Page 86 of Devil's Thirst

A balloon of emotion swells in my chest while tears prick the backs of my eyes. I shake my head, unable to speak.

“We’re going to make him pay, my piccola ballerina. I promise you. It’s already in the works.” He places one reverent kiss on each eyelid, then rests his forehead on mine. “Now tell me, why would you think knowing what he did would make me leave you?”

“Because I figured you’d realize that’s why I’m so bad at intimacy.”

He takes my hand and leads me back to the couch, pulling me onto his lap. “Having trouble achieving an orgasm isn’t the same as being bad at intimacy.”

“It’s not just that,” I say warily, embarrassed to admit what I’m about to say. “I’ve been too scared of how much it hurt to try again. I panic.”

His brows scrunch together as he studies me. “But you said you’ve had sex.”

“I mean, I have, technically. Once.”

“Jesus, baby. Being raped isn’t sex.” He wraps his arms around me and hugs me to his chest. “I know this is gonna sound really fucked up, but I like knowing I’ll be your first.”

I pull back and look up at him through my lashes. “It’s not fucked up. It’s a relief. I couldn’t think of anything worse than you looking at me as damaged. I love when I see that desire in your eyes. I didn’t want to lose that.”

His brown eyes glint with mischief. “There is nothing in this world that could make me want you less.” He pauses, a somberness settling over him. “I want you to know, though. It was never about sex. Even back at that wedding the first time wemet, it was your spirit that sank its claws into me. The way you held on to joy despite whatever shit you were going through. You inspired me. And you’ve continued to inspire me every damn day since.”

My soul takes flight at his praise.

I realize I had it wrong when I thought there were only two possible outcomes for that butterfly in a jar. Instead of releasing it or plucking off its wings, its captor could also find it a new home where it could thrive. Somewhere protected yet with plenty of room to soar.

“I thought about what you said—before Conner’s call interrupted us—about choosing happiness. I realized you were right, and everything that’s happened today only proves that point. Your issues and my issues? They’re sort of perfect for one another. I can’t let labels tell me this is wrong when it feels so right.”

Excitement and trepidation crank up my pulse to a dizzying flutter. I shift my body to straddle Sante’s lap, my hands coming to rest on his taut chest while his give my hips a squeeze.

“The thought of losing you last night gutted me. You make me feel safer, sexier, and more confident than anyone ever has.” I look down as nerves hit but push myself to continue. “I love you, Sante Mancini. I love you, and I want you to be my first.”

“I love you beyond reason. Always will. But are you sure about this? There’s no need to rush into anything.”

“It’s not rushing. Every time I look at you, I feel my body craving you. The residual fear isn’t going to go away until I prove to myself that sex can be good, and there’s no one else I want or trust enough to give me that.”

“Baby, you have your show tonight. No matter how good I make it for you, you might be a little sore.”

I smirk. “I’m a ballerina. I’ve nevernotbeen sore. And besides, I can’t think of anything more perfect than getting up onthat stage on opening night and feeling your presence is still with me.”

“Fucking, Christ. How can I say no to that?”

I grin a heartbeat before his lips claim mine. He hardens beneath me, making my hips instinctively rock forward with the need to feel him.

Sante carries me to the bedroom. The shades are still drawn, casting the room in a soft glow.

“You have second thoughts about this, all you have to do is say stop,” Sante says as he sets my feet on the ground. “No judgment. No questions. That’s important to me. I need absolute honesty from you on this.”

“I promise.”

“We also need to talk birth control. Dance is too important for you to take chances.”

I appreciate that he gets that and cares enough to make it a priority. “I’m on the pill.”

“Good because I’m clean, and I don’t want anything between us if we don’t have to.”

He takes his shirt off then mine. One article at a time, we undress one another reverently then move to the bed, the whole time kissing and touching and worshipping one another.

“I’m going to make you come,” he tells me once I’m on my back beneath him, “and while I do, I’m gonna work my fingers inside you, help get you ready. And I don’t want you to worry about a second orgasm. That’s not what this is about. It’s just you and me and our connection.”

“Okay.” It’s a relief to know what he’s thinking. Otherwise, I’d end up worried about his expectations the whole time. I desperately want to please him.

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