Page 20 of The Devil and His Goddess

Perseus

I KEPT MY FACE BLANK, which was a lot fucking harder than it should’ve been. But goddamn, Harper was too beautiful. Her black hair framed her pale face, and an equally dark leotard hugged her frame. Over it, she wore maroon sweats and a cardigan. Seeing her in her everyday ballet clothes made my dick twitch in my slacks. I had to shove my hands in my pockets to hide my hard-on as I walked into practice room four where she stood alone.

Her hands were clasped behind her back, and she fidgeted on her feet. Despite her clear nerves, her blue eyes held mine with a sort of determined resignation. She probably thought I was here to fire her, and maybe another sort of artistic director would’ve. But I wasn’t them. I was here to do the exact opposite.

I gestured at her feet and ordered, “Put on your pointe shoes.”

Her dark brows furrowed. “What?”

I waltzed to the front of the room where the mirrors were, leaning on them the same way I did when I showed up at her place in my demonic, masked form. Whether or not she noticed the similarity, I wasn’t sure. Regardless, her eyes traced my stance.

“You heard me, Harper. Pointe shoes. On.”

She licked her lips, and after only hesitating a moment longer, she turned and went to her dance bag. Her ass was fucking perfect as she bent over to grab the shoes, and I had to bite back a groan. Holy Hell, I was fucking ready to bend that pretty ass over and fuck her into oblivion.

Ever since that night I’d made her dance for me, I’d been like a beast squeezed into too-tight of a space. I was restless and tense. I needed released from this prison. I neededher—her lips on mine, her pussy wrapped around my cock, and her moans filling my ears. I kept telling myself “in due time,” butfuck, I was getting impatient, which was new for me.

With her pointe shoes on, she stood and met my gaze again. “Perseus, I—”

“No talking,” I ordered. I gestured to the middle of the floor and finished, “I want you to dance.”

Her lips parted like she was going to argue, but instead, she just nodded once. She started to grab her hair to pull the strands back, and while ballerinas were always required to have their hair up while rehearsing and dancing, I didn’t give a damn about that right now.

“Forget your hair,” I said, making her freeze. She slowly let the black locks fall, and I fought against the urge to smile. She was being so obedient right now, though I knew it was because she assumed she was on the chopping block. So for the time being, she’d do what I asked without argument in an effort to win any favor from me that she could.

I went over to the stereo and pressed play. Really, there was no music queued up, but she didn’t know that. The song I envisioned, the piece created for one of the big solos inDancing in the Dark, came on over the speakers.

This ballet wasn’t one I’d written in the short time since I’d been here. The music had been a huge collaboration with Zagan over time. He knew I loved ballet, and as a way to have some fun, we’d created this haunting, beautiful, and powerful score that I then developed a story and choreography around. While it had just been a fun pastime for me at the start, this was mysoulnow.

Or at least, as much of a soul as a demon like me could have.

This particular piece was Psyche’s grand performance in the third act, the one where she was finally healed from her past and embracing her dark beauty as a ballerina. It was dramatic, romantic, and sensual.

Turning back to Harper, I slowly stalked toward her and gestured at her with a wave of my hand. “Dance.”

“I don’t know this routine or—”

“I don’t want you to do a routine,” I cut her off. “I want you to hear the music anddance. Show me the storyyouhear.”

I continued my slow walk around her, studying her from every angle as her attention seemed to shift from me to the music overhead. I came to a stop by the mirrors, and I held my breath as my goddess began to move.

She was unhurried in her movements. She didn’t try to force anything, but instead, she let the music guide and determine how she moved her arms, when she turned and leaped, and how she carried herself across the floor. Her mouth was set in an almost melancholic frown at the start, but as the piece grew stronger, so did she. Her hunched shoulders became straighter and proud. Her eyes and lips lifted in a subtle smile, and like a moth to a flame, I went to her.

She finished a flawless pirouette, and I swooped in to snag her by the waist, pulling her close. Her blue eyes locked on mine, but she didn’t stop. She continued, now using me as her partner—trustingme—as the music led us through a story all our very own.

I held onto her and aided in her grand movements. I gripped her waist firmly as she bent with both arms held out on either side of her. En pointe, she let her other leg rise up in the air behind her. I followed the motion, going down on a knee as her leg extended higher and higher, and her face inched closer and closer. By the time she was fully-extended with arms held out gracefully and leg straight in the air with me beneath her, our noses grazed, and our lips were separated by mere centimeters.

Even as I straightened while she returned to both feet, our eyes stayed locked and faces close. I followed her turn, and when I felt her body preparing to leap, I gripped her waist tighter. She pushed off from the ground, and I raised her high into the air, holding her above me as she smiled into a non-existent crowd with a delicate arm reaching out and legs bent at the knee in a beautiful arch.

Knowing the music was closing, I gradually lowered her, and she looked down at me as I brought her back to her feet. Her body came to a halt when pressed against mine, so I felt every breathy inhale and exhale against my torso. I didn’t release her hips even as the music ended, and her own hands had moved to grip the shirt at my waist, almost tugging me closer, despite there being no room left between us.

She was right there. Her mouth hovered inches under mine. I could easily tilt my head ever so slightly to catch those rosy lips. It would bring me one step closer to claiming her.

But before I could, she spoke.

“I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful.”

Still reeling from the intoxicating effects of seeing her dance—Hell, offeelingher dance—my dumbass couldn’t compute what she was saying. “What?”

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