all over his lips.
A dozen people come talk to him, and though he scrapes the back of his hand over his lips, I love seeing the tiny feminine mark of my coral lipstick on the corner of his sexy mouth. Ian, what’s that? Ian, how about that? A lot of them are women. Are you filming in the city?… Some women blatantly come up to offer to see him later tonight, but he whispers a negative and sends them on their way. I blush from where I sit.
“Men like him won’t ever marry again. Not after what his ex did. He’s looking for someone to get over the wife, don’t you think?” the cougar is telling Loki.
Ian covers my ear with one hand and draws me to his chest, his eyes concerned but comforting. “Tomorrow they’ll have someone else to skewer.”
“But tonight it’s me.”
His lips look swollen from all our kissing, and I can feel his lust for me swirling around us. “Did you know you were this popular?”
He laughs.
“Did you?”
“What does it matter?”
“I don’t understand why, when you had all these women available, you chose me to be the one to fuck in room 1103.”
He frowns. “Let’s take this outside.”
He comes to his feet and helps me up to mine, and the watching crowd steps aside as he leads me to the pair of velvet curtains that open to the terrace.
“Where are we going?”
“To be alone for a while.”
“I… I haven’t even finished my drink.” He tugs me outside and I gasp at how pretty it is, with the balcony overlooking a waterfall wall, surrounded by what could only be a forest of trees—in the middle of New York.
“This is surreal,” I say, and when he doesn’t reply, I turn to find Ian standing a few feet away, looking at me. Need explodes in my stomach when my eyes meet his onyx ones.
He eases us against a nearby pillar, fingers digging deliciously into my hip, and drags me up against him until we’re flush.
“I didn’t pick you; I wasn’t even looking for you. But here you are, kitten. And I want you.” I grab his shoulders as he slides a hand up and into my hair and opens my mouth with his. Breaths mingle. His kiss is possessive, determined.
“I…” I lick my lips when we stop. “Is this casual to you?”
He raises his brows at my question. Maybe it’s not an appropriate time to have this conversation, but I need to know if those women were right—if he’s using me. Or if my body, and my heart, know the truth. And there’s more between us than what my brain can possibly understand.
“I’m having a lot of fun with you,” I begin. How do I even phrase it? How do I say: I don’t want you to break my fucking heart, you stupid, sexy man?
“I’m having a lot of fun too.”
“Sex with you is amazing. Euphoric. Out of this fucking world. I’ve never been so in love with a guy’s dick. It’s perfect. Gorgeous. Thick and—”
“I get it. You like my dick. That’s not what I wanted to hear,” he says, seizing my shoulders in his warm grip and pulling my face back to his. “I know you tremble. Hell, I’ve never liked to fuck someone so much. I like fucking, yes, but with you it’s a whole other level, Sara.”
“What level?”
“What level?” He sounds exasperated. “Every fucking level. I want you, Sara. You. Not just your pussy.”
I laugh and flush, shaking my head. “I’m sorry I went on about your unbelievable—”
“That’s okay, my dick liked it, and I’m very glad you like my dick. But I want to know how you feel about
me.”
“You?” I’m shell-shocked for a moment by the question. “Well, you’re selfish, arrogant, you need a lot of work.”
“But I’m not hopeless,” Ian says, raising one brow almost commandingly.
“No.”
He exhales, the corner of his lips moving. “Then let’s do it, Sara. Let’s have a go at it for real.”
I look away, feeling like my composure is under attack. How much do I want this?
So much it scares me.
“Look at it this way: as a bonus you get my dick.”
A soft laugh leaves me as I gather the courage to glance back into his face, and I notice his features aren’t exactly stoic. His expression is taut with passion, a living light shining in his eyes. I don’t want to admit that I like him, too, and that I am drawn to him, recklessly, like a magnet. But he’s opening up to me, and no matter how scared I am, I don’t want to shut him out.
“Look, I know you have reservations. But my divorce will come through very soon. And I want you to think about it not being so casual anymore.”
“It’s not casual for me,” I admit. “It hasn’t been for a while. But I don’t want you to hurt me, you stupid, yummy motherfucker.” I groan.
