Page 98 of In Shadows We Dance

Her eyes lock on mine, and for a moment, it feels like the world narrows to just this—the heat of her mouth, the intensity of her gaze, the way she’s giving herself to me without reservation. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted, and it’s not enough. It will never be enough.

The coil of heat low in my stomach tightens, and I know I’m close. My hand moves to her jaw, my thumb brushing over her cheek, before I change my grip and force her to stillness. Her brows pull together, frowning as I ease free from her mouth.

“Use your hand.” My voice is raspy. As I speak, I guide her hand to my dick, wrapping her fingers around it and move it up and down, showing her how firm, how fast I want her to move.

When I finally let go, her name falls from my lips like a prayer, and she doesn’t pull away, doesn’t flinch. My cum hits her throat, her chest, covers her hand, and I loosen my grip in her hair.

“Good girl.” I reach for my camera, my hand shaking, chest heaving, and take a photograph of her. “You’re mine, Ballerina. Every part of you.”

She doesn’t respond, but the look in her eyes tells me everything I need to know.

And it’s fucking glorious.

CHAPTER 51

Unraveling Shadows

ILEANA

The silence stretches between us,broken only by our breathing. My knees ache against the hard floor, the dress clinging to my skin. But I can’t move. Not yet. My hands remain limp at my sides, my head bowed.

He doesn’t move either.

The weight of what just happened between us is heavy in the air, but it doesn’t feel wrong. It doesn’t feel like something I had no choice in. If anything, it feels liketoomuch of a choice.

One I can’t take back.

One I’m not sure I want to.

My chest rises and falls, the air cool against the heat radiating from my skin. My hands twitch at my sides, the instinct to wipe away the wetness on my chest warring with the memory of why it’s there. Of how I wanted it, wanted to see him unravel the way he always does to me.

His fingers touch my jaw, in a move that’s become familiar and welcome. I don’t resist when he tilts my head up. My body responds on instinct, my eyes meeting his. His are focused, taking me in like a puzzle he’s still solving. Like I’m something he already owns.

“You’re beautiful like this. Kneeling for me. Wearing what I chose for you. Covered in me.”

The words delivered in that rough tone send a shiver down my spine. But it’s not fear. Not anymore. He strokes my cheek, my jaw, my lips, and I feel the same spark of electricity I did when he touched me earlier.

“Don’t look away. Don’t hide from me.”

I don’t. Ican’t. My cheeks flush, but I hold his gaze, letting him see everything. The questions. The need. The vulnerability. I don’t have the strength to hide it anymore. His lips curve into a smile, soft but dangerous.

“Tomorrow.” He leans down to kiss my lips, my jaw, my cheeks. “Come to me tomorrow, and I’ll give you another piece of the truth. Another step toward understanding who you really are.”

The words feel more like a command than a request, and yet they ignite something in me that terrifies me. A longing to say yes. A need to hear more. I nod before my mind even has a chance to think about it, and he smiles. A dark, satisfied smile that does something to my insides.

And just like that, his hand drops away, and the warmth of his touch is gone. He straightens his clothes with infuriating calm, like I’m not still kneeling on the floor, covered in the evidence of what we’ve just done. His gaze moves to me once more, then he turns and walks out.

The door clicks shut behind him, leaving me alone in the studio. I sit back on my heels, my fingers curling into the skirts of the dress. The stickiness of his release against my skin is impossible to ignore, but I don’t move to clean it off. Not yet.

My reflection in the mirror catches my eye, and my stomach flips. My hair is wild, my cheeks flushed. I don’t look like myself … or maybe I do. Maybe this is who I was meant to become, brought into the light by his touch.

I don’t know whether to hate him or thank him for it.

Who am I now? The girl who once lived in the shadows, happy to remain unnoticed, or the one sitting here, marked by Wren’s touch?

His whispered words echo in my mind.

Your father had another name once. Agent Charleston.

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