Pointe Noire (The Noire House Book 1)

by Lacie Thorne

  “Come on,” he said, taking my hand in his. “Let’s get home before Blue gets up to too much trouble.”

  His words were light, but I could still feel the tension in him. We’d smoothed things over, but not completely. Like trying to fix a broken pointe shoe with gauze. I’d have to talk to Garret soon, before things got any worse, but for now I had to make Sam understand.

  I didn’t want Garret. I wanted him. More and more with every passing minute we spent together.

  I just had to prove it to him.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Sam

  My muscles were still wound tight as I took Blue for a short walk the minute we got back home, the disappointment on Emily’s face haunting me. She thought I was avoiding her—and okay, I was—but Blue also needed to stretch his legs after being cooped up. Besides, I could do with the fresh air, a few moments to clear the damn jealousy coursing through my veins.

  I was being an asshole.

  But knowing it didn’t stop my actions. Which probably made it worse.

  I cursed, running a hand down my face while Blue sniffed at the base of a tree, then marked his territory. God, I was practically doing the same thing with Emily, and I hated the way I’d acted at Le Salon Rouge. It wasn’t like I wanted Garret to find out about us like that, with me feeling her up in public.

  I needed to apologize. Make it up to her. I might be a Dom, but I wasn’t an ass. At least not if I could help it.

  “Come on, buddy. Let’s get home.”

  Blue bounded back to me, then ran on ahead towards the gate and waited, tail wagging. I closed the gate behind us, and walked up to the house, into the living room through the double glass doors, and stopped. The house was dark, all the lights out except the one shining outside on the porch, casting a dim glow into the living room.

  Emily sat on the edge of the coffee table, gloriously naked except for the insanely sexy legwarmers. Her chest rose and fell faster with every breath, whether from nerves or excitement, I didn’t know. She glanced up at me, her head still tilted down. I stared but didn’t move, waiting to see what she’d do. My cock, on the other hand, hardened, ready for anything—everything.

  In true Emily fashion, she didn’t say a word. She bit her lip and stood, swallowing hard. The seconds ticked by, tension coiling between us, binding us together in this dance. My anger and jealousy from Le Salon Rouge had fanned into something else.

  I longed to reach out for her, wrap her in my arms, and kiss her senseless. But I had to give her space to explore, to take what she wanted—ask for what she needed. So, I waited, the blood flowing south burning hotter with every second.

  Finally, Emily took a step forward, then another, until she was inches from me, staring up from under long lashes. Her lips parted as she sucked in a deep breath. Her fingers fumbled with the buckle on my belt, but still I didn’t move, allowing her to be in charge. If only for a moment. When it got stuck, she dropped her gaze, struggling to get the worn leather free from the metal prong. She huffed, doubling her efforts until it was loose. The slide of my zipper was ridiculously loud in the quiet house.

  Emily fell to her knees in front of me, hands working my cock free of my jeans and boxer briefs. She cupped one hand at the base and lapped at the tip with her tongue, one hot stroke before sealing her lips around me. I groaned as she took me deeper, burying a hand in her hair but trying my damnedest not to control her actions. It was fucking impossible, but I was determined to give her this. Just once.

  Her mouth was so damn hot. I wondered if her pussy would be just as hot when I fucked her. The thought of sinking into her slick heat had my hips bucking, sending me deeper down her throat. She groaned, the vibrations rippling along my length like a fucking electric current. I fisted her hair, unable to be as gentle as I meant to be, but she didn’t complain. She put more effort into sucking me off.

  I came down her throat with a guttural moan, riding the orgasm for all it was worth, while Emily laved at my softening cock. I pulled out of her, running the thumb of my free hand across her swollen lips, a sort of apology for being rough with her. Not that she seemed to mind. Her eyes had glazed over, lids heavy with desire.

  When I loosened my hand in her hair, cupping her cheek in my palm, she leaned into the touch and closed her eyes. “I only want you, Sam,” she whispered.

  Fuck. That’s why she’d done it. Not because she wanted to. Not because she needed to take control for once.

