Chapter Six #2
"That was what? Six years ago? It's a different world now," Harlan murmurs. "I don't know if you've noticed or not, but you helped change it. You don't have to dance where you're miserable, not when you're the one who opened doors for dancers who break the mold."
"Maybe, but I've caused a lot of problems in the last six years, Harlan. Like a lot," I remind him, chewing on a piece of steak. "Slapping Greg on stage was just the latest incident in a long line of me refusing to shut up and take it like a good little ballerina should."
"You should have hit him harder," he grunts.
I grin. I kind of love that he's a savage who hates Greg as much as I do. It feeds my petty little soul.
Part of me wonders if he's right, though. Is there a place for me out there where it doesn't feel so damn heavy every single day? I don't know.
"Enough about ballet," I say, shoving the wistful thought to the back of my mind. "Tell me something about you that no one knows."
"You mean other than my fantasy football league secret?" he says, his lips twitching.
I laugh at the reminder. "How is Tye looking this season?"
"Deplorable," he says cheerfully. "He's mad as hell that he's tanking our whole league again because of me."
I grin around a bite of potato. "You're evil."
"You fucking love it."
He isn't wrong about that. I've spent months falling for this man and his wicked sense of humor. What the hell am I going to do about it?
"I've got a good one for you," he murmurs while I'm still trying to figure out an answer. His lips curve into a deadly smirk. "But you aren't allowed to slap me for it."
"Oh, jeez." I eye him sideways. "What did you do?"
"I've spent the last four months jerking my cock raw to clips of you dancing," he says, his eyes locked on mine.
"I was mad as hell when you blocked me, ballerina.
Not just because it meant you weren't talking to me anymore, but because it meant I didn't get to watch you dance.
" He groans softly, his eyes dark. "You're so fucking beautiful when you dance. "
"Harlan," I gasp, shocked and shaking. "You didn't."
"I did. Every goddamn day, Sophie."
I don't know what to say. Maybe I should be offended or mortified. But…I'm not. Not even a little bit.
"You mad?" he asks.
"No," I whisper, licking my lips. My heart pounds like a damn drum. "M-maybe I've gotten myself off to your social media a few times, too."
Heat flares in his eyes, his fork clattering to his plate. "How many times?"
"A few."
"How many, Sophie?" he practically growls at me, as if his whole world hinges on my answer.
Maybe that's what makes me bold enough to tell him the truth. Or maybe it's that I want to shock him too, leave his world in ruins the same way he's annihilating mine.
"Almost every day since we met at the engagement party," I whisper. "I regretted running that night, Harlan. I wish I'd asked for what I really wanted from you that night."
"What did you want? Tell me."
"To climb you."
His chair scrapes back so fast, it wobbles. And then he's on his feet, looming over the table like a mountain, blotting out the rest of the world. He's at my side in two steps, hauling me up out of my chair with his hands around my waist.
"You still want to climb me?" he growls, his lips inches from mine.
My mouth won't work, so I simply nod.
I'm airborne. Literally. My feet leave the ground as he lifts me, my legs locking reflexively around his hips.
He's kissing me again, with the kind of greedy, controlled violence that says he's been holding back for way too long, and then the elevator doors open behind us, and he's hauling me inside.
My back hits the metal wall with a solid thunk as the doors slide closed.
I gasp, and his hand is immediately on my face, holding me still. My body flares hot, every rational thought melting.
I fist the lapels of his jacket, desperate to get closer.
"Claim your prize," he rasps, biting my bottom lip. "Climb, ballerina."
I plant my hands against his shoulders and boost myself higher, until the hard ridge of his cock is nestled against my center, burning hot.
I'm not proud of the noise I make when he grinds his hips into me, but he is. He's smug about it—the gorgeous bastard.
"Damn, I want to hear you make that sound again," he groans, his hand sliding along the wall until he finds the emergency stop button. He slaps it, essentially locking everyone out of the elevator but the two of us.
His fingers slip under the hem of my dress, dragging the fabric up my thighs, his knuckles rough against my skin. His eyes drop to my wet panties.
He pauses, then lets out a savage, satisfied sound. "Fuck," he rasps, pressing his thumb exactly where I need it. "You bought these for me?"
I nod, or try to, but my whole body feels molten under the weight of his stare.
"I came in my pants when you touched my cock yesterday." He rubs his thumb over the seam of my panties, making me thrash against him. "I might do it again right now, just looking at how wet you are for me."
I dig my nails into his shoulders. "Harlan, please," I sob, because that's all I can do. The need is so intense now that my breath comes in tiny, desperate gasps.
He locks eyes with mine, the heat in them so intense it's holy. "You want me, Sophie?"
"Yes," I gasp, desperate. "Please."
"Then say it," he orders. "Tell me what you want."
I can barely breathe, let alone speak. But hell itself couldn't stop me right now. "Fuck me, Harlan. Before I die."
His grin is unholy. It's also so beautiful, I hope I never forget the way he looks in this moment—like I just gave him the whole world.
He drops to his knees so fast I nearly lose my balance. Within seconds, one of my legs is over his shoulder, his hands are digging into my hips, and his mouth is pressed against the seam of my new panties, tasting me.
