The waitress breaks the spell when she shows up with the food, and I force myself to take in a deep breath. Slow down, Emi. Clearing my throat, I busy myself with choosing slices of duck prosciutto and manchego cheese and place them on a slice of crusty French bread. For the next half hour we enjoy ourselves and make small talk. I share the story of my one and only fishing trip with my uncle when I was nine. He had told my parents he’d bought us tickets to a matinee showing of Beauty and the Beast downtown, so they let me skip my training that day, then he took me out on his charter boat instead. I spent the whole afternoon fishing, laughing, and eating junk food. We thought the theater had been the perfect alibi until I returned smelling like fish and lake water. I’d gotten grounded for a month, but it had been totally worth it.
“Dance with me,” Austin says out of the blue.
After managing to not choke on my wine, I look over at the small floor space in front of the band, who just started playing a cover of “Say You Won’t Let Go” by James Arthur. “No one else is dancing.”
“That’s no reason to let a good song go to waste.” He rises, extending his hand. “Dance with me, Emmélie.”
My breath catches at the way he says my full name. No one except my mother and grandparents in France had ever used it. It’s always sounded too formal and less like me. But the way Austin’s mouth wraps around the syllables speaks of an intimacy that shouldn’t exist between two near strangers…and yet it does.
I place my hand in his much larger one and let him lead me to the open space that’s to be our makeshift dance floor. He pulls me in close with his free hand splaying between my shoulder blades. His posture is impeccable, his form utterly perfect. Then, to my shock and delight, Austin Massey, man of mystery, leads me in a sensual rumba.
“Don’t look so surprised, princess,” he says with a lopsided grin. “Even stableboys can learn to dance like the royals.”
“Stop referring to yourself as a stableboy before my knee connects with your family jewels.” His eyes widen, but I’m not fooled. He’s not the least bit worried I’ll follow through with the threat, and he’s right. I’d never do something like that unless I feared for my life. Something I can’t imagine happening with this man. “If anything,” I continue, “you’d be the strong and valiant knight, which I much prefer to the pompous princes anyway.”
He leans in to speak into my ear. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear that.”
Erotic tingles race through my body, and it’s only the steps of the dance that keep me grounded enough to carry on the conversation. “Where’d you learn how to dance like this?”
He spins me out and back in, to the oohs and ahs of the audience we’ve attracted, but he doesn’t miss a beat as he answers. “My mother was a competition ballroom dancer before she had me. Then she stopped competing and switched to giving lessons. She taught me from when I was little, and once I was tall enough, she used me in her classes as her partner.”
“That’s amazing.” I let him spin us in a full rotation around our small area. “My mom put me in ballroom classes when I was in high school. She thought it could help with my ballet.”
“And did it?”
“Absolutely. More than that, I really enjoyed it. It was so much more freeing, with all the different styles. I thought we should add ballroom classes at the studio, but my mom wanted to keep it strictly ballet. Now that I’m running things, though…” I let the sentence trail off, still finding it hard to admit that my mother is no longer around.
“I think it’s a great idea, Emi. I know you love ballet, but sometimes the things we love aren’t the same things that feed our soul. I’m a firm believer that we need both to truly be happy.”
His words would sound cheesy coming from most people, but the sincerity with which he says them resonates with me on a deeper level. I get the feeling that both of us are lacking the things that feed our souls, and I can’t help but wonder if those things might be something else we have in common.
The song comes to an end, and he punctuates it with a dip so low I can see the tips of my hair trailing on the marble floor. People clap and whistle, but all I can focus on is his warm breath skating along my neck. I want him to chase it with a line of kisses and I want the kisses to turn into so much more. I haven’t felt this kind of need in so long I think I’d forgotten it even existed.
Before I can get too lost in my thoughts, Austin slowly pulls me back up. I expect him to release me so we can return to our table, but as the band segues into a much slower song, he holds me flush to his body and begins to sway like we’re back in junior high. If in junior high the boy I was dancing with had the body of a Greek god and sex appeal of all the Hollywood actors named Chris put together.
