and began lowering her, but for a heady sort of moment I couldn’t tell which one of us was doing the work.
Was I holding her up? Or was she the one holding herself against me, then lowering herself down, with a kind of impossible precision that made the blood in my cock pulse?
“You have a lot of muscle control,” I managed to say as she inched down my torso the slightest bit more, then the slightest bit more than that, so I could almost feel the heat of her with the head of my cock.
She let out a laugh, her hard nipples brushing my chest. “For a whore, you mean?”
“For anyone,” I managed to get out.
“You saw me on that stage. What did you think? It was all smoke and mirrors?”
Something inside me tore open. Something greedy and dark, an uncontrollable storm of need and longing.
And instead of fearing such a thing, I wanted to lose myself in it.
In her.
“Prove it,” I dared her. “Fuck yourself silly.”
A smile broke over her face, wicked and bright and all mine.
“Yes, sir,” she said, her voice rough and husky.
And then, at last, she obeyed me.
Darcy
Being lifted was nothing new for me. But this was different.
Everything about this was different.
He held me easily, and it was almost like dancing. It was almost like the pas de deux.
Almost.
I adjusted my hold on him and let myself slide until I could feel the thick head of his cock at the opening of my pussy.
I had the mad thought that all those years of ballet training had been for this, all along.
For this moment, when I could look up and hold his bright blue gaze, then lower myself down on that hard, hot length of his.
I was so wet it should have embarrassed me though it didn’t. I was wildly soft and deliciously hot, and even so, I had to adjust to the size of him. He was thick and long, but I dedicated myself to the task of taking him.
One hot inch after the next.
Slowly, carefully, I lowered myself. I waited for my body to accept him, then I went farther.
And we were both sweating by the time I finally made it all the way, my pussy flush against him.
And that glorious huge cock of his buried deep inside of me.
I felt myself begin to quiver. And his gaze shifted, his expression turning almost cruel with hunger and command.
“Don’t you dare come,” he told me. “You need to work for it this time.”
One hand gripped my hair again. The other shifted to my waist, holding me against him as I arched back a little.
But nothing else was up to me.
And I loved it.
First, I had to fight off my own orgasm. And once again, it was years of fighting back my body’s various urges that helped me. I didn’t dare to disobey him, but I didn’t ask myself what I thought he might do if I did.
I fought the need to come. I caught myself at the edge, shook with the effort but pulled myself back.
“Good girl,” he murmured approvingly.
And that went through me like another shudder.
I glanced to the side, thinking a break in the intensity might help me maintain my control.
And I could see us in the window’s reflection. Whoever we were.
A big, strong man. And an angel.
My wings flowed over the backs of my arms, and I arched my back to make them fall even more beautifully toward the floor. A move that lifted me up and got his cock even deeper inside me.
And then I rolled my hips, experimenting with the feel of it and ignoring the protest in my thigh muscles.
I didn’t care if it hurt.
All I cared about was doing exactly what he told me to do.
Again and again, until it swept us both away.
I used my thighs and my core, and my grip on his wide shoulders. I lifted myself up, using my internal muscles to grip his cock all the way. And right when I got to the tip, I settled myself down again.
And that felt so good, so deep and full and glorious that I laughed a little.
I saw him look to the side, taking in that same reflection. I arched back even farther, dramatically, then gasped a little when he put his teeth to the side of my neck.
And then I did what I’d come here to do.
What he’d told me to do.
I fucked myself silly on him.
I found the count, the pattern. The lift and then the settle. The shimmer in my hips.
Again and again I rose up, then dropped myself down, until I lost track of the fact that this was another kind of performance. I was too drunk on the sensation of it. Too wild.
“Please, sir,” I said, then began to chant. “I need to come.”
“Too bad,” he growled in reply.
So I fought my body even as I shook and grew wetter, hotter. Wilder by the moment.
There was no sound in the room save the two of us.
Our bodies, wet and hot, coming together over and over. Harsh breathing, his or mine, I could hardly tell.
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.