“Good that it’s not casual. And come on, Sara.” He laughs a low, sardonic laugh, tutting at me. “We both know that’s not what I want with you.”
Fuck this guy.
I want this, and I want him, and I reach out to grab the back of his neck and plant a solid, wet kiss on him so that he knows it.
That night, on our way back to his home, I feel a little tipsy and know Ian has had his fair share to drink too. I feel like I’ll die if I don’t have him, and I’m desperately trying to shake my fears out of my mind. Maybe it’s too soon to get involved with a man whose marriage just shattered. Sex is sex, but this isn’t just sex here, is it?
He leads me into his home and up to the bedroom, addressing the elephant in the room.
“You know that if I had a production company, I’d hire you on the spot?”
“And I’d dance exclusively for you.” I smile and kick my heels off. The move making me dizzy. “Then again, right now, I’d dance in a corner for free.”
Ian unbuttons and shrugs off his shirt, his muscles hard as he tosses it aside. “I’ve been thinking, and I don’t want you to miss this opportunity.”
Surprised, I unzip and start undressing down to my underwear. “I don’t want to miss it either, but I’ve been thinking too and…”
Ian raises his brows.
I sway on my feet, laughing when I almost fall.
“Would you care who you work for? Whether it’s someone you loved or hated? Would you care when you want it this much?”
“No, but…”
“But what?”
My stomach clutches in fear of my own feelings for this guy, so I press my lips together and playfully send my panties flying in his direction. “I want you more, you stupid Suit!”
“Stupid Suit.” He catches them in the air, looks at them, then straightens, narrowing his eyes as he walks forward, smelling my panties. “Stupid Suit…” he says, and I giggle and ease back as my hot Suit walks forward, shoving my panties into his slacks pocket.
The way he’s looking at me decimates me. I start to pant, unsteady on my feet as I back away.
I think I’ve had too much to drink. We both have.
And it’s been a crazy day. Ian is walking forward, and I’m backing away. My mogul starts to shake his head in warning. “Don’t push me away, Dancer.”
“I’m not,” I say, but I start rounding the room to keep from hitting a wall. Ian continues chasing me. His gaze narrowing, a slight confusion in his dark eyes.
I’m feeling raw and exposed, so vulnerable I want to hit him for doing this to me.
“You’re not the only one who’s scared, Sara. I’m a man who’s used to getting whatever I want. Women throw themselves at my feet. But reconcile that with being cheated on, on the infidelity spectrum?” He reaches out, seizes my arm. “I didn’t know what we had between us from that first night, and I wasn’t sure I wanted it, Sara.”
I stand there, absorbing what he’s just said, too afraid to believe in this. In this being able to happen to me, to him. Too afraid now that I know he’s been fighting his own feelings for me just like, maybe, I have for him.
And suddenly all my feelings for him boil in my heart to the point where I feel like I have two choices: implode inward, or explode outward.
I exhale shakily, my voice raw. “I’m afraid nothing lasts. Nothing, not even life. I’m afraid of attachment and loss and love and even loss of a love such as dancing. That things that can make me happy will one day be gone. And see? You’re not even guaranteed. I don’t even know if you’ll really want to commit once you’re free. You’re not even free yet! Maybe you’ll never be. You’re not even mine, Ford. What if by the time you’re free, you’re waffling…”
“I’m not waffling.”
“You just said you didn’t want to want this.”
He sets his forehead on mine. “But I’m yours.” A low growl.
“That’s not true. At the club, you said you wanted it to be serious, and then you come here and admit you didn’t want this. Admit it, Ian! You’re using me to feel better about yourself, and when you’re free of your wife you’ll be done with me,” I cry, suddenly, all my fears rising to the forefront.
“I’m not unsure about this. Dammit!” he growls, his gaze shooting bullets at me.
“I’m going home.” I reach for my clothes on the floor. “Don’t you dare stop me, don’t you dare.” He grabs me and pulls me up to my feet, then yanks me to his hard chest.
