Chapter 8
“Ballerina.”
My heart leaps and my breath catches in my throat at the sound of the rich velvet voice coming from behind me. I don’t turn to look at him. It’s better if I don’t see him. I sit straighter, pretending I have an ounce of self-control when this man is near.
“I hope you like the gift I left. I hoped to see the look on your face when I gave it to you, but you never came.”
I should tell him off, give him hell about sneaking over to my house. I don’t. Instead, I smooth my wet hair down and turn to face him.
I stare open-mouthed at the fair-haired man kneeling at the edge of the spring. My heart flutters, and my breath stutters. He’s so handsome close up. Perfect skin. It’s like porcelain.
Losing myself in his large blue eyes, I forget my suspicions and concerns about his intentions. I don’t remember that I’m angry that he violated my space. My brain short circuits, and my mind numbs of all the emotional pain wreaking havoc in my life. Without thinking, I force out a breath and stretch my hand toward his face. He doesn’t say a word as I trace the lines of his high cheekbones.
After a few breaths, his hands cover mine. He turns his face, pressing his soft lips against one palm and then the other, raising my body temperature to the point that my blood simmers.
“Did you like them?”
I look at him questioningly.
“The chimes?”
I nod, then shake my head, forcing my eyes to look down at the water instead of at him. This is how I start to fix things. I encourage him not to come anywhere near me or my cottage ever again. Except I can’t. My voice is lost. I clear my throat, forcing some sound out.
“You should . . . You shouldn’t have. . . ”
One of his large hands grazes over the top of my head. His large blue eyes lock on mine as he strokes my hair. “I had to. You looked so happy dancing to the music.” His voice holds a hint of nostalgia, and a faint smile plays on his lips. “I want my music to stay with you forever, so you can dance and be happy every day of your life.”
My lips part; my head swirls. Swoon.
He inches closer. Breathe, I remind myself, reaching for something wet and green in his hair. A leaf? A vine? No matter. Pulling it out, I flick it off to the side. He smiles, showing off a set of deep dimples. It feels good to be the reason someone smiles. Someone besides Ana. I forgot what that feels like.
The kindness in his eyes wipes away any suspicion I have of him. It slithers from my mind as he holds my hand in his and looks at the bracelet hugging my wrist.
“Promise me you’ll keep this on,” his eyes find mine again. “No matter what.”
I nod, then shake my head, remembering how angry Em was. It’s the bracelet.
“Enchanted.” It’s the only word I manage to sputter. I close my eyes and struggle to think about why that’s a bad thing. “Cursed.” I manage. “You cursed me.”
“Never.” His smile falls. “Yes,” his voice is low. “It is enchanted with fae. But not to hurt you. They're very tiny. Naked to the human eye, but you can see flashes of them if you look close enough.” He examines the bracelet, turning my wrist over in his fingers. “They only mean to protect you and keep you safe.”
I don’t know if I believe that. “Safe, from what?”
Instead of using his words to answer, he inches his lips closer until they find the corner of my mouth. I’m powerless to pull away or protest as they press against me. I open my mouth, inviting him in, and find myself disappointed when he pulls away.
“I apologize.” His eyes drop to the water. “I forgot my manners. I should not touch, let alone kiss you, if the gesture is unwelcome.”
I shake my head, still struggling to speak. “It’s welcome. Kissing, I mean.”
He cradles my head in his hands. His thumbs brush over my cheeks. My bottom lip. My skin tingles. I moan as he closes his eyes and leans forward, expecting to feel his mouth meet mine.
“More?” He whispers, peppering kisses around my lips, along my jaw, making me forget . . . everything.
Instead of answering him, I clasp my hands around his neck, urging him closer. His mouth opens, and his tongue tastes my skin, caresses it... A foreign feeling of sexual need and desire climbs up and spreads through my body. Pulses through me.
He gathers my hair in his hand and pulls it, not hard enough to hurt me but hard enough to elicit a surprised gasp. It’s a power move, showing me that he’s in control. With how out of control I feel at the moment, I welcome it.
