Pointe Noire (The Noire House Book 1)

by Lacie Thorne

  Together, we finished cooking dinner and set the table, taking our seats across from each other with our wine glasses between us. I’d only poured a few sips of wine into her glass, suspecting she wasn’t much of a drinker and fearing more would tip her over the edge. She was so petite I figured one glass would be her limit. Blue made himself comfortable at her feet, curled up and noisily gnawing on his treat.

  “So,” Emily started, cutting into her baked salmon and greens.

  “So?” I asked when she didn’t continue.

  She hesitated a moment, chewing her bite of brown rice before looking up at me from under long lashes. “Why did you really ask Martin if you could—borrow me?”

  I frowned at her from across the table while she avoided my gaze. “I told you, I want your help. It’s been a long time since I’ve been involved in the local dance world, and I need someone who knows the talent. I suppose I could have asked anyone, even Martin himself, but—”

  I broke off, unsure how to answer her question.

  “You’re an amazing dancer, Emily. Your technique might not be flawless, but I think that has more to do with your partner and choreographer than your skill. Even so, it’s not the steps that draw attention to your dancing, but the way you dance them. It’s mesmerizing. You live and breathe in the story. Each flick of your wrist or the way you point your foot takes the audience with you and makes them believe every moment you’re on that stage. You captivate them. That’s not something one can teach in the studio.”

  She blinked at me, her meal forgotten as I rambled. I cleared my throat and gestured towards her food, indicating for her to eat if she wanted me to continue. She licked her lips before gathering another forkful of salmon.

  “Anyway, I know you’ll have a good eye for the best local dancers.” I paused, catching her gaze. “And it doesn’t hurt that I’ll also enjoy your company.”

  With a shy smile, she reached for her wine glass and sipped. “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  She nodded. “Yes. I admit I wasn’t thrilled in the beginning. Like any dancer—any person—I have my fears and insecurities. You happened to bring out the worst in Martin’s office. My injury took a knock to my confidence, and I worry Martin will soon push me towards re—retirement.”

  Her voice cracked on the word dreaded by every dancer. Someone else might have coddled her with words of encouragement and promises that it wouldn’t happen, but I refused to lie.

  “Maybe in a few years, Emily, but not yet. Martin values you and didn’t mention anything about your injury or thoughts of retirement.” Tears filled her eyes again, but she smiled and nodded. “You know there are other options. The end of your stage career doesn’t mean the end of dancing.”

  “I know, it’s just—”

  “Scary.”

  She nodded and swiped at her tears with her napkin. This was not how I envisioned the evening going, not with all the tears she’d shed in the last hour. As though sensing her unhappiness, Blue rose to his feet and nudged at her hip, eliciting a laugh from her as she gazed down at him. The two were already enamored with each other, and I couldn’t help but smile.

  “Okay, buddy. You succeeded in cheering her up, now let her finish eating,” I said. Emily scratched his head one last time before sending me a mock glare. “Don’t look at me like that. You need your strength for the rest of the night.”

  Her cheeks bloomed pink, but she focused on her dinner, eating more than I’d seen her consume at the restaurant. Of course, Garret had ordered the wrong food for a dancer. If he meant to keep her strong and healthy, he should have chosen complex carbs and better proteins.

  “Emily, before we get to the main discussion I have planned for tonight, will you tell me about your injury?” I made my voice as soft as possible, but her eyes still went wide, breathing suddenly hitched. “Hey, don’t freak out. I want to know so I don’t hurt you when we play. Right now, this has nothing to do with dancing, okay?”

  She swallowed hard, drawing my gaze to the movement at her throat. With a deep breath, she closed her eyes. “I want to be honest with you, but you have to promise to keep any of this between us and not mention it to Martin. And especially not Garret. He worries far too much, and I can’t handle him smothering me with his concerns again.”

  I frowned at her, but her eyes were still closed so she didn’t see my look of confusion. Garret smothered her? I knew they were close, but her words left me with more questions than answers.

