“I am a man of many talents. Most of them behind a camera, but I can burn a little when pressed.”
“And you were pressed?” I smile at him through the candlelight. “I’m actually pretty easy to please. You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”
“I wanted tonight to be—”
“Special. I know.”
The humor fades from his expression, and his face grows serious. “You have to be sure before we do this, Neevah. Even now, it’s not too late to change your mind.”
“We can skip dinner, as far as I’m concerned.” I lay my fork down. “I’m not afraid of coming off as too eager, Canon. Iameager. You said you can read me easily anyway, so I can’t hide that. You know I want you.”
His stare doesn’t waver, but darkens, the long lashes dropping as desire stirs behind his eyes.
“But I want more than sex,” I confess. “I’m not saying it has to be serious, but I do want you to know this means something to me. You called me generous, and I am, onstage, when I perform, but I’ve never slept with anyone I worked for. I do hold myself back in this. I’m careful about who I share my body with, so when I do this with you, it will already be special to me.”
Even through the soft beard, I see the muscle in his jaw flexing. His fists clench on the table by his plate. He looks like a man on the verge of losing control, and I want to push him over the edge. Before I can, the music changes and the low throb of bass ushers in Luther’s opening lyrics of “If This World Were Mine,” temporarily distracting me. Canon smiles, standing from the table and holding out his hand. Did he remember our conversation on the balcony? Arrange this?
“Is this a coincidence?” I ask, standing on shaky legs.
“I’m a director,” he says, pulling me into his arms to sway with the languid chorus. “Things are rarely coincidental with me.”
I laugh up at him, my heart a turnstile in my chest, and link my wrists behind his neck. The night has grown cooler, and I can’t discern if the goose bumps splattering my arms are from the air or his hands moving on my bare skin, kneading the muscles into languor. Or the soft caress of him at my neck when he dips to breathe in the scent behind my ear. The sky has darkened, smudged into nightfall, lit by stars like lanterns. With the pool below glimmering like a jewel, these minutes in his arms, held close, are the most perfect I can remember.
I frame his face, the distinctive bone structure hard beneath my hands.
“And you say you’re not a romantic,” I whisper.
“I’m not. I just likeyou.”
“Then I’m one lucky girl.” I try to laugh, but what’s happening tonight,now, means too much. I can’t play it off or make it any less. It feels like the universe has come down to these seconds under a watching sky. It’s come down to the contact between our bodies and our breaths, growing more ragged the longer we sway together. To our eyes, melded by passion and something subtly stronger.
He takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger and tugs until I open for him. The kiss, when it comes, starts tender with nibbles and brushes, but it soon consumes, our tongues sliding together, our hands searching, seeking, gripping, and squeezing.
“Upstairs,” he gasps against the curve of my shoulder.
I nod, twining my fingers with his when he takes my hand, and he leads me up the steps. Lamps glow on either side of the bed, and the soft music has followed us, playing faintly in here, too.
He touches my face, running his knuckle over my cheekbone. “You’re beautiful, Neevah. It wasn’t the first thing I noticed about you, and it’s not the most important, but I want you to know.”
I reach up and brush my fingertips across the fullness of his lips. “And every time I make you smile, I feel like I’ve conquered the world.”
His eyes, heated and hungry, slide over me, from the crown of my head to my open-toe shoes. “Then make me smile.”
I’ve been waiting for this moment, but now that it’s here, I’m unsure where to start.
Does she hold nothing back?
Canon said he asked himself that question when he saw me perform inSplendor, and I know. The first thing I’ll do is give him everything.
My fingers find the tie of the halter at my neck, tugging until the top of the dress loosens and falls. The swell of my hips and ass anchors the dress on my body, but my torso—shoulders, stomach, breasts—is naked in the dim light.
With his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, Canon drags a finger across my collarbone, over the curve of my shoulder, down my arm to link our fingers. Tugging me closer, he looks down at me for long seconds. Not at my breasts, tight and heaving with anticipation, but into my eyes, and itmakes me feel more exposed than the coolness of the air kissing my skin. I’m glass to him, he said, and he searches my eyes like he’s peering into my head, turning my soul over in his hands. I don’t even want to think about what he sees in my heart.
Just as I’m not sure I can bear the scrutiny anymore without his touch, he dips to kiss one nipple. My head drops back, exposing the line of my neck. He still holds one hand, and I tighten my grip on his fingers, needing the support to stand as his lips close around the tip, his teeth scraping gently. We are connected at only two points, our joined fingers and his mouth at my breast, but it feels like every inch of me is pressed to the length of him. My eyes are closed, but the air shifts in front of me when he drops to his knees. He releases my hand to grip my hips. I look down, and his eyes climb over me, starting with my belly button, skimming my stomach, and up my breasts until he reaches my face. His motions haven’t been hurried, and his hands haven’t been swift, so the wild hunger in his eyes startles me, and I realize he’s controlling it. He’s reined it in, and more than anything, I want to snap it like a twig.
I push at the silk puddled at my hips, coaxing the dress down my legs to pool around my shoes. I wind my fingers into the rough waves of his hair and subtly coax his head toward my bare pussy.
He breathes deeply and then rests his mouth against the lips, not opening me, or tasting.
