I was used to orchestras, but this was a symphony all its own, and I couldn’t tell the difference between the blood pounding in my head and the sounds I made.
“Please,” I begged him. “Please.”
I thought he would ignore me. And he did, for what seemed like forever.
Then he shifted. He wrapped his hands around my ass, easing the tension in my thighs, which felt like its own release.
“Come, little dancer,” he ordered me. “Now.”
Before I change my mind, he didn’t say. But I heard it all the same.
And I exploded. I burst into flame and fury and a thousand pieces of glorious shrapnel.
It was as if all the orgasms that preceded this one didn’t count. They were insubstantial. Releases, that was all.
This was a bomb.
This was life altering.
I felt the way I had the first time I’d danced in my point shoes, spinning around and around as if made of light and air. I felt like I was flying.
The orgasm walloped me and kept going. I thought I heard myself scream.
And then he was turning us around, falling back against one of the sofas, bringing me down astride him with my wings all around us.
He waited until I stopped sobbing against him, there where my mouth had fallen against the crook of his neck.
I lifted my head, though it felt too heavy, and looked down at him.
He was beautiful. He was hard inside me and cruel in all the right ways.
I felt soft all the way through. Even in my heart, though I cautioned myself against such nonsense as best I could when my head was still spinning.
He smiled then, this man who had bought me and had already given me more pleasure than lovers who’d claimed they knew me.
And his smile was a dark, erotic promise.
“My turn,” he said.
CHAPTER FIVE
Darcy
I MADE AN involuntary sound.
I had made many sounds already—some I couldn’t believe had come out of me—but this was different. I realized it even as it escaped my lips, but I couldn’t take it back. I watched that dark, intent expression on his face as it altered slightly at the evidence of my vulnerability still echoing there between us.
I’d spent my whole life denying that I was capable of vulnerability. I smiled, instead. I danced until I bled, then I danced some more. Only actual broken bones made me stop, and sometimes not even then. And I certainly never made vulnerable noises. Ballet dancers were tough. We had to be, or we could never look that graceful.
“Problem?” he asked, his voice gritty.
Less a question than a demand.
I felt my breath shudder through my body, as if I’d forgotten how to breathe. I could feel the ache in my thighs, reminding me that I was splayed open as I sat astride him. And I could feel him, deep inside me, hard and hot. Still.
It made a different sort of shiver curl its way down my spine.
Every part of my body was sensitized. Overly raw and mad with it. Awake and alive in way