  When I didn’t agree to her request, she opened her eyes and pegged me with hard, teal irises. “Promise me, or I won’t tell you anything about the injury.”

  My voice of reason urged me not to agree to this, but I found myself doing it anyway. “You have my word. I won’t tell another soul.”

  Her shoulders slumped as she set the cutlery down on her plate, the last few bites of food destined to go uneaten. “Two years ago, I fell and hurt my back. I took the blame because I didn’t want to seem like a whiny female dancer, but in all honesty, I don’t know what actually happened. One minute Joel and I were flying through a series of fast steps, and the next I was on the floor in tears. I thought I’d never dance again. I thought that was the moment my career ended—”

  She broke off on a gasp, and I rose to move around the table and hauled her into my arms. The muffled sobs had her body shaking for long minutes as she cried into my chest. When she’d calmed, Emily sniffled and spoke without looking at me.

  “I was off for several months while I recovered. Garret was amazing even though he drove me crazy on a daily basis. I stayed with him for a few weeks, which turned into a couple of months, and he took care of me the whole time. When I finally got back into classes, Martin treated me like a glass ornament, even changing the seasons. Instead of doing Phantom of the Opera, we worked on Le Petit Prince so that I’d have a smaller role and therefore more time to recover.”

  Understanding dawned on me. “Is that why you cried after each performance?”

  She pulled back a few inches and met my eyes, hers swimming in tears. “Partly. I felt like I was the rose, hidden under a glass cloche because everyone wanted to protect me. In the end, it wouldn’t work. I’d wither away and one of the other thousands of roses would take my place.”

  Now would have been the perfect time to give her some beautiful words of encouragement, but I had none. She’d left me speechless, knocked over by the force of her words. They spoke of more than one unfortunate injury, fearing the reality every dancer faced at the end of a career. No matter what we accomplished, in time we’d fade away and new artists would step into our roles.

  I vowed in that moment to read The Little Prince to try to find a counter argument, one I didn’t have on my own.

  A strained laugh left her as she wiped away more tears. “And it is a sad story. Beautiful and meaningful, but sad when you think about it.”

  I stared at her while she pulled herself together with a strength I hadn’t seen from her before. The tears had all dried up, but her eyes remained red and puffy, her lashes clumped together from the moisture clinging to them. Unlike many Dominants, tears had never been a turn on for me. I wanted my submissives happy and enjoying themselves, not falling to pieces in front of me. Well, not because of real-life stresses.

  “I think all those tears require dessert.” She tried to argue, typical dancer declining too much sugar, but I shushed her. “Fresh fruit, with lots of blueberries. High in antioxidants.”

  She smiled, shoulders relaxing. “I love blueberries.”

  I kept the conversation light while I cleared the table and arranged a fruit platter. Blue stayed glued to Emily’s side, making her laugh as he went in search of a toy and dropped it at her feet. When dessert was finished, the two of them played while I cleaned the worst of the mess from dinner. I would have left it for the morning, but she seemed to be having fun, and I didn’t want to ruin that. Not yet, anyway.

  “Come on, Blue. I think you’ve hogged my date long
enough. Time for bed, buddy.”

  I locked up the house, and Blue obediently curled up on his nest of a bed in the living room. Emily’s eyes widened when I took her hand and led her up to the second floor.

  “Does he sleep there every night?” she asked.

  I laughed as we reached the top of the stairs. “He’s supposed to, but most mornings I wake up with him snoring next to me on the bed or stealing the blankets in winter.”

  The ring of her laughter filled the hollow walls of my home, lighting up the dark corners.

  “Bathroom’s through here,” I told her as we neared the threshold of my bedroom. “You’re welcome to freshen up and join me when you’re ready.”

  She swallowed hard and nodded, her words apparently going into hiding now that things were progressing. I wondered if she’d ever lose that nervous habit. While she disappeared into the bathroom, I perched on my bed and waited, growing more and more impatient as the clock ticked the time away. I’d told her when she was ready, but when fifteen minutes had passed, I knocked on the door.