“Tell me something,” he says. “Why do you show up once a month to dance on a pole for a bunch of horny assholes?”
I arch a brow. “You have something against pole dancing, or is it just strippers you have a problem with?”
A wide smile reveals his straight white teeth. His model-like beauty and sheer magnetism take my breath away. “Neither. Considering my line of work, that would make me a huge hypocrite.”
My eyes flare wide as I try to think of what else he could mean other than what I think he’s implying. “You’re…a stripper?”
“And a fireman, darlin’. Sometimes I take my clothes off for money, and other times I slide down a pole and put more clothes on,” he says with a wink, a hint of his Southern drawl making an appearance.
“Wow, I have so many questions. Also, since you’re a fireman, I’d like to point out that I was right about the gallant knight thing.”
“Don’t change the subject. We’re not talking about me right now. My only point was that as someone in my part-time profession, the last thing I’m doing is judging you for your occasional moonlighting gig. I’m just curious as to why you do it. I have my suspicions, but I want to know if I’m right.”
“Why don’t you tell me what you think the reason is, and I’ll tell you whether you’re off base or not.”
Austin appears to consider this, or maybe he’s considering me, before moving a hand to the side of my neck, burying his fingers in my hair. His thumb strokes possessively over the line of my jaw, and his eyes capture mine with his intense gaze.
“I think there’s a side of you no one knows exists. One you keep locked away from the rest of the world in a gilded cage. But keeping her in there causes a pressure to build inside of you, and it grows and grows until you feel like you could split wide open from it. So you found a way to let her out, to let her taste freedom. It might only be for a few minutes, but it satiates her; calms her enough that you can put her back in that cage, at least for a little while.”
My heart beats pick up speed. How does he know? He’s a virtual stranger and yet he sees into the deepest, darkest parts of me. He sees me. It’s just as comforting as it is unsettling.
At some point, other couples had joined us, slow dancing on this lazy Sunday evening. And somewhere along the line, Austin and I stopped swaying to the beat as everyone else was doing. His words had become the center of my universe, with the rest of the world and all movement in it fading away.
“Am I right?” he asks in gruff voice.
“Yes,” I whisper. “You’re right.”
I expect his cocky grin to make an appearance, for him to issue a smug “I knew it” or some other totally guy thing to say. But his intensity never lifts, never even wavers. If anything, it’s only grown with my confirmation. It feels heavy, like a weighted blanket draped over my petite frame, and I welcome it.
“Tell me to kiss you, Emi.”
I expel a sigh of relief as though I’m being offered life-sustaining magic. “Kiss me, Austin. God, please kiss me.”
In a heartbeat his lips seize mine, claiming them as his in the middle of all these very nice, very proper people. His hand plunges deeper to the back of my head, fisting my hair at the roots until a sharp sting fires off s
parks across my scalp and between my legs. I open to him, welcoming his tongue as it plunders and takes—
A deliberate clearing of a throat severs our connection with the sharp realization of our surroundings.
Austin lets out a soft curse, then apologizes to the couple next to us who’d issued the warning. They don’t look upset, more conspiratorial with their knowing smiles and a wink of understanding from the older gentleman. I stifle a giggle as we resume our slow dancing, but the look on Austin’s face is hard to read. He doesn’t seem like the type to be embarrassed about PDA—frankly, he seems the type who wouldn’t think twice about fucking with an audience—but he seems almost bothered by the fact that we momentarily forgot where we are.
Placing a hand on his cheek, I turn his face toward me. “Hey,” I say, waiting until his eyes land on mine. “Let’s get out of here.”
Relief flashes across his handsome face, and in minutes we’ve gathered our things and settled the bill. As soon as we’re outside, he stops me on the quiet sidewalk. “I got carried away in there, and I’m sorry. I never meant to embarrass you.”
