Page 71 of In Shadows We Dance

“Get in, Ballerina. Before someone sees you standing here, half undressed, trembling like a little lost thing.” I reach out, brushing her hair back over her shoulder, my fingers trailing down the side of her neck, feeling her pulse thudding under my touch, and then lower so I can pinch her nipple. “You don’t want that, do you?”

Her eyes close for a moment, and she takes a deep breath. When she opens them, she ducks her head and steps into the car. She settles into the seat, her legs swinging in, her eyes fixed ahead, as if that can shield her from me. I lean down, my hand touching her cheek, turning her head toward me.

My lips cover hers, my tongue forcing itself into her mouth to tangle with hers. She lets out a soft moan, and I swallow it,savorit, then break away to stride around the car. The leather creaks as I sink into the driver’s seat. The air is charged, electric. The quiet hum of the engine fills the car, a stark contrast to the tension between us. Her hands are clasped in her lap, her knuckles white, her chest rising and falling too quickly.

I let the silence stretch between us, my eyes moving to her every few moments as I drive. When I move my hand from the gearshift to her thigh, my fingers stroking lightly against her warm skin, her breath catches. Her body goes rigid beneath my touch. I love it, the way she tries not to react, the way she fights the tremorthat runs through her.

“You have no idea how irresistible you are like this.” My fingers trace idle patterns on her skin.

She swallows. “I hate this.”

I raise an eyebrow, letting my hand dip just beneath the edge of her shorts. “Hate what, Ballerina? Be specific.”

“This … this game. The way you keep pushing me.” Her voice trembles, but there’s an edge of anger beneath the fear.

A slow smile curves my lips. “I think you hate how much you like being pushed. How much you like being watched.”

“I don’t like it!” The denial tumbles from her lips, too fast to sound convincing.

“No?” My fingers move higher, over the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, and she sucks in a breath. “Then tell me to stop.”

She hesitates, her lips part, but no words come out.

“That's what I thought. You’re scared, and you’re turned on.”

“No.”

“Admit it.” My hand tightens slightly on her thigh. “Admit that you’re scared. Admit that you’re wet. Admit that you’re turned on.”

Her eyes squeeze shut, as though she can block out the truth. I watch her throat work as she swallows hard, refusing to answer.

“Fine. We’ll find out another way.” I turn off the road, and park. The engine cuts out, leaving only the heavy tension between us.

“Lie back.” I reach over, pulling the lever on the side of her seat, forcing it to recline, until she’s stretched out.

“I’m not?—”

“Stop lying.” My fingers brush the hem of her shorts. “I’ll stop the second you ask me to. But you won’t.” My fingers skim along the edge of her panties. “You’re not fighting nearly as hard as you think you are.”

I stroke a finger over her cotton-covered pussy. Her body jerks slightly, but she doesn’t pull away.

“Tell me the truth. Are you wet?”

Her silence is the only answer I need.

“Are you excited?” I stroke a circle around one nipple with my other hand, then drag my finger down over her ribs, around her navel, and hook it into the waistband of her shorts.

“Do you want to show me more?”

My hands continue their exploration, pushing past the thin barrier of her panties. She whimpers, her body arching when my fingers find her clit.

She’s wet.Soaked.

Leaning over her, I take her nipple into my mouth, sucking as my fingers move in rhythm, stroking and exploring. Her body curves further into me, no longer fighting but giving in, her breaths coming faster and faster.

I reach for my camera, angle it so it captures my mouth on her breast and take the photograph.

“Open your eyes.”

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