I didn’t know what I was trying to prove by working on lifts with him. I wanted to trust him, but his ability to pick me up without dropping me had nothing to do with how much of my heart I could give him. Being able to read each other in a dance didn’t mean we’d be able to follow along emotionally.
I needed to know it was possible. I needed to know if he’d respect what I did, if he’d help without calling it girlie. I needed to know if we could talk with our bodies. I wanted his hands on me.
And I had work to do.
He didn’t have a lick of talent. Not for dancing. But for predicting what I needed and giving 100 percent commitment to listening? He was a prodigy. He even kept his hands where they belonged.
This helped less than I’d hoped, because over the course of that first hour, his hands weren’t where I wanted them. He was so close, and his touch was so firm and masculine, that I had to make a concerted effort to keep my mind on the job.
“Do I have a future in dance?” he asked during the first break.
“Not really.” I tossed him a water bottle. He cracked it open and drank, squeezing the bottle with his huge hand. “Lifts are hard, but these are easy. Darlene’s not much of a dancer either.”
“Ouch.” He wiped his lip with his wrist, looking at me as if he were burrowing inside me. In that moment, the usually poised and in-control gentleman looked like an animal.
“She knows it.” I sipped my water and looked away from his feral gaze.
His phone beeped and he looked at it. His brow furrowed, and the spell was broken for a moment.
“Bathroom break,” I said. “Give me five minutes.”
He nodded without looking at me.
I slipped into the studio bathroom and breathed. He’d been touching me for an hour, and I’d been such a good girl. But once I was alone, the cumulative effect of his hands hit me all at once. My pelvis felt heavy, as if everything from my heart down had gone pure liquid and succumbed to gravity, landing with a splash at the lowest point. Between my legs. I leaned on the sink, off balance, throbbing where my legs met. When I pressed them together, the ache was satisfied and inflamed at the same time.
I heard him talking outside but couldn’t make out the words. He seemed agitated. Probably needed to be left alone for now. A minute. Two. I could stay in the bathroom the entire five-minute break, and he’d be grateful.
That was all I needed.
I got my hand under my waistband, around the crotch of my elastic shorts, and unceremoniously rubbed my soaked pussy. Jesus, he could get his dick in me so easily. It would slide in. Stretch me wide. Pull my clit with the force of it. And the feral man with the sweat on his T-shirt would fuck me. He’d be on top. He’d hold me down and drive into me like an animal. Push my hips against the bed so his thick root would rub my clit.
When his imaginary hand went into my imaginary mouth, I lost my mind.
I was barely through my orgasm when a crack yanked me back to reality. Another one came right after, and my bathroom door was yanked off the hinges.
Carter stood on the other side, back in his suit, panting.
My hand was down my pants.
“Can you knock?” I pulled out my hand.
“You yelled.”
I realized my right hand was slick with pussy. I hid it behind my back.
He laughed, but it wasn’t humor. It was relief and realization. It was threatening, in a way, because it threatened pleasure.
“You made yourself come so hard you yelled.” He came into the bathroom. I held my ground. “I made you come an hour ago, and you were quiet.”
“We were outside. But anyway, you should knock.”
Another step toward me. He was an inch away.
“What were you thinking about?”
I swallowed. Best to admit it, right?
“You.”
“How? What was I doing?” Finally, he touched me, drawing his hand from my right shoulder to the elbow. “Was I fucking you?”
“Yes.”
With gentle pressure he pulled my arm from behind my back.
“What position?”
“You were on top, but—” He raised my wet fingers to his lips, and I had to stop for a second to get control of another wave of arousal. “It wasn’t like missionary.”
“What was it like?”
He put one finger in his mouth.
“You were going very hard. So you held me down to keep me still so you could . . .” Two fingers went into his mouth, and he sucked them on the way out. It was so hot half my brain shut down. I had to stop talking.
“So I could? What?” His eyes closed when he kissed my palm.
“Pound me.” I smirked a little, then averted my gaze. I didn’t talk like that. “It was like you wanted to crawl inside me.”
“I do,” he said.
He lowered my hand and put it against his crotch. His cock stretched his pants, and when I pressed it, he sucked in air. I wanted it. My mouth watered for it. I’d never actually wanted to suck a man’s dick before. I’d done it out of obligation.
“You gave me two,” I said. “Technically.”
He looked at the ceiling as if asking God for the resolution to the conflict. I made it as difficult as possible by rubbing his erection through his pants.
“You’re too perfect,” he murmured.
“Is that a bad thing?”
He moved my hand away and kissed the palm again before he spoke into it.
“I promise to get my cock deep inside you. I promise to hold you down when you come. Soon. I can’t take much more of this.”
“We have half an hour. We can lock the door.”
Was I standing in the studio bathroom begging to suck his dick? What had come over me?
Past the busted door, in the studio, his phone beeped. He dropped my hand.
“You’re in for the night?”
“Why?”
“Fabian’s on the west side. If you want to go out, it’s going to take him more than an hour to get here.”
“Stay,” I said. Stupidly. Impulsively.
“I have somewhere to be.”
“Where?”
Before the word was out of my mouth, I realized he wasn’t going to tell me. He was going to get so deep inside me he had to hold me down to do it, and he wasn’t going to tell me where he was going with my erection?
Because yeah—that erection was mine.
“Just call one of us if you’re going anywhere. Carlos will make sure you’re accompanied.”
“But you’ll be somewhere?” I crossed my arms. Two minutes after an orgasm that was so strong I had to yell, and I was so sexually frustrated I couldn’t hide my aggravation.
“Fabian will pick you up in the morning. I’ll be in the studio tomorrow for Darlene. Then it’s Saturday. Can we go out Saturday? A full date, with dinner, then the screw of a lifetime.”
I should have been grateful that he was being such a gentleman. What woman didn’t dream of a man willing to forgo his own immediate gratification for the sake of chivalry and safety?
“Sure,” I said without agreeing to anything. Not in my mind. In my mind I was agreeing only to the date, not the spirit of the offer. I knew I was being dishonest, and I didn’t care.