  My blood cooled instantly. I reached down and grabbed her waist, hoisting her up to wrap her legs around my hips. I carried her over to the sofa, grateful it was no longer covered in thick plastic, and sat down with her straddling my lap. She fell against me, head resting on my shoulder, fingers toying with the buttons on my shirt.

  “You didn’t have to prove anything, Emily.” It made me sick to think she felt she needed to.

  She lifted her head, eyes clearing as she stared at me. “But, at Le Salon Rouge—”

  “I acted like an ass.” I brushed my fingers over her delicate cheek. “You didn’t deserve any of it, and I fully intended to rectify things. Before your apologetic blowjob caught me off guard.”

  I clenched my jaw, the whole thing still setting my teeth on edge—like eating too many beignets in one sitting. I’d gotten off because she thought she had to prove her devotion. What kind of selfish bastard did that make me?

  She stroked the creases in my forehead, then one eyebrow. “That’s not the only reason I did it. I meant what I said—I want you. It has nothing to do with Garret, and that’s what I needed you to understand. Yes, I had an ulterior motivation, but I would have done it either way.”

  Her voice and eyes hardened as she spoke. She dropped her gaze, and I realized I was fucking up all over again.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “The way I acted earlier and now. For the entire night.”

  The edge of her lip curled up. “Not the entire night. Le Salon Rouge was the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen.”

  I smiled. “Agreed. It used to be a burlesque club, but they filed for bankruptcy, and the new owner transformed it.”

  “It’s still sexy though.”

  “It is.” I trailed my hand down her shoulder and arm, stroking her inner-wrist with my thumb. “They’re combining exotic dance with artistic. Rather successfully, in my opinion.”

  I tugged her arm behind her back, slowly, then reached for the other and repeated the move, locking both her wrists in one hand.

  “Will you be poaching those dancers?” she asked, voice breathy.

  “Maybe.” I stroked her stomach with my free hand, trying to decide whether to play with her nipples or go straight for her pussy. “I have a meeting with Penelope tomorrow to discuss—possibilities.”

  She arched her back, wordlessly asking for more. “Sam, I don’t—I could never do that. Those performances tonight. If—”

  She broke off as I pinched her nipple, hard. A little punishment for doubting herself.

  “If that’s what you want,” she continued. “I don’t think I’m the right dancer for your company.”

  I scoffed, soothing the sting in her nipple. “We’ll table that particular discussion for another time. Perhaps when you aren’t naked on top of me.”

  “Not entirely naked.”

  “No,” I agreed, trailing my hand down her waist, over her hips and thigh, until I reached the edge of her legwarmers. “Nice touch, by the way. I wanted to sink my hands into these all night.”

  She squirmed against me, bringing my cock back to life as she tried in vain to free her hands. I doubted she really wanted to because there was no way she was using all her strength. Testing my theory, I let her go, and she moaned in protest, keeping her arms behind her back of her own free will.

  I gave her thigh a light slap. “Stand up a second.”

  With a little sigh, she rose to her feet, and I followed, crowding her as I slipped my belt from the loops in my jeans. I bent down and licked her ear, nip
ping at the soft lobe. “Both hands on the back of the sofa, knees resting against the cushions, but don’t kneel.”

  She sucked in a sharp breath, hopefully anticipating what I was about to do. I made sure to fold my belt in half while she watched, right before I got out of her way so she could bend over, ass in the air. Presenting herself to me. And the spanking coming her way. When she didn’t move, I snapped the leather against my hand, and she jumped at the sound but stepped forward.

  My cock turned to steel as Emily bent over the sofa, stretching her petite frame to place her hands on the back and leave her knees brushing the cushions. I dragged the coffee table out of the way, making space behind her.

  “Dip more at the waist, arch your back as far as you can without hurting it.”

  A pause.

  Then compliance.

  Fuck, her ass looked gorgeous. I paced a line back and forth, a few steps in one direction, then a few in the opposite, all the while staring at her. Making her wait. Her breathing grew ragged—I knew because I could hear the choppy exhales in the stillness.

