Page 79 of Endless Love

THIRTY-EIGHT

Ryan

Act 2. Over. She hung over the seat of my bike like a limp ragdoll as I pulled out of her. Her red chiffon dress draped over her back while her mass of red hair hung loose everywhere.

Breathless from my epic orgasm, I stared at her gorgeous ass, all rosy pink from slapping it a few times and squeezing it. I’d never fucked a woman in the ass before, and I more than liked it. Spreading those exquisite round cheeks, lubricating her with my seed, and then hammering her. Fast and furious as she sobbed. She didn’t beg me to stop, so I kept at it, at once fingering her swollen clit—a hot wet reminder of our previous climax just minutes ago. It so fucking turned me on, bringing us each to another stratospheric orgasm.

But, now as we recovered and sanity returned to me, I felt like shit.

I’d fucked her hard without mercy. I couldn’t help myself. A mixture of possessiveness and rage had consumed me. Breathing hard, she could barely stand up as the elevator opened to my loft.

“Why are you limping?” I asked as she stepped out, thinking it was all my fault.

She winced. Quietly, but loud enough for me to hear her.

“It’s my feet.” I was surprised by her answer, thinking it must be on account of her ravished pussy or ass.

“What do you mean?”

“They’re sore from dancing.”

Relieved, I lifted her into my arms and carried her into the living room where I set her down on one of the leather couches. Her beautiful face contorted in pain.

“Would you mind taking off my shoes?”

I did as she asked, slipping the red stilettos off her slender feet. My eyes grew wide. Her blistered toes were a bloody mess.

“Jesus!”

She grimaced, her brows knitting together. “The life of a dancer.”

“Sheesh. I need to bandage your toes.”

A small grateful smile curled on her lips.

Five minutes later, her toes were covered with Band-Aids.

“How do your feet feel?” I asked, observing my handiwork and thinking how much I loved taking care of my frail but feisty ballerina.

She wiggled her feet and grimaced again.

“They’re still sore?”

She twitched a pained smile. “Yeah. They’re cramped. It’s been a while since I performed.”

“Sit back. Let me massage them.”

“Really?” She gazed up at me with eyes that reminded me of a puppy’s begging to be pet. Leaning back against the armrest, she stretched her long, limber legs across the couch. I sat cross-legged facing her, still in my tux.

“Put your feet on my lap.”

She did as I asked, my dangerously close cock flexing as her heels touched down. Gently, I took her right foot in my hands.

“Close your eyes, baby. This is going to feel good.”

Her glittery lids lowered as she surrendered to my touch. Expertly, I kneaded her arched sole with my thumbs, going deeper and deeper, hitting all her trigger spots. Despite the calluses on her heels, her feet were as soft and smooth as her satin ballet slippers.

My eyes glimpsed the expression on her face as she arched back her head. It was one of pure ecstasy. She moaned.

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