Page 88 of Dance of Ruin

“Naomi…” he growls quietly.

My hands move like they’re possessed by some external force, like I’m either completelyunawarethat I’m standing in a huge auditorium seriously considering doing this, or else I simply don’t care.

At this point in my life, caught up in hurricane Nico, it could well be the latter.

I feel like I’m watching myself from his point of view as my hands reach under my black tutu, undoing the snaps that keep the gusset closed. My fingers slip higher to the waistband of my tights. I push them down to my ankles, pausing briefly to remove my pointe shoes before sliding them off one foot, then the other.

I let them drop onto the stage next to me and just stand there, pulse thudding in my ears, my hands clenching and unclenching in at my sides.

He nods approvingly.

“Now sit,” he murmurs.

My face throbs and tingles as I walk to the lip of the stage and do as he says, legs hanging over the edge.

Nico’s eyes glint with something that both excites and terrifies me as he reaches up to stroke his fingers languidly over his chiseled jaw.

“Feet up, on the stage.”

It feels like someone else is controlling my body—like I’m a marionette—as I do as he says.

“Spread your legs wider, Naomi,” he murmurs darkly.

A low whine hums through my ears, heat sparking through my veins. My breath catches and my eyes flare a little at his bluntness.

“I saidspread your legs wider,” Nico growls thickly. “And show me your pretty pussy. Show memyfucking pussy.”

Heat floods my face. But I obey, my eyes locked on his as I slide back a couple of inches so I can spread my legs farther apart, the skirt of my tutu flipped up.

Nico calmly strokes his jaw, his ice-blue eyes piercing brightly out of the darkness, eviscerating me. Then his gaze languidly drops, and I can feel the heat of his gaze teasing over the throbbing heat building there.

My shameful arousal.

My eager desperation.

Nico looks right at me, unblinking, making my core spasm and my pulse and face burn even hotter.

“Now touch yourself. Play with that messy little pussy for me.”

I hesitate. My thighs try to close.

“Naomi…”

His voice cuts through the space like a blade, and my eyes snap to his. His expression hasn’t changed, but his voice has softened just enough to cut deeper.

“You’re doing so well,” he murmurs. “You’re being such a good girl for me. Show me how a good girl rubs her greedy little cunt.”

My breath catches violently. That phrase—good girl—slices through my resistance like it’s nothing but gossamer.

I bring my fingers down, gasping quietly as they slide over my lips.

I stroke once, tentatively, barely grazing but feeling howembarrassinglywet I am.

“More,” he commands gently. ““You’re dripping, baby. Such a good girl, making such a mess.”

The sensation that rolls through me is hot and needy, achy and consuming. My face crumples along with my inhibitions, my fingers rubbing my clit as I cry out.

“That’sit, baby,” he growls. “Slow circles. Get that pretty pussy nice and ready for me. Show me what a greedy little slut you can be.”

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