I start to fight him. Far stronger than I am and just as exasperated with us, Ian grabs my hand, curling his palm around my fist to halt me. “You’re scared, Sara, and that’s all right. But don’t think for a second I’m not scared too. I don’t mean to hurt you. I’m not letting you go and I am not fucking leaving. But I’m fucking open here—and it doesn’t feel very good.”
“See? You’re scared!”
“You’re fucking right I’m scared—I’m fucking in love with you! If I used to feel anything for my ex-wife, it pales in comparison to what I feel for you—do you get me, Sara?” He shakes me, his iron control suddenly snapping. “Do you, baby?”
My eyes sting as a raw and primitive reaction to his words takes over me, and I nod. We both fall still. Suddenly, I wind my arms around his neck and press my face to his, my eyes blurry as I press my nose into his throat. “My dad loved my mom…” I painfully remind him.
“I’m not your dad.”
I swallow. “I’m not your wife, either. You need to trust me. You need to—”
“I do; just be patient with me, Dancer.” Radiating frustration, he grabs my face in both hands and tips my gaze up to his, his eyes roving painfully slowly over my features. “I may fuck up sometimes and one day I may not be there on an important day, but I’ll try. And if I sometimes don’t have the right words, help me find them. And if you need something I’m not delivering, steer me in the right direction… please,” he hisses. “Please.”
“I will,” I breathe, my hands clamping on his hard jaw. “Love me. I love you like I never thought I could love anyone.”
“I do. Fuck, woman, I do.” He lifts me up in his arms and we’re kissing passionately, both a little drunk, a little too unhinged, a little too open. When Ian drops me on the bed, I claw at his slacks, needing his touch, his skin, his love.
“Hard,” I beg as he drops his slacks and boxers and kicks them aside. “As hard as possible, and don’t stop until morning.”
Ian’s tongue drags down my throat and cleavage as he spreads my thighs open, grabs his cock, and drives in so hard, I see stars. I claw at his back, bite his neck. Ian drags his hands up my sides, cupping my breasts in his warm palms, then curling a hand around my neck as he ducks to suck on my nipples. His hand stays on my throat, and suddenl
y he lifts his head. “Look at me. Look at me, damn you.”
I look at him, my pulse fluttering against his palm. I’m so undone by this guy that I wonder if I’ll ever be complete without him. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.” I hit his chest, my eyes wet with tears.
He gentles the pace, gentles his voice. “I’m too busy fucking you. Huh. Who’s fucking you?”
“You. Motherfu—”
He kisses me. Wipes a tear from my cheek. His face raw. “I wanted here. All fucking day I wanted here.”
I stroke my fingers down his jaw, gasping and thrashing as I moan. “I want you here, Ian. Always.”
“You do shit to me. I don’t like it either, but it’s there. It’s here.” He drops a hot kiss to my left breast, licking his way back to my mouth. “It’s everywhere, all the damn time, Sara. You’ve got me twisted up and I’m in so deep, I’m not planning to do anything about it but go deeper, baby.”
I groan softly as he flicks his tongue into my mouth. He rolls his hips harder, over and over, faster and faster, the tempo of our kiss increasing in synchrony with his thrusts, my own hips pushing up to meet his.
It’s a dance—and as much as I love dancing, I’ve never loved anything as much as I love doing this with him. Every part of my body is alive and moving, straining, searching for Ian, reaching for Ian, more and more Ian. Ian’s movements stimulate mine, just like my touches and kisses stimulate his. I’ve seen dancers move on stage, but I’ve never felt a man move so beautifully—or dance this dance or any other dance so fiercely—with me before. We’re the song and the dance, the tune and the variation, the violin and the player… the ache and the balm that heals it.
Ian’s own wild hunger somehow makes this dance of ours even rawer, more primitive. A dance you can only dance in the dark, or by yourself, or with your mate, so raw and primal that you don’t need lessons—you just move and follow the ache. Feed the ache. And nothing aches as much as my need for this guy.
I push him back and go down on him. He lets me, for a minute, two… then he rolls me back around and goes down on me like I’m his last supper.
