Page 109 of Stolen Kiss

Emilia

After we finally put Elodie tobed that night, Jensen took my hand and led me back to his room.

We didn’t talk on the way.

The air hummed with anticipation around us, choking the words right out of me, and I could feel the simmer of excitement dancing just below the surface of my skin.

I hadn’t felt like this in a very long time.

I remember feeling like this before a big recital, when my mom had still been alive to see me dance.

The last time I’d felt this way had been a few years after her death, when I danced for a Junior Miss Competition in Contemporary Dance, just out of high school. It had been the first performance Nadir had seen me do, and she had offered me a spot at Bowing’s that very day.

I hadn’t felt like this for a very long time, and now the feeling was back, only it felt much more intense. Jensen looked back at me, and my heart skipped two beats.

The easy routine we suddenly found ourselves in with Elodie, the nights when I got him all to myself—I wanted this.

I wanted this much more than I had ever wanted ballet in the past.

We moved inside the room and Jensen quietly ushered me into the bathroom to get ready for bed. He had already gone through his nightly routine, when I had helped Elodie with hers, and by the time I finished and walked out to the bedroom, Jensen was suddenly there, kissing me and moving us toward the bed.

“Jensen,” I whispered as he pushed us down the bed, his solid body landing on top of me… grounding me.

I looked up and met animated gray eyes, then looked down at his naked torso.

Jensen was built.

I didn’t think I had ever been with anyone built like him. I didn’t think men who weren’t professional athletes or bodybuilders had a body like this, but he did.

My palm moved over his hard pecs and down to his abs, my fingers going over the ridges there.

I was wet just from this.

He was just so perfect. And lying beneath him made me feel soft and feminine in the best way possible.

He wasn’t wearing anything save for black boxer briefs, and at this moment, I hated that thin piece of fabric covering him more than anything else in the world.

My hand hooked into the waistband of his underwear, wanting it gone, but he stopped me, grabbing both of my wrists in one large hand and holding them above my head.

“Get naked,” I demanded.

He looked at me as if I was the cutest thing he’d ever seen. My glower deepened. “Jensen.”

“Not yet,” he said, his voice soothing. He lined us up perfectly and pressed until I could feel the outline of his hard cock pushing against me.

I groaned and ground my hips against him, wanting for friction.

“Jesus,” he said, his grip tightening around me, pushing down even more. “Let’s get you ready for me.”

“But I am ready for you,” I complained. He shot me a look and pushed himself up until he was sitting between my spread thighs.

He moved his hands down my prosthesis. “How are you feeling?”

“Murderous,” I deadpanned.

His lips twitched but he didn’t smile. Instead, he bent my leg forward, exposing my ass, and slapped me. “Let’s try this again,” he said, his hand moving toward my breast. Fuck, yes.

He played with my nipple roughly through my shirt and I arched my back, wanting more of his touch. I let out a small whimper when he gripped it and pulled. The slight pain he evoked was turning me on.

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