"Goddamn," he groans. "Goddamn, ballerina." He drags the lace aside with his thumb, a growl rumbling in his throat. "Pink. Fucking perfect."
The heat of his mouth is right there, his tongue bold and shocking and so, so good.
I arch back against the elevator wall, clutching him for balance as he buries his face between my thighs like he's been starving for years. The first swipe of his tongue is enough to make me see stars. By the time he starts sucking, I'm babbling for him, clinging to his hair with both hands.
"Harlan, oh, fuck," I whimper, my voice embarrassingly loud in the echo chamber of the elevator.
He doesn't let up, doesn't give me a second to breathe or think. He just keeps eating me with messy, desperate devotion.
When I start to shudder, he moans low in his chest, the sound vibrating through my entire body.
He slips a finger inside, curling it perfectly, and I lose my grip on reality entirely. It feels like falling off a cliff, free and terrifying and impossible to stop.
I come so hard I'm afraid I might actually black out. But he holds me through every wave, licking and groaning until I'm limp and shaking in his arms.
He stands then, looming over me, and pins me with one hand, his chest heaving. "Sweetest fucking dessert I've ever had," he rumbles, licking his lips like he's debating a second course.
I grab for him, my fingers wrapping around his cock through his pants. He bucks forward, the noise he makes transforming me into something ravenous, greedy, and starved for him.
I work his zipper down, fumbling but determined. He helps, shoving at the waistband, his cock springing free. He's so damn big, I swear he's going to break me.
He lifts me—just grabs me and hoists until I'm wrapped around him, my back pressed to the wall, my dress bunched around my hips, my panties torn to the side.
And then he pauses. His forehead presses against mine, his breath shuddering. "Don't do this if you're going to regret me later, ballerina," he rasps.
I dig my nails into his scalp, drawing him closer until our mouths are a single crashing thing. "Shut up and kiss me, Harlan," I breathe into him. "Fuck me."
He slams me to the wall with his hips, but his mouth is gentle when it moves over mine.
That's the only gentle thing about him.
He drives into me with a single, devastating thrust, and I swear I feel him in my damn soul. It's more than a stretch. It's like being claimed by a force of nature. My whole body is split open for him, trembling, clamped tight around his cock. My cry echoes wild and helpless in the elevator.
He holds me up like I weigh nothing, one palm splayed wide behind my ribs, the other clamped on my hip, using my body as leverage. "Fuck, you're tight," he grits out. "You take every inch, baby. Jesus Christ."
"I am!" I sob.
He laughs, a rough, ruined sound, and pulls out of me only to plunge back in, so hard my head knocks against the elevator wall. The delicious shock of it nearly splits me in half.
I cry out, and he does it again, and again, each thrust deeper, harder, perfectly designed to wreck me completely.
"I've dreamed about this," he rasps, cradling my ass in both hands, using his strength to fuck me onto him with so little effort it's shocking. "You wrapped around me. Begging for it."
"Yes, yes, yes!" I barely recognize my own voice, the sound torn from my throat with each drive of his cock. I try to keep my eyes open, but the pleasure is blinding, so intense it borders on pain.
"You're a revelation, Sophie. Fuck, look at you." He grins, his eyes savage and wild. "Taking every inch like it's nothing. Like you were made for me."
I am. God, I fucking am.
He shifts, one thumb pressing on my clit, grinding relentless circles as he pounds into me. I don't even make a sound; I just clamp around him, drenched and spasming, my brain lit up with fireworks.
"Again," he orders.
I don't think it's possible, but he keeps thrusting, never letting up, fucking me right through the aftershocks until I'm gasping, keening, and begging him for mercy.
He's breathing hard, his eyes almost black, beads of sweat on his temples. "I want to watch you come on my cock again. Give it to me. Show me how much you love this."
The filthy, beautiful things he says push me closer, closer, until I'm flying apart for the second time, everything shattering.
I sob, clawing at his shirt, my limbs numb and useless.
He moves faster, chasing the edge with no pretense of control. "Fuck," he groans. "Gonna come, Sophie. I'm—" He tries to pull out, but I lock my legs around him and dig my heels into his ass, holding him flush.
"No, inside," I gasp, clinging to him. "I want it. I'm on birth control."
He stares, wild-eyed, like he's never heard anything hotter in his life. "Goddamn you," he groans, making this sound that's so primal and possessive, it almost scares me.
He grinds himself so deep I swear he's in my stomach, and then he's shuddering, his whole body locked tight against mine as he comes inside me. The sensation is unreal—heat, fullness, a kind of tidal wave that leaves me even more desperate for him.
He doesn't move for a second, just clings to me, his breath rough and broken in my hair. His heart is a wild, heavy drum against my chest, the sound bigger than anything I've ever heard.
I cling just as tightly, terrified and elated and…perfect for the first time in my life. I want to say something, anything, but the words are jammed in my throat, crowded out by the ache in my chest.
He finally lifts his head, his lips at my ear. "Sophie," he whispers. It's just one word, spoken so softly it almost breaks me.
I squeeze my eyes shut to hide the tears welling there. My hands fist in his shirt, and I rest my head on his shoulder, not sure how I'm ever supposed to let him go now.