Page 63 of One Last Encore

He carried her across the studio, setting her down in front of the barre on the wall.

He stepped in close, caging her with his body, hands gripping the barre behind her, muscles flexing under his sleeves. The only sound was the soft creak of the wood under his brutal grip.

The heat pouring off her, the sharp little pants of her breath, it was all driving him insane. His body moved before his mind could catch up and he dropped to his knees. She was staring at him, he could feel it. He looked up, and the look in her eyes was so desperate it made his chest tighten.

He dragged his palms up the backs of her thighs, feeling her muscles twitch under his touch. He settled between her legs, spreading her wider, his thumbs teasing slow circles along the crease where her thighs met her hips.

"You look good on your knees," she whispered, breathless and taunting.

"And you,” he murmured, dragging his hands slowly up her thighs, "look like you were made to be spread out and fucked with my mouth until you're shaking."

Her eyes flew wide, breath hitching in her throat. He smirked at the way her body reacted to his voice. All that grace and control unraveling from words alone.

Without breaking eye contact, he dipped lower, his mouth grazing the sensitive crease of her inner thigh, breath hot against skin that quivered beneath him. She gasped, her grip on the barre turning white-knuckled as her body trembled, strung so tight she looked ready to snap. And the way her hips tilted toward him, the dazed hunger in her eyes—yeah, she more than liked it.

He chuckled low in his throat, and the vibration against her skin made her hips jolt. His cock throbbed, thick, aching, trapped painfully behind the zipper of his jeans but this wasn’t about him. Not yet. This was about her.

He kissed a slow, burning path along her inner thigh, tasting her skin.

When he reached the edge of her leotard, he didn’t rush. He licked along the seam, savoring how wet she was. The fabric was soaked, clinging to every swollen, desperate curve of her.

"Fuck," he muttered, more to himself than her, voice thick. He nuzzled against the damp fabric, dragging his tongue across it, slow and firm, until she whimpered and rolled her hips forward, instinct taking over. He blew a hot, steady breath over her center. Her knees almost buckled.

"Are you going to come before I even get started, Baby?" he asked, voice low and teasing, his mouth hovering close enough to drive her mad.

Her breath hitched. "No one has ever..." The words spilled out in a whisper, barely there.

Beck froze. His breath caught, chest rising as he lifted his head to look at her.

"No one’s ever what?" he coaxed, voice dark and dangerous, fingers digging possessively into her thighs. "No one’s ever had their mouth on this pretty pussy?"

She shook her head, small and shaky but never broke his gaze.

Fuck.

Something primal went off inside him, possession surging through him like wildfire.

He grabbed her leg and hoisted it up onto the barre himself, spreading her wide for him. The leotard strained against her soaked folds, clinging obscenely. His mouth watered at the sight.

"Then hold on tight, princess," Beck rasped, his voice pure sin. "Because I’m about to fucking devour you."

He yanked her leotard aside, baring her soaked pussy to him, and groaned low at the sight. She was dripping. Dripping for him.

"So fucking beautiful," he breathed, the heat of his voice brushing over her sensitive skin. Ingrid's hips jerked uncontrollably toward him, a shameless plea.

"And so goddamn impatient," he taunted, dragging his tongue slow and lazy along her folds, careful to avoid her clit, savoring the frustrated little whine she couldn’t bite back.

She arched hard, rubbing herself against his mouth, chasing friction, but Beck only pulled back slightly, just enough to drive her crazy. "Eyes on me," he barked, rough.

Her lashes fluttered, and she forced her head down to meet his gaze. Her pupils were blown wide, her lips parted, her whole body trembling under his control.

He licked her again. Slow, shallow, not enough, never enough. She whimpered, her hips rolling, desperate to catch more of his mouth. Her fingers clutched at the barre, knuckles white, the muscles in her arms straining.

"Please," she gasped, so soft he almost missed it.

He grinned against her skin, fingers digging into her hips. "So sweet when you beg."

He flattened his tongue and dragged it from her entrance all the way up to her clit in one slow, filthy stroke, and she sobbed a raw, broken sound.

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