“Mmm.” A groan of pleasure sounds from the back of his throat. I want to hear more moans and groans from him. I want to please him.
Feeling me succumb to him, the look on his face changes. His lids are half-closed, as if they’ve grown heavy. The determined look on his face is full of need. Heat shoots to my center. Although I’m in water, I feel myself coat with a sticky dampness between my legs.
“My ballerina,” his tongue swirls behind the back of my ear, his teeth close, just barely, scraping the lobe. “I want to watch you dance. Will you do that for me?”
“Now?” Feeling his tongue and salty lips against my skin feels so much better than dancing. I want to be in his arms, for him to crush my body against his; how can he think of dancing when all I want is to feel his mouth caress every inch of my body? “How about we do more of this first?”
“No, Ballerina. You don’t understand. I want you to dance as I’m speared inside you.”
Oh my goddess of all things sexual! The image he creates of me writhing against him, rising and falling on his sword, takes over my thoughts. I squirm in my seat thinking about it. My stomach balls into a boulder of need. My nipples tighten. My hips tilt forward on their own accord. I’m a powder keg ready to explode.
I shouldn’t be so willing—so ready to give him what he wants, but I want it too. I’m hankering for one last romp. One that will last me the rest of my life. Just one time, and then maybe he won’t consume my every thought. One good fuck, and I’ll be able to think straight.
He pulls my hair further back so my neck is fully exposed to him. So that I’m at his mercy. My blood spurts through me so hard, I feel my heartbeat in my toes. His fingertips ghost down the column of my neck and continue between my breasts, down my sternum. His gentle touch leaves a trail of electricity in its wake.
I close my eyes, delighting in his touch and the electric stream he has coursing through my cells. A glitch. A sudden surge as his fingers close around my breast, squeezing. My breath changes as I gulp in as much air as I can. He loosens his grip, then closes his hand around my flesh again, eliciting a wince. He squeezes past the point of pleasure to pain.
I catch my breath as he releases me, touching me ever so gingerly. I pant, gasping for air. I barely feel his touches. After securing his hold on my hair, his fingers glide over my pebbled nipple.
I press my breast into his hand as he flicks and rubs the peak, pulling it gently, elongating it. I’m relaxed again with my eyes closed, moaning in pleasure, when his fingers close with a vice-like grip, pinching the tiny nub hard. A lightning rod of hot white pain shoots through my body and straight down to the center of my thighs.
It frees my mind. I need more. More pleasure. More pain.
“Come in the water,” I plead, desperate to touch and pleasure him.
He shakes his head and crooks his fingers at me while still gripping my hair. He uses it like a leash, tugging and pulling me to his whim, directing me until I climb out and stand in front of him.
I’m bared to him, standing naked for his scrutiny. I swallow hard, feeling vulnerable now that I’m out of the comfort of the water and can no longer hide in it. Not that it hid much, but now… His eyes ravish my body as they scan my every inch and crevice. His face turns hard as his pupils dilate and soak me in.
Wrapping a hand around my waist, he yanks me firmly against his body. His thick, muscular thigh settles between my legs. Moving back and forth, It feels strong and powerful. I shift my hips, rubbing against him, yearning for him to take me.
“I’m sorry if I’m too rough,” He whispers, his mouth close to my ear as he squeezes my ass. He brings me to the brink of my pain threshold. Before the pain outweighs the pleasure, he releases his hold and rubs my tender flesh with a feather-light touch. “I don’t wish to hurt you.” He nuzzles my neck, tracing the seam of my crack with his fingertips. “Ever.”
I shake my head. “You’re perfect .”
“I’m trying not to go too hard or too fast, but I don’t know what the right amount is. You need to tell me if I get to be too much. This is my first time.”
Why do men feel the need to ruin a good moment with a load of bullshit? “You don’t need to lie to me. I’m here. I’m willing.”
He strokes my flushed face and shakes his head while crushing me against him, pressing his erection against me. Umm…make that his incredibly large erection.
