His eyes soften, and those sensual, sometimes punishing lips curve. “I could say the same of you, sweetheart. Now. What music do you want?”
I shove his chest. “You go stand somewhere. I’ll pick it.” He hesitates. “Not that song.”
He smiles, obviously pleased with my eagerness, and so am I. I haven’t felt this light-spirited in a very long time and I want to enjoy every moment. I walk to the electronic panel and find it’s pretty close to having the entire iTunes library installed. I scan my choices and smile when I see Jason Aldean’s “Just Gettin’ Started,” deciding to connect with the Texas boy Kayden is at his core.
I turn it on and move back to the center of the room, finding him leaning on the wall, hearing the song begin: “I knew the minute that I picked you up, it was gonna be a wild ride.” “That doesn’t sound like ballerina music,” he says.
“The ballerina gets to decide what ballerina music is,” I say, feeling pretty darn playful.
I lift my arms and try out the first position, my eyes meeting Kayden’s, a smile mixed with heat in the depth of his. I go to my toes, and oh, how I love this. Toes. Arms. First position. Second position. Plie. I am back. I start dancing, falling into my old steps far more easily than expected, and throwing in some new moves. Giving a sexy shake of my hips here and there, and throwing Kayden an equally sexy look over my shoulders.
“That doesn’t look like ballet,” he accuses.
“The best dancers have a creative side,” I say, moving around the floor, and as my confidence grows, so do my sexy little moves, and before long we’re having a great time, both of us singing and laughing. I really love that he’s singing too, that he lets down his guard with me. That he can let himself be my man, not The Hawk, right now. It’s just us having fun, and there’s not a flashback or inhibition in sight. I love that, too.
I go all out and present him with my backside, pull up his shirt, and dare complete silliness. I twerk. I have no idea how I know how to twerk. Probably the kids at school, but I seem to be good at it.
“You can’t do that to Jason Aldean,” he objects. “It’s just wrong, though it looks very right when you do it.”
I face him, both of us laughing, and knowing the lyrics coming up, I close the space between us to stand in front of him just as the words I’m waiting for fill the air: “Ain’t even had a taste of your love.” “I haven’t had a proper taste,” I dare.
“What is proper?” he asks, dark hunger in his blue eyes, and I suspect my green eyes are dancing with the same.
My hands settle on his hips, then find their way under his shirt to shove it upward. He rewards me by pulling it over his head, his delicious muscles flexing as he tosses it aside, while my palms have already pressed to warm skin and hard, ripped abs. The instant he looks at me again, I slowly lower myself to my knees.
He gives me this heavy-lidded stare that is all sex and hunger and that does all kinds of crazy things to my body, warming it all over, driving my motivation, my desire for him. My lips find the line right above his pajama bottoms and I trail my tongue back and forth, while my hand lightly strokes over his already thick shaft through the thin cotton material. Just the idea of pleasing him this way, of him completely letting go for me, as I have for him, has my nipples aching and my sex clenching.
But before I can lead him down that road his hands come down on my shoulders and he lifts me to my feet, turning me and pressing me against the wall. “We’re equals,” he says, snagging the hem of my shirt, his shirt. “Which means you have on too many clothes.” He caresses the cotton slowly up my body, his hands now warm on my skin, branding me in a way only he can, his touch radiating through me. My breasts are heavy, nipples tight, and my thighs slick.
Finally, he pulls the shirt over my head, tossing it aside, and while my unbound breasts had not been ideal for dancing, the hot swipe of his stare, followed by his hands, prove them quite ideal. He strokes my nipples, tugs and then thumbs them until I am panting, aching. Then, he repeats exactly what I had done moments before. His eyes find mine, and he lowers himself to one knee, anticipation burning through me.
“I wanted to do things to you,” I say, wondering how I lost the chance to please him for once.
He gives me a steamy look. “You can. You will. I just can’t stop thinking about how you taste.” As if those words weren’t enough to melt me, his lips find my belly, as mine had his, but there is no me pulling him to his feet. His tongue flickers, licks, teases. He takes his time. He builds anticipation that is killing me.
“Kayden,” I plead, and demand.