  “Spread your legs.” I ran a lone finger down her spine, the barest touch, another tease.

  She edged them apart. But not nearly enough.

  “Wider, Emily.” I slid my hand over her ass, down between her thighs, hovering them close but not enough to actually touch her. “More.”

  She whimpered, shifting her stance by tiny degrees until I touched my fingertip to her clit, signaling without words that it was enough. Of course she understood, letting out a deep groan.

  “Good girl.”

  I pulled my hand from between her legs, lifted the belt, and slapped it against the center of her ass, loving the crack that echoed through the house. She gasped, fingers curling into the sofa, but she didn’t move. I gave her two more in quick succession, one on each cheek, then smoothed a hand over the stinging skin. I squeezed each cheek, massaging the flesh until the tension in her body eased. Her fingers unfurled, spreading out, palms down.

  I pulled back and gave her more, each blow a little harder than the last. By number six, she was up on her toes, either trying to get away or simply a natural position for her. Eight and nine were harder still, but it was number ten that had her crying out. I paused, giving her a short reprieve, but I didn’t soothe the ache with my hand, letting her process the full extent of the pain.

  I should have added nipple clamps, but I didn’t want to leave her to run upstairs and get them. Instead, I reached under her, pinching and teasing both her nipples with my fingers, twisting them as she ground her ass into my cock. It took every ounce of willpower not to slide into her pussy. She was so fucking wet from the spanking, it’d be easy enough.

  But that wasn’t the plan.

  And besides, she had ballet class first thing in the morning, a long day of training, and then a show. I didn’t want her hurting through all that. Okay, so I didn’t want her hurting too much. No more than a little residual twinge in her ass.

  I flicked both nipples, then moved behind her again. Eleven and twelve were the hardest yet, and she danced on her toes, shifting from one to the other. But she never asked me to stop. Not once. So, when I reached fifteen, I cracked the belt across both cheeks, the same way I did when I started, then dropped the belt.

  I delved between her legs, sliding my fingers through her wet folds and over her clit. She whimpered, so far on the edge I doubted she’d be able to hang on much longer. I pulled my hand away but gripped her waist with the other, giving her a few moments to calm down. When her breathing was less ragged, I slid my hand from her waist to her belly, straight up her sternum, then higher until I grazed her collarbone.

  She shivered, fingers balled into clenched fists now.

  I gripped her where her neck met shoulder, my left arm banded around her torso to hold her steady. Her heart pounded against my forearm, a crazy rhythm that was much too fast. My own almost matched the pace.

  I drove my other hand back between her legs, sliding two fingers straight into her. No teasing caress. No threat. Just filling her up with one hard push.

  “Sam,” Emily cried out, tilting her hips into my hand, and grinding her ass against my cock.

  “Shh, it’s okay.” I stroked my thumb over the side of her neck, moving my fingers inside her gently. Out, then slowly back in. “I’ve got you.”

  She moaned, a needy sound I fucking loved. I pumped my fingers in and out a couple more times, then slid them down to circle her clit. Her body coiled tighter under my touch, holding herself rigid so she didn’t come without my say so.

  “Let go, Emily,” I whispered. “Just this once.”

  Tension melted from her muscles, and I slipped my thumb into her wet pussy, my fingers still working her clit with firm pressure. It took a few seconds at most before she was rocking into me, grinding herself against my hand in earnest. When she screamed through her orgasm, I clamped my palm over her mouth before my neighbors thought I was murdering someone.

  She bucked against me, riding it out for longer than I expected. I smiled and pulled my fingers from between her legs, giving her pussy a light swat that somehow managed to send her over the edge—that fast and easy—all over again. She bit my palm to keep from making a sound while I marveled at the second orgasm rippling through her.

  When she finally eased, melting until she sagged against me, I leaned over her to whisper in her ear. “Just so we’re clear.” I kissed her shoulder. “That was an apology.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Emily

  “Emmy?”