“I’m not lying.” He insists. “I’ve never coupled before.”
I smile. That’s such an odd term for sex. Old fashioned for sure. But I like it. It doesn’t sound as callous as fucking and humping. Yeah, I like coupling better.
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Where I come from, when a male is ready, he searches for a female to couple with as much as possible for seven days. He takes her with sheer violence, very fast and before she can protest. I don’t wish to hurt you, and I need you to tell me if I do.”
“What if I don’t mind a little pain?” He looks as surprised hearing it as I am saying it. The pain keeps me in the present. I can’t think about how empty my heart feels. I don’t miss Mike or Ana. Even my anger toward Em is diminished when lightning burns through me and strikes me between my legs.
I don’t want this man; I need him.
He doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he loosens his pants with his free hand and backs us up into the trunk of a hulking tree. It all feels very animalistic and primitive.
My heart thunders with the fear and excitement of allowing myself to be swept away by lust. I reach under his loose-fitting shirt and touch his taut abs while he frees himself.
This isn’t a six-pack; it’s at least eight, if not ten or twelve. The tight, hard boxes are never-ending. He lifts me by my ass, finally letting my long blonde hair hang loose around my face and breasts. The soft hair, a contrast to his punishing touch, tickles and teases my nipples. I press my back against the rough bark as his hands slide between my thighs from behind and his fingers pull my folds apart.
Holding onto his shoulders, I feel his large tip at my entrance. Moving ever so slightly, he works his way into me. My fingers dig into his flesh as he slowly pushes deeper. Each time he stops, and I think his whole shaft is inside me, there’s more.
I gasp, crying out at the pain as I stretch around him and adjust to his massive size. I know it’s been a lifetime since I had sex or touched a man there, but he doesn’t feel like an ordinary man. He’s freaking huge!
“You okay?” Sweat drips from his forehead.
I nod, trying to keep very still.
“Dance for me.” I don’t move until he bites my lip hard.
I pull away from him, unsure if he broke the skin and drew blood. My back presses harder into the rough bark, and my hips tilt forward, taking more of him in. More? How much more is there?
He continues to hold my folds spread, inching deeper, until with one brutal thrust, he forces his full length inside me.
I scream so loud, I think they can hear me along the entire East Coast. Holy mother of sexual beings. I’ve never been so completely filled by a man that his tip hit my brain. He might as well tattoo his every curve and vein inside me.
Holding me tight, he leans forward and touches his forehead against mine as he pulls out, inch by inch, giving me a moment of respite. I bite his shoulder as he plunges in again, this time with abandon. Hard and fast. I see stars behind my eyelids. But when I push past the pain, it feels amazing.
Everything below my waist hurts and burns. I wince and whine as he continues moving in and out, picking up speed, growling and grunting like an animal.
“Harder!” I whisper, unable to hide the shakiness of my voice. I feel like I’m being ripped in two as he plunges in, but then he leaves me sailing in the clouds with pleasure as he withdraws. I let out a guttural scream.
Hesitating a moment, he searches my eyes. “Should I st—” His eyes are deep blue oceans of concern.
“No!” I don’t let him finish. I’m hot, wet, and pulsing with need. “Don’t stop! Please!” I plead, breathless. “Want . . .more. Need . . . more!” Bright white fire rages in my pussy, melting my bones as I gush and throb around him.
Before l can catch my breath, he withdraws almost all the way and rams back into me harder than he has yet. My back feels raw from rubbing against the rough bark. I hide my face against his neck, not wanting him to see the tears in my eyes. How can something that hurts so much feel so good?
He continues thrusting. Relentlessly. Growling. Wincing. He slams into me so hard I black out for a few seconds. I don’t lose consciousness, but I’m unable to think or speak as another tsunami of pleasure washes over me.
When I’m aware of the world again, it’s euphoria. Bliss. A warm wetness spills from me. He glides in and out with ease until his face contorts and his body covers in goose flesh.
“My turn!”