Her smile widened.
Music swelled. Knowing he watched her, feeling his gaze like a caress, Elena closed her eyes and sang.
Words flowed from her as she climbed the music, soaring and falling, growling and entreating, melding her voice and the music into one. Every heartbreak she’d ever felt, every conquest she’d ever made, she poured into her song, seducing and being seduced, feeling again the hollowness and searching for an answer.
The feelings the music engendered grew too large to contain and, like a fool, she sought him out. He watched her with those eyes hidden by shadow, his hand still wrapped around his glass even as his other hand balled to a fist on the table. She could feel his gaze burning upon her, could see how his full lips tightened, how his jaw clenched. Her heart pounded, her flesh tingling under his regard, and deep within her, heat rushed to her centre to make her swollen and wet. Her nipples tightened against the thin satin of her dress and she arched her back, teasing herself with the scrape of fabric against flesh. He tensed further, his lips parting as he noticed his effect on her.
She wanted to touch him, so badly she ached.
Her voice skipped a note, but she quickly smoothed it over. Where had that thought come from? She didn’t ache for men. If she wanted one, she took him and once they were done, they were done. Though lately… Lately, she’d thought of what it might be like to linger. To have more than an hour or two. To, perhaps, know someone.
She wanted to know him.
The drums throbbed. The bass thrummed. Music tripped over her, but she kept her gaze locked with his. Blood beat a rhythm through her, forcing her breath to labour and her heart to pound. Lifting her arm, she curled it to the music, the action heavy with a languid kind of grace.
Through it all he watched her, his hand clutching his glass as her voice soared, reached a high, pure note. Holding it, she wavered on the edge as time elongated, becoming a moment filled wholly with him and his shadowed eyes.
The drums thundered, grew to a crescendo. Then, they stopped.
Her lungs screamed, but she held that note. She held it and held it, and his eyes burned into her, his hand tightening around the glass. Fingers trailing up the stand, she watched only him, her voice rising, swelling, becoming grander than the room.
And when it was at its height, when the crowd was on the edge of their seats, she cut off the note.
A moment of hush, two, and then the audience erupted. Wild applause, raucous whistles, frantic cheers, the crowd showered her in their desire and their love. She soaked it in, the adulation of strangers, and thought nothing of the hollow in her chest.
Leaning to the microphone once more, she thanked them, and they cheered and shouted, wanting more. The corner of her mouth lifted as she cast her gaze over them and faded as she became caught by him. Gaze steady, he regarded her and though his body was a sprawl, she could see the tension in the set of his shoulders, the muscles of his thighs.
Silently, she extended an invitation. Come to me.
His eyes widened, and she saw his answer in the increase of the tension wracking his frame. He would come, and finally they would speak. And then, perhaps, they would do more.
Smiling for the crowd again, she begged their pardon even as she told them she would return. As she left the stage, she felt him watching her, and with one final glance over her shoulder, she entreated him to follow.
The walk to her dressing room passed in a blur. Her mind full of him, the door opened easily, and only the harshness of the light pulled her thoughts from him. Blinking, she dimmed the overhead light, leaving the room illuminated by the bulbs ringing the dressing table’s mirror.
Seating herself before it, she looked at her reflection. Light brown hair tumbled in artful curls over her shoulder, and the smoky-dark eye shadow made her brown eyes even darker. Red lipstick gave her lips a false lushness, while the indiscriminate light of the ring of globes destroyed the illusion of sharp cheekbones the blush had given her. The thin straps of the silvery-grey slip dress held the simple v-neckline in place, and though she couldn’t see it, the material skirted close to her hips. Amidst this illusion and falsity, a smile softened her features, one that spoke of hopes and dreams she’d long thought dead. One that spoke of thoughts of him.
The smile slipped from the Elena reflected.
She forced herself to regard herself clearly, without any subterfuge. All she did was shadow and illusion. There was no innocence left in the woman in the mirror, no reason for such a hopeful smile. That had been erased long ago, through a hundred brief encounters.
It seemed forever ago when she’d first moved to Melbourne, had left the suffocation of the small Victorian country town in which she’d grown. In the beginning, the anonymity of the city had excited her. No one knew her name, what she had for breakfast, reported her every move back to her parents so she could suffer their disappointment and their disdain. Here, no one belonged and no one cared, and she had savoured the freedom like a drug.
There had been a thousand different ways to be alone, and the night brought her a myriad of possibilities. She had thrown herself into anonymity, had almost made a dance of it. She’d taken who she wanted when she wanted, had moved from place to place, club to club. There was an edge, a seductive danger to feeling so unsettled, and she’d never wanted anything more.
Now… now, the dance was just a thousand different ways to be alone.
She stared at her reflection. Why this one? Why was he different?
Truth be told, there was no reason. There was nothing particular about him, nothing to spark this intense desire. He was a man, like any other, but if he gave her a reason, if he gave her just one, she would fall. So hard. So deep. She’d never thought of herself as wanting such things, and yet with him she wanted more than an hour or two. With him, she wanted forever.
Sucking in a breath, she shook herself. These thoughts were pointless. They would talk, and they would fuck, and there would be nothing more. He was not different. He was not special. And she refused to think otherwise.
