I did not want to analyze why I had this urge. I just wanted it.
She blinked, then smiled. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
And I don’t know which one of us was more surprised by that, her or me. But I was shocked when I...laughed.
I wanted to throw her down and bury myself inside her—right now—but I didn’t. My own laughter felt like a tension breaker. Like another kind of coming and, oddly enough, it made me feel something like... Exposed.
I studied her body instead. I had been too consumed with the need to bury my cock in her before to take a good, hard look.
I remedied that now. And took my time.
“What kind of dancing do you do?” I asked. Because she was a lithe, taut column of muscle, but she was bruised here and there. And sported the kinds of scrapes that spoke of a body well used.
And her feet.
Her feet were a disaster.
“Don’t look at my feet,” she said, and when I looked up I thought I saw something on her face for second, but it was gone too soon to name it. “I have a horrifying addiction to high-heeled shoes.”
“High-heeled shoes do...that?”
Her feet were so battered that they called to mind something inside me, some memory I couldn’t quite place, of an image—
“You have to be brave to be beautiful,” she told me, with another one of those wicked, mischievous smiles that I wanted to taste. “That’s what my mother always told me.”
“Is your mother dead?”
My little dancer let out a laugh. “I certainly hope not. As far as I know, she’s alive and well and competing for the title of best hostess in the whole of—” She stopped herself, and her smile was rueful. “I apologize. The last thing you want, I’m sure, is a whole lot of unsolicited personal detail.”
This would ordinarily be true, no matter how I’d met the woman in question. But she was...different, somehow, from all my previous dates and conquests.
“It’s not unsolicited. I literally solicited it. Just now.”
Another tilt of her head. “Do you talk about mothers every time you buy a woman?”
I laughed again, but surely none of this was funny. And stranger still, it only made me harder. “What if that’s my kink?”
“Then you can call me Mommy while you come.” Her eyes were alight with a wicked sort of promise I wanted to lose myself in. “If you must. But somehow, I don’t think that’s your thing.”
“Indeed, it is not.” Still, I studied her. “Does your mother know what you do?”
“Of course.” Her smile widened. “She supports my dancing wholeheartedly.”
That made me laugh again, and it was like a light switched on inside me. From pitch-dark to blazing, laughter and secrets and need, and I was done. I needed to fuck her, hard and long and now.
Right now.
I rose then, and she must have seen my intentions on my face, because she sobered as she tipped her head back to look at me.
“Time to fuck, little dancer,” I told her. Softly.
And I watched, in pure delight and no little wonder, as goose bumps broke out all over her skin.
There were things I could do if I was willing to take my time...but I couldn’t wait. Not now, with her taste in my mouth and the evidence that she wanted me as desperately as I wanted her written all over her flesh.
I felt edgy and wild. So close already, as if I might explode or topple over some cliff and lose any semblance of control.
That set off an alarm, deep inside me, but I didn’t care. Not now.