  I glanced up to find Garret and Mr. Lacroix frowning at me with furrows etched on their similar brows. Garret looked so much like his father, they could have been the same man, only forty years apart. I got the distinct impression this wasn’t the first time he’d tried to get my attention and shame swept through me, heat rising to my cheeks.

  I hated being rude in front of Mr. Lacroix, but my head had been elsewhere all week, dazed with thoughts of Sam. He’d been like a specter haunting me in the best possible way, popping in to see me at the theater or surprising me with flowers. Of course there were the sexy texts and phone calls, a chance encounter here and there.

  It wasn’t enough. I wanted more of him. All of him.

  But first, I needed to finish lunch with Garret and his father. We were seated around a long table out on the patio of Garret’s home, the sun streaming down around us. I usually loved our get-togethers since they were the closest thing I had to a family, but today I felt restless and eager to get to Sam. To fall into his arms.

  “Sorry, I was—thinking.”

  Garret tilted his head, not buying my flimsy answer. “Dad was just saying how wonderful the new show was.”

  “Oh,” I said. “You’ve seen it, Mr. Lacroix?”

  He smiled, lips curling under his silvering mustache. “Emily, dear, how many times have I told you to call me Henry?” He laughed and shook his head. “And yes, I saw it last night with a friend. She was truly mesmerized by your performance. We both were.”

  “She?” Garret asked with a smile and a wink he directed at me.

  “Your old man is allowed to date, Garret,” Mr. Lacroix huffed and shifted in his chair. “Don’t sound so scandalized.”

  “Does she have a name?” I asked, partly to contribute to the conversation before I zoned out again. But also because I was happy Mr. Lacroix was dating again. It had been roughly thirty-four years since his wife had died, when Garret was just two, and left him to raise their son on his own. Apparently, he never dated, citing his love and devotion to his late wife as the reason he never wanted anyone else.

  It was beautiful and sad. I kind of wanted someone to love me with such commitment, but at the same time, it seemed unhealthy. To be so consumed by one person that you couldn’t even move on when they were gone. Love should strengthen people. Not cause weakness.

  Mr. Lacroix sighed, dragging me out of my wandering thoughts. “Of course she has a name, but don’t
you two try to change the subject. We’re discussing Emily’s amazing performance.” He sipped his orange juice. “Garret tells me Samuel’s taken a liking to you.”

  I froze. For half a second, I thought Garret knew everything. That he’d somehow discovered the truth about me and Sam. But no, Mr. Lacroix was still on the topic of ballet. Besides, if Garret had figured it out, I doubted he would have calmly discussed it with his father before confronting me.

  I needed to talk to him. Soon. But not with Mr. Lacroix present.

  “Not exactly,” I hedged, focusing all my attention on the salad in front of me. “He merely wanted me to help scope out the local talent. For his new company.” I cleared my throat, trying to shift the topic to something that didn’t make my skin prick with nerves. “I didn’t realize you two knew each other.”

  Mr. Lacroix laughed. “Oh, I’ve known Samuel since he was an awkward teenager, dancing around on lanky legs, and chasing the ballerinas around the rehearsal rooms. I doubt he’d be so oblivious to your talents.”

  “He’s not,” Garret chimed in, leaning back in his chair. “He’s trying to steal her. Right, Emmy? You’ll be the highlight of his new company within a few months.”

  I hid my face behind my coffee cup. “I don’t—I mean, he’s found several wonderful dancers already.”

  Garret’s forehead crinkled, and I glanced away before he could read too much from my expression. I was terrified he’d realize it all just by looking at me long enough, as though the truth could spill from my mind into his through my eyes.

  Mr. Lacroix saved me from the awkward silence I expected. “Well, I’m sure Samuel will be very successful. He’s always been skilled at accomplishing his goals, and with you by his side, dear, you’ll make a wondrous team.”

  I shoveled a huge bite of salad into my mouth to avoid answering and let the conversation drift as I concentrated on my lunch. I ate far more than usual because it gave me an excuse not to talk more than absolutely necessary. When Mr. Lacroix asked if I’d help him get dessert, I sent a quick text to Sam to let him know I’d be late.