A knock sounded at her door. Staring into the mirror, she watched as every muscle tensed, as a wild tangle of emotions chased across the face reflected in the mirror. She took a breath, and the emotions leapt within her, mingled hope and joy and something deeper than both.
Pressing her hand to her stomach, she took another breath. He wasn’t special. An hour or two, and no more.
Pushing from her dressing table, she arranged a coy smile as she turned the handle of the door.
He was taller than she’d expected. She’d known he would be tall - the sprawl of his legs spoke of that truth - but she hadn’t thought he would be a foot taller than her. His dark hair was actually chocolate brown, and he was leaner than his jacket and shirt suggested from the vantage of a stage. His eyes were still shrouded in shadow.
He hesitated at her threshold, as if unsure, and suddenly, she felt hesitant too. Annoyance bit at her, that he’d forced her to an emotion other than lust. Pretending she didn’t feel such, she stepped aside and waited.
For a long moment, he stood there, his eyes downcast. Then, his shoulders stiffened and finally he stepped into the room.
Shaking the annoying feeling, she forced the first steps of the game. “Would you like a drink?”
“Whisky.”
Dark, deep, his voice made her shiver, and made her think of lustful things. Gooseflesh skipping along her skin, she went to the small bar next to the dressing table and poured two glasses. Turning to him, she said, “You come every night.”
His fingers brushed hers as he took the glass. “Yes.”
Her breath caught as sensation bloomed, racing along her arm, through her breast, into her core. Excitement set a steady thrum within her. “You have a name?”
“Yes.”
Amusement wound through her, dampening his effect. “What is it?”
He cleared his throat. “Max.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Max.” Tilting he
r head, she allowed a smile to tug at her lips. “I’m Elena.”
“I know.” His gaze skittered from hers.
A slight frown drew her brows at his reaction. He acted hesitant and unsure, as if he didn’t know the game they played. Why, then, was he here?
Something hollow and hopeful and dark swirled within her.
No. They were here to fuck, nothing more. “So Max, what brings you to the club every night?”
“I - ” Seeming to change his mind, he cut himself off. “The music.”
“The music?” She pressed her nails into his skin. “Is that all?”
“No, I… no.” He shifted his weight.
Disquiet filled her. This was supposed to be casual. An hour or two, and then done. Why was he making her question herself and him? “Why are you here? What do you want?”
He raised his gaze to hers and her breath caught. The expression in his eyes was great and terrible and…lovely. “I came to see you.”
Her breath caught at the simplicity of his words.
“Every night, I come to see you.” His voice gained strength with each word he spoke. “I watch you stand on the stage, and you seem like I do. You seem - ” Again he cut himself off, his gaze sliding from hers.
She waited, but he didn’t speak. Struggling for levity, she gave him a flirty smile. “I seem…”
His gaze returned to hers. “Lonely.”
Speech deserted her.
Rubbing the back of his neck, brows drawn, his chest shuddered with the breath he took. “I come here every night, and I want - Christ, I look at you on that stage and I just want to hold you, to feel you next to me and know that neither of us are alone.”
Shoving a hand through his tousled hair, he laughed, and it was a harsh, bitter sound. “Stupid, right? So tonight, when you beckoned to me with that wicked smile, I was going to take only what you gave and be content with that, but then you asked - ” He exhaled, and his look turned rueful and despairing and self-deprecating all at once. “You asked me what I wanted - and I want you.”
Eyes wide, unable to speak, she stared at him.
Crossing his arms, he gripped his biceps. “You asked.”
How, how could he see her so clearly? Staring at one another every night for six months didn’t mean you knew the other person. Staring at him didn’t mean she knew he lived alone, that he came to the club to be around others. It didn’t mean she knew he came to see her.
She couldn’t know he liked his whisky neat, and he loved fried onions. He preferred to sit alone than with others and when he smiled, he made her light with joy. She couldn’t know these things from staring at him across a room.
And yet, she did.
She wanted him, too. She wanted him for more than an hour. For more than a night. She wanted him as long as he would allow, and she wanted him now.
There it was. Her reason.
Stepping close, she curled her hand around his and took the glass from his lax grip, placing it on the table next to hers. Then, she set her mouth to his.
His lips were warm, tasting of the whisky he’d consumed, and moved under hers slowly, hesitantly. Sliding her hands up his shoulders, she pushed him backward until she felt the thump and jerk as he met the edge of the dressing table. Trailing over his arms, she covered the hands that gripped the edge with her own.
Breaking from her, he pulled back. She tried to follow, but he removed his hand from hers and stilled her with a gentle cup of her cheek.
His eyes searched hers.
Moments passed. Her breath found his, merged and became one. Keeping his gaze, she raised her hand to cover his and, leaning forward, she flicked her tongue against his upper lip.
The force of his reaction thrilled her. His hands splayed over the small of her back to tug her into him, scrunching the fabric and digging into her skin. Her own hands framed his jaw, her fingers digging into his hair as they kissed and kissed. Tangling with hers, his tongue enticed and she followed, eager to feel more of this fire. Her breasts flattened against his chest, the thin satin and his shirt barely a barrier between them and, legs widening, he tugged her into the cradle created. She went gladly, relishing the feel of powerful thighs encasing her.