  “Emily?”

  Silence greeted me, but the door opened a moment later, revealing her tense smile. “Sorry. I—”

  “Nervous?” I pulled her to me as she nodded, the barest tilt of her head. “There’s nothing to be nervous about. I promise not to go farther than you want or are comfortable with. Besides, I don’t plan to take you tonight.”

  “You don’t?” Aquamarine eyes widened, her dark brows rising.

  I cupped her cheek and leaned in to kiss her lips, unable to stop myself from tasting her before I answered. “No, not yet.” I reached out and gripped her delicate wrists in my hands, careful not to apply more pressure than she could take. “Come. I told you we have things to discuss.”

  My hand still locked on her wrist, I led her into the bedroom and wasted no time before depositing her on the edge of the bed. Her eyes remained focused on me as I knelt in front of her and slipped the navy sneakers from her feet, smiling at the orthopedic inserts tucked inside.

  “Sorry they aren’t sexy,” she mumbled.

  “I’d rather have you taking care of yourself than trying to look sexy.” I held her gaze, cupping her heels in my palms. “You do that plenty all on your own.”

  Her cheeks turned a tempting shade of pink as she averted her gaze. “Can we please not do this discussion with you on your knees? It’s making me feel awkward.”

  I smiled and rose from my haunches, palming the back of her head as I kissed her. With my body pressed against hers, I pushed until her back hit the sheets, a little gasp escaping her lips. I put my weight on one elbow as I lay beside her, my free hand skimming the column of her throat. She needed to be at ease for this or we’d never make it past the first few questions.

  “Emily, I want you to be very honest with me, okay? I know some of this will make you uncomfortable, but I need to know a few things. Promise you won’t lie.”

  She nodded, eyes closed and mouth parted on a deep breath.

  “Your words, Emily. You need to learn to use your words.”

  A moment of silence passed before she looked at me. “I promise.”

  “Good girl.” I settled my palm flat on her belly, feeling the rise and fall of her heavy breathing. “Are you on any type of birth control?”

  As expected, her cheeks burned hotter, color radiating down her neck, but she shook her head in answer. “I rarely have my period anymore. Pretty much only during the off-season or—while I was recovering from my injury.”

  I scowled at the implication of her words. It wasn’t unheard of for dancers—like athletes—to suffer many disorders, but it didn’t mean it was healthy. Most often it stemmed from a combination of things, including malnutrition and stress, and might lead to more serious issues. “I want you to go see a doctor—mine if you don’t have one—and get a full check up, head to toe. You’ll also ask about birth control.”

  She nodded. “I have a doctor. Garret insisted on the best his money could buy after the injury. I just don’t see him very often.” The last sentence was spoken softly, her gaze darting from mine.

  “Hey, you don’t have to feel ashamed, Emily. I was a dancer for ten years before I moved to choreography, so I get it. I know what the ballet world is like.”

  Her eyes met mine as she smiled. “I like that you understand this side of me. Beyond the other side, I mean.”

  I laughed and leaned in to kiss her. “The kinky side?” I held her close so her lips brushed against mine as she smiled. “Speaking of which, I want you to tell me how much you’ve done in the past. With your partners. Don’t go into too much detail or my jealousy will rear its ugly head, but I need to know where you have experience.”

  “I haven’t done much at all.”

  “Define much.” Silence filled the room, and I pulled back to look at her face, her features tightened with unease. “Okay. Let’s start simple. How many men have kissed you?”

  “Two—no, three. Excluding you.”

  My eyes widened. Fuck. She was even more innocent than I expected. “You said you’d had two boyfriends so I assume they’re the first two. Who was the third?”

  She compressed her lips together, rolling them between her teeth, hesitating long enough to tell me I wouldn’t like the answer. “Garret.” The name left her mouth on a low breath, not even a whisper. “It was a long time ago, years in fact, and it never went beyond kissing.”

