Page 35 of Sweet Nightmares
Swallowing hard, anticipation rolled in her stomach like a mixture of butterfly wings and rotten tomatoes. She desperately wanted to know what his touch might feel like, especially after that kiss.
Her fingers grazed her lips, and it kept everything in her to hold back a moan at the memory.
His kisses were consuming. But sex?
Would he be soft or demanding? Gentle or rough? And what did she want him to be?
Jane had no idea.
She craved it, yet also dreaded it.
Would it hurt as much as it did all the other times?
Jane had never had sex without pain. Not once. She heard from the other ballerinas that sex could be pleasurable. They used to speak in hushed whispers to their friends about the glorious things their partners would do to them. Often involving tongues and inventive positions. Once, Jane even heard about the use of blindfolds and chains.
She found it frightening and tantalizing. What if she could trust a man enough to chain her up? What could it be like?
Nightmare sat underneath the covers with his shirt off and chest exposed. His chiseled pectorals and abs were on full display.
Jane gulped and walked to the wardrobe.
Jane tried to grab the laces of her corset at the back. But as she did, she got an idea. “I—” she started and then stopped. “Will you help me?” She turned her back to him and motioned to her laces.
She didn’t need his help, but she wanted it.
Jane bit her lip. Waiting. When nothing happened, she closed her eyes. Defeated, but then…
The bed creaked, the springs bouncing as he stood up. With every step closer, her heart beat like a war drum.
Anticipation ate away at her. One step. Another. Another. Jane sucked in a breath.
His large fingertips grazed the center of her back, and she desperately wanted to lean into the touch. But she didn’t.
The last thing she wanted was for Nightmare to know that she wanted him. It just couldn’t happen.
She held her breath.
His fingers brushed her red curls across her back and over her shoulder, his fingertips skimming the nape of her neck.
A shudder ran through her body, and her core tightened.
Slowly, Nightmare dug his fingers into her laces as he loosened them. Tension turned in her stomach. If it were a noise,it would be a string quartet playing, plucking the strings faster and faster as the unease rose before the climax of a ballet.
When Nightmare finished with the laces, his hands came up to both her shoulders, running across them as he lowered her sleeves. Once her arms were free, he skimmed his hands down her stomach and off her thighs, letting the garment pool at her feet.
Jane stepped out of it as Nightmare turned his attention to her petticoats and then to her chemise. One by one, he removed her clothing from her body until she was naked, still standing with her back toward him.
Jane gulped, swallowing past the lump in her throat. Then she slowly turned, and as she did, her breasts grazed his chest, her nipples hardening. Her eyes dipped down, and disappointment whispered through her. She wanted to see his penis, but Nightmare still wore his trousers.
“Thank you for saving my life.” Jane’s gaze tracked up and met his piercing silver eyes. From this close, she saw the streaks of blue in them—the streaks of his mortal form remaining.
Nightmare grunted and stepped back. Then he turned on his heel and returned to bed, slipping back under the covers.
Jane’s eyebrows bunched. He’d just gotten back into bed and closed his eyes.
Closed. His. Eyes.
What?