“You didn’t embarrass me, Austin. I was the one begging for you to kiss me, remember?”
“Kiss, yes. I’m sure you didn’t intend for me to practically maul you in public. Not in a nice place like this.”
Stepping in close, I trail my fingers across his strong jaw, reveling in the way his five o’clock shadow tickles my fingertips. “I liked being mauled by you,” I say softly. “Take me back to your place.”
“Emi…” My name sounds like it’s being ground into dust between his clenched teeth. “Are you sure?”
Am I? Do I really want to go home with a man whose mysterious understanding of my darker self causes me to feel unsettled and on edge? If I were normal, if I didn’t have that darker self, the answer would be no. But I’m not normal. I’ve known this about myself for some time now, and I’ve come to accept it, even if the rest of the world doesn’t. So my answer to his question is an irrefutable and unequivocal… “Yes.”
Chapter Six
Austin
Despite the arrogance I portray to the world at large, I’m not a very egocentric man. I’ve never been the kind of person who cares about keeping up with the Joneses or that, as a firefighter, I make a fraction of what my best friends do in their chosen careers. I’m just an Average Joe kind of guy leading an Average Joe kind of life.
But Emi, as I found out when I picked her up, comes from money. Lots of money. The kind of money that I can’t compete with and never will. That might bother me if I was looking to marry the girl, but we’ve only shared some drinks and a charcuterie plate, so I’m not going to worry about anything other than what we’re doing in this moment. Charcuterie. That right there is a perfect example of how different our worlds are. I had to look the word up when I got home the other night. Leave it to rich people to use a ridiculous-sounding French word that essentially means meat.
As I close and lock the door to my apartment behind us, I try to view my space through Emi’s eyes. The living room with my couch and big screen TV is to the left with a small but respectable kitchen and dining on the right. Straight back is a short hallway that leads to a half bathroom for guests and my bedroom with an en suite. It’s not huge, but it’s not a closet, either.
“This is nice,” she says with a smile as she takes in the pictures and various hockey and firefighter paraphernalia hanging on my walls. “It’s like getting a glimpse into who you are.”
“Who I am isn’t a secret, princess, but look as much as you want. Would you like a drink? I have some wine I keep around for my friends.”
“No thank you, I’m fine.” Emi sets her purse on the console table and walks over to the sliding glass door that leads out to my private balcony. I’m on the eighth floor, so I have a decent view of the park next to my building, though at this hour, it’s shrouded in the dark of night.
I move to stand behind her. In her heels, the top of her head reaches my chin, but she’s still damn small compared to me. And I like that. I know that, as a dancer, she’s strong, but I like the visual of her as petite and fragile. Breakable. Not because I’d ever in a million years want to break her, but because it feeds into the fantasies I have of breaking her will, of making it my own.
Emi releases a long sigh and relaxes into me, her back molding to my chest. Instinctively, I wrap my arms around her waist and dip my head to taste that spot on her neck that’s haunted me since last night in the studio. She purrs and cants her head to the side. I feel her pulse ticking faster beneath her skin as I flick my tongue over it and tease her with soft grazes of my teeth.
“Austin,” she whispers and reaches up to rake her nails through the hair at the back of my head. Tingles from her touch race down my spine to swirl in my balls, and I have to tamp down the urge to slam her up against the glass.
I can’t be that man right now. I’ve seen where Emi comes from. She’s probably been pampered and coddled her whole life, and that’s nothing short of what she deserves. She really is a princess, and that’s exactly how I’m going to treat her, even if it kills me.
My dick is lengthening behind my boxer briefs, and I know she can feel it growing harder against her lower back. When she slips her other hand between us and strokes it over my dress pants, I nearly come on the spot. The last thing I want to do is remove her hand, but I do it anyway because I need to retain control, so I don’t do anything either of us will regret later.
“Slow down, we’re not in any hurry.”
“That’s not how it felt in the wine bar.”
