Page 107 of In Shadows We Dance

Her tongue brushes over the tip of my dick, and I groan, that first touch sending heat racing through me.

I need her mouth on me, and the way she’s shifting, pressing her thighs together, she’s right there with me. I push forward, pressing my dick against her lips.

“Take it.” My voice drops.

She obeys, sliding her lips over my dick. Her mouth is warm and wet, surrounding me inch by inch. The pressure of her lips tightens, the touch of her tongue tentative at first, but then more deliberate, sliding along the underside. A spark runs through me, igniting my senses, every nerve on edge.

“Good girl.” My fingers tangle in her hair, holding her steady, and I begin to move.

Her eyes flicker up to meet mine, wide,hungry, and I tighten my grip, forcing her mouth further down my dick. She gags slightly, her throat constricting around me, and I groan, the sound deep, primal. It feels so fucking good.

“Don’t stop.” I growl, guiding her, setting a rhythm that has her clutching at my legs.

Her lips glide over me, the wet heat of her mouth sending shivers through me. Her breathing changes, tears filling her eyes as I push deeper. They spill down her cheeks, and I wipe one away with my thumb, lift it to my lips and lick it away. The contrast of her tears and her obedience makes my heart pound harder.

“Your father thought he could hide you,” I go back to the information I’ve found, my voice low, rough. “Thought he could keep you safe, erase everything you were.” My dick pushes deeper, her lips stretching around me, her throat trying to accommodate the intrusion. A groan rolls out ofme, dark and guttural. “But nothing stays hidden, Ballerina.”

Pulling back slightly, I reach down and peel back her lips. “Lick me.” Her tongue swirls around the head, once … twice, lapping away the precum that’s building, before I thrust back in.

“Do you like the way I taste?”

In response, her eyes squeeze shut, and she lowers herself a little more so her head tips back, angling her throat in such a way my dick goes so much deeper. Power thrums through me—the way she’s submitting, the way she’s giving herself to me completely. It’s fucking incredible.

My hips thrust forward, and she takes me to the back of her throat. Her nails dig into my thighs as she struggles to breathe, so I tug her head back, letting her take a quick gulp of air before guiding her down again, setting a relentless rhythm, each movement bringing me closer to the edge.

“Look at me.” My voice comes out as a rough whisper.

She blinks up at me, her eyes glassy, my dick moving back and forth between her lips.

“Take all of it.” I thrust deeper, my hand wrapped in her hair, controlling her, my dick sliding over her tongue, hitting the back of her throat over and over. The pressure is almost too much, the tension building, tightening everything inside me, every nerve on fire.

She gags again, her throat constricting, and I feel the tightness in my gut, the edge of release hovering just out of reach. I groan, my hips jerking, the feeling almost unbearable.

I’m so close. So. Fucking. Close.

Her eyes are wide, beautiful fucking tears falling down her cheeks, her lips soft, wet, wrapped around me, and it’s everything. The power, the dominance, the way she’s giving herself to me—it pushes me to the brink.

“Fuck,” I breathe, my hand tightening, forcing her to swallow more of me. I hold her there for a moment, pulling her head back so my dick slides further down her throat. “Swallow.” Her throatconstricts around my dick, and I almost come right there.

Her fingers dig into my thighs, her eyes closing, and I feel it—the edge, the pleasure so intense it almost breaks me. But I’m not ready to come yet.

I pull her back, my dick slipping free. Her eyes are glazed, her lips shiny and red.

I’m right there, the release hovering, aching, but I need more. I need everything.

Grabbing her hand, I pull her to her feet. She’s breathless, her lips parted, and I can see it in her eyes—the way she’s unraveling, the way she’s on the verge of breaking. I drag her with me, out of the room, needing to take her deeper, needing to shatter everything she thinks she knows.

I guide her down the hallway, her breaths coming in shaky bursts as she tries to keep up, her fingers gripping mine. She’s not steady, and I can feel her trembling. She’s on the edge, the adrenaline from what just happened making her legs weak. But she doesn’t try to run, doesn’t say no, doesn’t do anything but follow my lead.

I open the door to the next room, darkness swallowing us. The air here is cooler, the moonlight barely reaching the walls. I lead her inside, closing the door behind us. Her eyes scan the space, frowning as she looks around.

The walls are covered—photographs pinned across every inch, each one a fragment of the truth her father buried. Documents, crime scenes, records, all the pieces that tell her who she really is. I watch her eyes widen, her breath catching as she takes it in.

“Wren.” The way she breathes my name almost makes me come on the spot. There’s no fear there, just wonder at all the images surrounding us.

I push her back against the wall. Her bare skin hits the cold brick, and I press my palm to her throat, her pulse hammering beneath my touch.

“Your father thought he could erase everything. He thoughthe could turn you into something else. But nothing can change who you are, Ballerina. Not who youreallyare.”

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