  I clamped down on my teeth, working my jaw, and nodded, knowing full well that I’d pushed for the answer. “And it won’t happen again, not while we’re together.” She nodded at my demand, the quick action settling my jealousy. “The other two, did they ever touch you here?”

  I palmed her breast, squeezing gently, and earned a faint moan as she nodded. “Yes.”

  Swallowing the knot in my throat, I trailed my fingers down her torso, coming to rest at the very lowest point of her belly. “And here?” She nodded, though her eyes had glazed over with the direction of my hand. “How about here?”

  I cupped her denim-covered pussy, and her gasp echoed through the room. I kept my hand still, not giving her the attention she wanted. Her head moved up and down in answer, but her brow tightened, something in her expression telling me there was more to it.

  “Fingers or mouth, Emily?” My question was strategic so she’d be forced to say the words instead of nodding or shaking her head. I wanted the words. Had to know for sure.

  “Fingers. I—Aidan tried to—with his mouth, but I stopped him before he could really touch me.”

  “Why?”

  “I—it felt wrong.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I had my suspicions but didn’t voice them. “Did they make you come?” She shook her head, no longer speaking since it was a yes or no question. “Forced to do it yourself then? What a shame. Tell me how you made yourself climax when they failed to do it for you.” My frustration grew with another shake of her head. “Emily, I need you to talk to me. You promised.”

  I moved my hand from between her thighs in the hope it would speed up her words. Instead, she groaned and heaved a deep breath. She stared up at me, something akin to pain crossing her beautiful features.

  “I didn’t—couldn’t.” Her eyes darkened to a deep teal, the color of the ocean depths. “I’ve only ever come with you.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Emily

  I could tell from Sam’s rigid body and frozen expression that I’d shocked him. He’d wanted the truth, and I’d given it to him, no matter how embarrassed I was to admit it. My hand might have wandered on occasion, but I’d never succeeded in bringing myself to orgasm. More often than not, I only made myself feel more frustrated.

  Sam’s hand skimmed my torso, not quite touching. “I have to say, now I feel bad to admit what I had planned for this week. I promise it’ll be worth it in the end though.”

  I frowned in confusion, wondering how that related to my confession. �
�What will?”

  Sam smiled and leaned in to taste my lips, his kiss deepening as his hand cupped my breast again. He squeezed, harder than before, and I moaned into his mouth as he thumbed my nipple. He grazed my lower lip with his teeth, tongue licking away the slight burn. “At least I don’t have to worry about you touching yourself without permission.”

  “Wh—what?” I gasped out as he pinched my nipple between his fingers, the ghost of pain searing a path all along my nerve endings.

  “You’re not permitted to touch yourself unless I tell you to do so. Nor are you allowed to come until I let you.”

  I gaped, unsure how I felt about that.

  “You’re mine, Emily. I won’t demand too much of you, not more than you can give me. But your orgasms are mine. Non-negotiable.”

  I was sure he heard the intense beating of my heart as it pounded against my ribcage. Something about the expression on his face and hard tone in his voice told me he was serious. I nodded before realizing this would be another instance where he’d demand the words. “I’m yours.”

  “And your orgasms.”

  “Yours,” I breathed out on less than a whisper.

  It might not have been the exact phrase he wanted, but my voice wouldn’t let anything more out, and he seemed appeased. The dark brown of his eyes glinted in satisfaction, his thumb never stopping its assault on my nipple. The tight bud tingled from his attention, unsure if it was too much or not enough.

  “Until I learn your body’s cues, you’ll have to tell me when you’re close. In time, I’ll know without words, but for now you’ll warn me before you climax, okay?”

  “I’ll try.”

  Honestly, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to warn him, but I’d do my best. For him. If only he’d move his hand to my other breast and give the one beneath his fingers a break. He didn’t, leaving me unbalanced and arching into his touch. I closed my eyes, thoughts frazzled and yet focused on that one spot on my body, my world narrowed to a single brush of Sam’s fingers.

  “Fuck, you’re responsive.”

  I barely heard the words but groaned in both protest and relief when Sam removed his fingers.