I kiss my way down her neck to her shoulder. “I already apologized for that. I’m going to take my time, worship your body with my mouth and hands.” Suddenly Emi goes cold. She lowers her arm, and her body straightens, pulling away from mine. I’m on instant alert that something’s off. It doesn’t matter how hot she was for me a second ago, her current body language is telling me to back the fuck off. I take a step away, so she doesn’t feel crowded or threatened. “What’s wrong?”
She turns to face me, her arms wrapping around her middle like she’s protecting herself against me, and my stomach tightens in a knot. The fact that a woman would ever truly be scared of me or uncomfortable with something I’ve said or done…it’s my worst goddamn nightmare.
But I don’t understand what I could’ve done to upset Emi. We’d barely gotten intimate, and I sure as hell didn’t act on any of the desires clawing to get out from the back of my brain.
“Emi? Sweetheart, I won’t lay another finger on you if you don’t want me to. Should I take you home?”
The delicate arches of her dark eyebrows draw together. “Why would you think I want to go home?”
“You went cold on me. I know you were into it in the beginning, but if you changed your mind—”
She interrupts me, stepping in and placing her hands on my chest. “No, Austin, I haven’t changed my mind about anything. I…”
The knot loosens a little knowing I didn’t do anything to upset her, but I’m still not sure what’s going on. “Emi, I need you to be honest with me. Don’t worry about what I’ll think. I’ll do whatever you want, whatever you’re comfortable with. But I can’t do anything if you don’t tell me what that is.”
“It’s just that I don’t really want to be worshipped or for us to take things slow. I don’t want to be treated like I’m made of glass. I liked how it felt when we both lost our minds in that bar. Fast and frenzied. You know what I mean?”
Relief loosens the knot bit by bit. Yeah, I know what she means. Not only did I not do anything to offend or upset her, she’s telling me I don’t have to restrain myself as much as I thought. I can’t completely let go, but fast and frenzied is something I’m definitely down with.
I take a step forward, closing the distance I’d placed between us, and run my fingers through her hair. “Am I safe in assuming that the side of you we spoke about—the one you keep locked away—she li
kes things a little…” When my hand reaches the base of her skull, I make a fist and give her hair a quick tug to pull her head back, making her gasp. “Rough?”
“Yes,” she whispers on a sigh as her lids slide down over those pools of dark brown I can’t get enough of.
“Open your eyes, Emi,” I command. “I want to see what I do to you.”
She complies, and her obedience is only slightly less arousing than if she would have squeezed them shut tighter in defiance. I let my free hand roam down her body, pausing to knead each breast through the expensive material of her dress before continuing lower. Without preamble, I move it under the hem and cup my hand hard over her sex.
“Is your pussy wet for me, Emi? If I shove my fingers in deep, will they be slick with your lust for me?”
“Y—oh my God!”
I don’t bother letting her finish, just push her panties aside and bury two fingers to the hilt, and Jesus fuck she’s so tight and wet. Imagining the way she’s going to feel around my cock is killing me. I consider myself a patient man, but right now it’s taking everything I have not to rush this to get straight to the part where I’m riding her like a stag in heat.
“Fuck yeah,” I grind out as I start thrusting my fingers, feeling her channel squeeze around them. Soft mewling escapes her parted lips, inviting me to taste, to take. I crush my mouth to hers and assault her tongue with my own. Our kisses are fevered and all-consuming with only tiny sips of air taken before diving back into each other.
Her hands set to unbuttoning my shirt, but I barely register it as I pick up the pace on my thrusts. I add a third finger and curl the middle one forward to hit her G-spot. Her pussy starts to clench, and I can feel her legs begin to tremble. She fists the open sides of my shirt to help hold herself up as the orgasm builds inside her.
I release her hair to band my arm around her waist and support her as she loses the power to stand on her own. “Come for me, Emi. Come right fucking now, all over my hand. Do it.”
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