Page 8 of Caged By Dance and Desire

The emotional impression of that thought came through clearly, the sensual masculine petulance needing no translation. I rolled my eyes.

“I can see that, Hasannah.”

I sighed, and made a face. “What part of I have auditions for the Lord Issahelle's company did you not get? I'm not going anywhere. Well, I suppose I could pack a bag and sleep in the rehearsal studio until you went away, but. . .”

“But that's now a poor plan since you revealed it to me.” He didn't sound upset though, only amused. “Which tells me youweren't seriously considering it in any case. Thank you.” His thumb caressed my bottom lip. “Thank you.”

Thoroughly confused now, I frowned. “For what?”

His mouth replaced the thumb, hovering over my lips, his breath mingling with mine, but he didn't kiss me yet.

“For understanding how to take me to task in a way that wouldn't push me off the edge. I'm still. . .angry over the events of the evening.”

As I tried to unravel those words, his lips settled over mine, and with exquisite control he lowered his body, pressing me into the bed just enough to exert dominance, but not enough to smash all the air from my lungs.

He tasted of wine and fruit, his tongue slipping into my mouth in a slow, sensual invasion. His hand slid behind my head and tugged, angling me to his liking so he could deepen the kiss.

Desire. Barely leashed strength.

The edge of desperation.

All of this was in the kiss, and more. A taste, a scent, a feeling I couldn't decipher because I wasn't a man, and I wasn't High Fae, and I wasn't powerful. I didn't fully understand his concerns.

But I understood my body's reaction to him.

For a time, I could indulge this much. We weren’t at the point where I’d have to hit us with a cement bucket of reality yet.

My hips arched without my direction, my legs parting wide to accommodate him as a breathy moan left my throat. He uttered a guttural curse, grabbing my leg and wrapping it around his waist.

“I want to do things to you I didn't understand until now,” he said, his voice a lethal, sensual threat. “I'm almost afraid of myself. Of what I'm capable of if you don't want me, or if you wanted another.”

His weight, his heat, the care he took in not frightening me with his advance was a balm, the comfort of a thick blanket in winter, and the promise that when ripped away, that blanket would reveal hot, silky, aroused male primed for my pleasure.

“I'm not denying you,” I whispered. “But I just don't think this is going to end well.”

“Nothingyou fear will come to pass, Hasannah.” His hand tightened in my hair. “Nothing.”

I wanted him. More than anything, almost more than I wanted to dance and that flash of ferocious, lust filled instinct shocked me enough that I pulled my head away.

I shouldn't want anything more than dance. Not a man,especiallynot penetrative sex with a man.

“I feel your unhappiness,” he murmured against my mouth, but eased a bit of his weight off me. “What's wrong? It isn't my kiss. I also feel your desire.”

This time I wasn't stupid enough to be honest about my condition, to start the Phases that always led to me crying as the boyfriend I’d started to care about yelled at me in whatever his version of yelling was, then me picking myself up and walking away. Again.

Not stupid enough to reveal that despite knowing better, I was afraid he might become more important to me than anything else. He couldn't ever know how I felt.

I had no doubt he'd use it against me.

And had no doubt he knew how I felt anyway.

Chapter

Three

He hadn't stayed long after that.

I'd braced, expecting him to press for sex. He'd be sophisticated about it, of course, using a combination of dominance and gentle seduction to wear away at my will. Instead, he’d pulled away.

---