Page 42 of Dance of Ruin

Instead, it feels like a balm smoothed over the experience.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he growls. “Like you were made to take what I give you. I love that you feel you should hate it... But that's a tough sell when your greedy little pussy keeps sucking my fingers back inside like you want more.”

My mouth drops open, but no words come out. Just panting, broken sounds. I grip the desk harder.

“Is that what you want, Naomi?” he taunts. “More?”

I whimper.

There’s no room for denial now. No space for thought. My body is trembling, slick with sweat and shame and something that I don’t have the words for.

Nico adds a third finger, and my world begins to blur at the edge. My eyes roll back like I’m possessed. My back arches, toes scraping against the floor and hips pushing back on their own accord.

It’salmosttoo much.

But, God help me, I want it.

“Look at you, taking these like you were made for them,” he growls, ramming all three of his fingers into my wet, eager pussy. “Don’t worry, Naomi. I’ll get this little hole nice and stretched so it can take my fat cock next time. You dancers are all aboutstretching, aren't you.”

My whole body tightens. The breath leaves my body.

“Now: you’re going to come on my fingers, and then you’re going tothank me.”

It hits me like a bomb.

A storm surge that breaks inside me with a wave of pulsing, helpless release.

And suddenly, I cry out as I shatter.

The orgasm explodes through me, wrenching my body as I twist and writhe. Nico’s fingers plunge in and out of me, finger-fucking me all through the release until I’m shaking and gasping for air as my hipbones press tight to the edge of the desk.

Nico’s hand comes to a stop. My world is spinning, my vision still blurry as my lungs scream for air.

“Well?”

I blink, not quite able to form words.

“Say thank you, ballerina,” he growls quietly. “Thank me for letting you come.”

Hunger, vicious and raw curls inside me.

“Th—thank you,” I choke.

Slowly, he pulls out his fingers. My body collapses, wrecked and shaking, on the desk. I can’t breathe.

“You may get dressed now,” he says simply.

I stand on shaky legs and reach for my clothes with fumbling hands. I still feel like I’m outside myself, watching someone else move. Not me, but someone who just let this happen, who didn’t stop it, whomoanedwhen he touched her.

I pull my clothes back on, fingers trembling.

He just watches me.

“We’re done for today,” he says as he lights another cigarette.

“But when I say you belong to me now…” He exhales smoke. “I hope you understand what that means.”

I say nothing. I still can’t.

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