Pushing off his jacket, she struggled with his suspenders as his lips trailed hotly over her cheek. Fingers threaded under the thin strap of her dress, his hand warm and hard against her as he slipped it from her shoulder. His lips trailed over the skin revealed, bringing fire in their wake, and then found the satin covering her breast. As his mouth opened over her nipple, she threw back her head, pressing herself into him as he licked and worried her through the fabric. Against her stomach she could feel him, hardening behind his trousers, and she moved against him, glorying in the sound of his tortured groan against her breast.
Fingers slipped beneath the other strap and then the bodice fell, baring her to him, and a strong hand surrounded the soft flesh of her breast, bringing her again to his mouth. A gasp stuttered from her at the hot feel of his lips against her, his tongue lavishing her aching nipple. His mouth was hot and wet and so clever, tracing her, nipping her, his teeth hard and contrasting with the softness of his tongue. He didn’t neglect her other breast, his mouth just as hot, just as wet, and driving her insane with want.
Burying her fingers in his hair, she jerked him up. Lips swollen and wet, he watched her with eyes darkened with lust. Breath shuddered through her as she stared into him. Desire burned her skin, curled low in her belly and thrummed through in her blood.
With a tug of his arms, she turned and pushed him to the couch against the wall. He fell easily, his eyes never leaving hers. Her dress caught at her hips, she straddled him, pushing his shirt aside as she leaned down to taste his neck. He was salt and whisky and heat, and she loved him on her tongue.
Rough hands pushed under her skirt and up the outside of her thighs, curling around her to pull her toward him. Leaning over him, she pushed what remained of his shirt from his chest. His skin was pale, with a light dusting of dark hair she longed to trace, but instead she trailed her fingers over the muscles she found, her tongue tangling with hers as she took his mouth again. Fingers dug into her hips and he urged her forward, starting a rhythm that drove the lust inside her to a fever. Between her thighs, his cock pressed against her, thick and hard and big. A strong hand cupped her breast, shaping her, moulding her. Her nipple tightened painfully, his thumb circling and circling the tight flesh, and pleasure forked through her as he caught her between his finger and thumb.
Grasping his shoulders, she pushed him back against the couch to hold him still for her pleasure. She licked the length of his throat, and delighted as he tensed. Tracing his collarbone with lips and tongue, she gloried when he groaned. And when she found his nipple and circled it with her tongue, she counted her success in the way his body shuddered.
However, she didn’t have long before he wanted more. Hands grasped her upper arms and lifted her, turning her so her back met the couch. Following, he spread her thighs wide and settled between, his mouth taking hers as his hand drifted over her stomach, between her legs. Fingers pushed aside her underwear and he parted her, finding where all her pleasure centred.
Arms winding about his neck, she gasped into his mouth as he circled and circled again and then he found her opening, pushing inside. Lost in the pleasure he gave her, she wrapped her arms tighter, relishing the feel of him inside her. His thumb flicked against her, and she swallowed a scream as sensation tore through her. Suddenly, her arms were empty, her underwear removed and hot breath washed over her wet folds. Then, a tongue replaced clever fingers.
Fire streaked through her, her fingers buried in his hair. His tongue played with her and she could only lie helpless beneath his assault, her hips undulating beneath his mouth. His hands slid over her stomach, her breasts, and then he followed, kissing her abdomen through her dress, her bare breastbone, the hollow of her neck. As he covered her mouth with his, she could taste herself on him.
Breathless, she waited for that first thrust, but he had other plans. Smoothing the hair from her face, he stared into her eyes. It seemed he asked thousand questions with his gaze, and though he didn’t speak a word, she knew each question exact.
Trailing her fingers down his arms, she linked her hands with his as she wrapped her legs about his hips. Closing his eyes, he swallowed and when he opened them, they blazed with something shining and glorious. Setting his forehead against hers, he reached between them. The head of his cock notched against her, and she exhaled shakily as sensation ran through her anew. Slowly, deliberately, he pressed inside. Inching back, he thrust again, a little deeper, a little harder.
She pushed against him, her breath catching as he forged deeper, her nerves afire with the feel of him inside her. Each push, each pull, set him a little further, and each drove the lust inside her wilder. Finally fully seated, finally, his pelvis ground against her. Lightning speared through her, arching her back and setting her more firmly against him.
Slowly, he pulled back. She bit her lip at the drag of him against her tender flesh, her legs tightening around him as he made his slow retreat. Just as slow, he slid into her. Arching her neck, she dug her fingers into his back, the feel of him overwhelming. He took advantage, his tongue tracing the cord as he pushed and pulled, slowly, so slowly. A hand covered her breast and another dug into the soft flesh of her buttock as he tugged her closer.
But she wanted more.
Heels digging into his buttocks, she urged him harder, deeper, and he complied, his arms digging into the couch as he changed the pace. She thrust against him, meeting him as strongly as he did her, and her breasts bounced with the force of their moves, his belly shoving against hers as he pressed her into the couch.
Smut in the City (Absolute Erotica) Page 7