Page 80 of Dance with the Devil

She wants this part, I tell myself. She deserves this part.

She’s been dancing her ass off for days, proving that she still hasn’t lost her talent and her grace. My dick can wait?—

—though, I have to admit, the poor thing doesn’t quite getwhywhen I let myself into Genevieve’s studio and see what she’s wearing.

It’s a costume alright, but my first impression is of those harem girls from old cartoons. Or Jeannie, right? That television show my mom watched on re-runs growing up, with the blondie in the gauzy costume. Only Genevieve’s is white fabric so incredibly sheer, I can make out the curves of her hips, the swells of her tits, and, mi amor, the black cross peeking out from the top of her freshly shaved pussy.

I run the back of my hand over my mouth, sure I’m fucking drooling.

She preens, running her hands down the swoopy, draped fabric that covers her from tits to ass. Going up on the balls of her dancer’s feet, showing off her pretty pink toenails—and her immaculately shaped body—she gives me a daring look as she pointedly asks, “What do you think?”

That I’m about to jack off to the vision of you in this costume.

No, Cross. That would be fucked-up. She wants you to watch her perform the piece she’s going to audition with tomorrow, not yank your cock all because she’s the most stunning creature you’ve ever seen before.

So, swallowing the lump of obvious arousal lodged in my throat, I tell her honestly, “I think if you show up at the audition like that, it doesn’t matter if you’re a little rusty. When they’re looking at you in this, they won’t notice if your toes aren’t pointed as much as you want. They’ll be mesmerized, mi mariposa.”

And that’s if I can resist the urge to drape her in my leather jacket so that no one else can glimpse this beautiful creature that I’m lucky enough to callmine.

Her lips curve upward, a daring smile. “You’d actually let me leave the house like this?”

“Could I stop you?”

She moves into me, patting my chest. “Good answer, babe. But this isn’t what I’m wearing to my audition tomorrow.”

Thank fucking God. “It’s not?”

“No. That one iswaymore see-through.”

I grab Genevieve by her hips, pulling her up against my chest as I bend my knees a little. “You’re killing me, butterfly. You know that, right?”

Oh, she does. And shelovesit.

My butterfly drapes her arms over my shoulders, our faces on the same level as she leans in, nipping my bottom lip. “Just wait until you see me move in it.”

My cock twitches. “I’m dying to.”

She grabs my face, clutching my cheeks as she gives me a quick peck. Letting me go before I can place my hands on the small of her back and deepen her teasing kiss into something that’ll get the both of us into trouble, she dances over to the other side of the room.

“Stand over there,” she orders, squatting down gracefully so that she can turn the music on—and give me a perfect view of the cleft of her ass through the fabric.

I hate to move, but if that’s what Genevieve wants… “Here?”

“Perfect.”

The music starts, she strikes her opening pose, and I stand in one place as my Genevieve, my lover, my muse,my butterflystarts to dance.

Usually, Genevieve has her hair up in a tight bun when she’s practicing. For some reason, she’s left her golden hair down in soft waves. As she spins, it whips around her, a stunning contrast to the sheer white fabric that seems to float all around her.

It’s beautiful. Everything about this woman, from her body to her talent to her inexplicable ability to forgive…sheis beautiful. I’ve already accepted that I can’t exist without her. To do so would be madness, and I’ve had enough of that to last me alifetime. For as long as she’s content to be mine, I’m going to keep her.

But when I look at her, I still see flames, but Ifeelhope. I feellove.

And, like always when Genevieve dances, I’minspired.

I don’t know how long she’s actually dancing for. She makes it look so effortless, and I could watch her forever, but it seems like no time at all before she goes down on one knee, the other folded to the grand beneath her in her final pose before she pops back up, sweeps her hair over her shoulder, and asks me expectantly, “So? What do you think?”

Honestly?

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