So, so wrong.
“You’re going to let me inside you now,” he demanded, and when she panted out an answering, “Yes,” she thought that he’d take her right then and there in the chair. But he didn’t. With an easy movement, he stood and slung her over his shoulder and carried her out of the public playroom.
“Where are we going?” she asked, lifting her head so she could try to get her bearings. They were in the hallway of private playrooms, dark wood doors leading off into private dens of sex.
“To the place where I’m going to fuck you,” Cal said without inflection, producing a key from his pocket and unlocking a door.
“Are you a member here?” she asked.
“Not exactly. But I do enough work for them that it wasn’t hard for me to get a room tonight.” He opened the door, kicked it shut with his foot, and then dropped her unceremoniously on the massive king bed that dominated the room.
She stared at him from her new position on the bed, watching him stalk around the room, hitting lights, searching through drawers. “Are you looking for…” She didn’t know if the word would insult him, but she said it anyway “…toys?”
He laughed at that, a low, dark laugh that curled her toes. “I don’t need toys to play, sweetheart. I’m not a little boy.”
No, he was not.
“I’m looking for condoms,” he clarified, sliding open a drawer and finding a well organized stash. He selected one with two careful fingers and then turned to face her with that hard expression that turned her on so much. “Spread your legs so I can see you while I get ready.”
She bit her lip and obeyed, daring to offer, “You don’t have to, you know. Wear a condom.”
His eyes had been on her cunt before that, but now they slid up to her face, and his handsome face looked almost…sad?
“Time out,” he said. “Time out from the game.” And then he sat on the bed next to her and pulled her hand into his giant one. The touch nearly made her tremble from its sheer gentleness; she couldn’t remember the last time anyone had held her hand, except while dancing. She had the strange urge to press her face against his knuckles, to curve and coil around his hand and snuggle her face against it for weeks. And she had the even stranger feeling that he would allow her, that he would stroke her head until she fell asleep, that he would cover her with blankets and then wrap his large body around hers to keep her safe and warm the whole night through.
His other hand reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, and his fingers lingered there. “Are you on birth control?” he asked.
She shook her head slowly. “No, but my period hardly ever comes. I’m sure I can’t get pregnant.”
He gave her a rueful smile. “That’s not good enough. You have an entire career in ballet ahead of you. I’m guessing a pregnancy now would ruin that.”
She felt a childish need to defend herself, but he pressed a finger to her lips, his face growing stern again. “I’m not risking it, Tamsin. You are worth so much more than that. Game back on.”
You are worth so much more than that.
It was stupid how much those words bit into her, got into her bloodstream and endocrine system and kicked hormones and hopes into high gear.
He released her hand with a squeeze and stood again, hiking his T-shirt up his back and pulling it off with the perfunctory grace of a long-term bachelor. Like he was used to undressing fast and easy, without thinking of how he’d look to anyone watching. It was fascinating to Tamsin; everything about how she moved was about how she would look doing it. Every step, every turn, every sweep of the hand…it was all for the audience, for the junction of music and soul and the Other.
But Cal—he just moved. Just got from Point A to Point B with a directness that had its own kind of beauty. And once his shirt was off, Tamsin found it hard to think about movement or aesthetics or anything else, because his body was magnificent. Incredible. Not just the hard, flat stomach or the broad chest or those mouthwatering lines that disappeared under his belt, but the hair and the scars and the history of it. He wore his experience and age on his skin, and it made Tamsin feel so soft and unspoiled and young. The contrast left her panting, wanting, craving.
Then he started working open his belt with one hand and she knew what craving really was. Craving was flipping over on her hands and knees to crawl to the edge of the bed for a better look. Craving was that tight, hot feeling in her cunt, that sharp puckering of her needy nipples, that sudden feeling of vacancy low in her core.
“I thought I told you to spread your legs,” he said, noticing her rapt expression. “You want to make me happy or not?”
Oh, right. Yes. Shit.
She scrambled to be on her back once more, and he grunted again, this time in approval. He opened his pants and stepped out of them with the same efficiency as earlier, revealing a pair of black boxer briefs. And even before he pulled them off, she could see the head of his cock peeping over the waistline, looking swollen and angry.
She actually exhaled in shock when he pulled the briefs off, which earned her another pleased grunt. She couldn’t help her reaction, though: Cal was big. Cal was very big. It only made sense given the size of the rest of him, but it still intimidated her to see the real length and girth of him, to see how it bobbed and swung under its own weight.
“You’re big,” she whispered.
Cal gave her a look. “And you’re small.”
For the first time since they started playing this game, Tamsin felt real hesitation. She wasn’t a virgin and she wasn’t a stranger to men, but Cal was something more. It wasn’t just the thick cock now getting sheathed in shiny latex with a few practiced strokes; it was the thick cock plus him. Plus Cal and all his hardness and his experience.
Plus the game.
Make him happy.
Instinct sent her scooting up to the top of the bed as he approached, that shiny, blood-dark erection nodding between them as he walked to the bed. “Nervous?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“Good.”
He crawled onto the bed, crawled like a huge cat slinking closer to its prey, and grabbed her ribbon-wrapped ankles, yanking her farther down so he could cover her entire body with his own. Chest to leotard-covered chest, thigh to thigh, her silk slippers against the dark hair of his shins. He felt huge on top of her like this, not just long but wide and heavy, and she could feel the coiled strength in every fiber of him as he held the bulk of his weight on his arms.
She expected him to thrust into her, to spread her legs and push inside, but he didn’t. He did something even more shocking.