Page 69 of Controlled

Somehow, I knew Bella sensed my condition, but it didn’t matter. I’d been right about her.

We were exactly the same.

Broken beyond repair.

CHAPTER 21

“The devil’s voice is sweet to hear.”

—Stephen King

Bella

Was there such a thing as making a deal with the devil? Or was it more about being tempted by Creed’s good looks and his suave mentality, a touch that burned and lingered long after? There wasn’t time for a great debate on the subject, and I’d already let my guard down. The one protecting my common sense. The one protecting my body.

And fearfully, the one protecting my heart.

My devil’s voice wasn’t sweet as my favorite author had suggested, it was seductive in its deep baritone. I couldn’t believe I’d done a strip tease—and in front of an unblinded window. Not that anyone could see from another building unless they had binoculars, but that wasn’t the point. My behavior was completely different.

Yes, the night had been magical, the dance phenomenal and I’d found myself getting closer to him. That had been so highly out of character for me that I was questioning more than just my sanity.

I’d almost convinced myself he’d dropped ecstasy into my drink until the strip tease. Now, as he flexed his hand open, crawling his fingers down from my forehead to my neck, I could barely control my breathing. The taste of his sweet cum lingered, my mouth watering to have him finish erupting into the back of my throat.

But it was obvious he had other things in mind.

I was tingling all over, but it was entirely different than it had been inside the elevator the first time. I was excited, so much so that it felt as if icy fingers were attempting to close off my air supply. He continued traveling his fingers down my chest, making low and throaty sounds the moment he rolled a finger around my already pert nipple.

Both were already sensitive, likely from remaining hard as diamonds all night long, scraping against the stunning matching lace bra he’d insisted I wear. And this necklace. Holy shit, the necklace was incredible, the weight something I’d grown to adore.

Did that make me sick or just naïve? Maybe both.

As he pinched my nipple, the rush of adrenaline and need erupting together was far too combustible. My pussy was wet, slicking the insides of both thighs. It was crazy the way I was feeling, the anticipation of seeing him completely naked taking me back to the night in the rain.

Whether or not the dream had been a reality honestly didn’t matter. This was so much better.

He seemed to sense my growing impatience, chuckling as he placed both hands beside me, now leaning down far too slowly. As he blew from one hardened bud to the other, I resisted wrapping one arm around his neck. “My perfect dancer craves my touch.”

“Never.”

“My,” he said, biting down on one until I cried out. When he lifted his head by a single inch, all I could do was pant. “You’re a terrible liar.”

I closed my eyes as he rolled his lips to my other breast, licking underneath it before pulling the tender bud into his mouth, sucking until I moaned.

He didn’t take much time, his growing hunger very obvious. As he eased back, he whispered something in Italian as if I knew the language. I didn’t. I’d simply had the phrase on the back of the picture translated via my computer. It had seemed important that I know what my father had said to my mom. I hadn’t seen the photograph in a long time, something she guarded as her most precious object.

More so than her daughter.

Creed raked his fingers down my stomach, taking his time to encircle my belly button before he pulled away completely.

The hotel suite was the perfect end to what had been the most fabulous night of my life. The fact he’d surprised me with the most awesome tickets to the ABT’s performance of my favorite classic ballet had floored me. For two hours, I’d become immersed in the beautiful world, imagining myself as the lead. It was probably a pipe dream, especially now that this man had claimed me as belonging to him, but I hadn’t let the ugly reality cloud the joy in the gifts he’d provided.

The moon and stars figured prominently in the windows, the bedroom sharing the same window design as the massive living room downstairs. There was just the right amount of brightness to highlight his broad shoulders and massive forearms as he removed his tailored tuxedo shirt. I eased up on my elbows, allowing myself to enjoy the view, and it had nothing to do with the city or its massive buildings.

However, when he twisted so the moonlight illuminated the length of his back, I gasped audibly, slapping my hand across my mouth afterwards.

The scars on his back were terrible and I didn’t need to be told what they were from. I was horrified for him, angry with whoever had done that to him.

He heard my exclamation and as he tossed the shirt onto a chair, he turned to face me before pulling off his shoes and socks. “Don’t worry, perfect dancer. The scars are permanent but there is no longer any pain.”

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