“Okay.” He nodded slowly. “That makes sense.” Though it was a lot of subterfuge he wished he didn’t have to think about.
Marcus wondered how many other dancers had pulled this off—and how many had thought they could pull it off, only to get caught and fired. Had his colleagues in the corps had this very conversation last year, only to find themselves in Peter’s office, being kicked out of the company? Maybe Heather had been right, and this was far more complicated than he’d been willing to admit. He studied her as she sat on the bed, her pointed chin raised almost imperceptibly, her face a picture of determination bordering on stubbornness. It was easy for him to imagine that expression taking over her face in the middle of a difficult rehearsal, when the pirouettes weren’t working but she was hell-bent on making them. It was so endearing, he thought, it would be worth a little sneaking around to see more of it. More of this face, more of her.
“One last rule,” she said. “Obviously nothing out in public. No dates out where anyone could see us, like last night. That’s a pretty easy way to get busted.”
For a moment, he was confused by the sharp edge in her voice, then understanding dawned. Of course Heather knew how to sneak around, even if she’d never done it herself. No telling, no touching, no taking photos—that was how her fiancé had hidden his affair, until he hadn’t.
“Got it,” he said. “These are good rules. Shake on it?” Marcus held out his hand, and she gave it a firm shake, nodding decisively.
He released her fingers, but she held onto his hand and pulled herself towards him. A second later she was straddling his lap, and Marcus toppled over in surprise, falling onto his back on the bed. Heather went down with him, bracing her hands on either side of the bed and giggling. He was surrounded by her, defenseless against the heat rolling off her skin and the addictive sound of her laugh.
He pulled her down against him, and, cupping her face with his hands, claimed her mouth. She tasted like coffee still, and he groaned with relief as her tongue slicked against his, matching his urgency. He broke the kiss and brought his mouth to her neck, pulling the collar of her pyjama shirt aside to gain access to more of her.
“Fuck this,” he muttered. He seized the bottom of her shirt and pulled it over her head, then wrapped one arm around her waist and rolled them over. Then Heather Hays was beneath him wearing nothing but pyjama pants and a lace bralette.
“Sweet Jesus, you’re so beautiful,” Marcus breathed, trying to take in all of her and feeling slightly drunk from the attempt.
Her body was a finely honed tool, all muscle and taut skin, gentle curves where her breasts swelled around her sternum and her slim waist gave way to narrow but unmistakable hips. Marcus had seen her in class, seen her sweat through a skin-tight leotard, but he had barely allowed himself to imagine her like this. Half naked, her hair a wavy, tangled mess, her breasts rising and fallingwith every rapid breath. The thin, pale green fabric of her bra did nothing to conceal her nipples or disguise their hardness as they strained against the lace, all but begging to be stroked and sucked and rolled between his teeth.
Marcus wasted no time, returning his lips to her neck and nipping gently at the soft, smooth skin there, loving the way Heather moaned and ground her hips against him in response. While he explored her neck with his mouth, he cupped one of her breasts gently, holding his hand against her until her back arched, urging him on. His cock hardened at the sensation of her pressing more of her soft, pliant flesh into his palm, and he obeyed her request, sliding his thumb over her breast and brushing it lightly, delicately, over the lace that covered her puckered nipple.
Heather whimpered, and the sound made him want to stay here all day, teasing one nipple and then the other, listening to her moan and gasp and feeling her body arch helplessly under his. But she seized his shirt and unbuttoned it hastily, and a moment later he was shrugging it off, desperate to remove his clothes so he could get his hands back on her.
Marcus leaned down to kiss her again, but Heather put her hand on his chest and pushed him up to kneel over her, shirtless and breathless. Taking her time, she surveyed him the same way he’d run his eyes over her. As he watched her face, she actually, literally, licked her lips. He had never felt more wanted.
“Sweet Jesus,” she said, sounding like she was working very hard to keep her voice steady, “you’re pretty beautiful yourself.” Then she hooked two fingers into the waist of his jeans and pulled him back down, kissing him fiercely and sliding her fingers into his hair.
It was electric bliss, the way Marcus’s hot, damp skin brushed against her while the cool bedding pressed against her exposed back.
His hips pinned hers to the bed, the weight of him at once thrilling and comforting as their mouths met, and she plunged her tongue back into his mouth. She ran her hands over his arms,relishing the way the muscles of his shoulders flexed under her fingers as he supported himself. He responded by grinding against her, and it was delicious torture, the way his erection rubbed against her cleft through several infuriating layers of clothing. Her entire body pulsated with need, and nowhere so much as between her legs, where her underwear was already beyond damp and well on its way to drenched.
His mouth left hers and landed on her jaw, then the side of her neck, and she arched her upper back, urging him downward until his lips hovered over the lace of her bra, and she could hear her breath coming in desperate gasps. Then, with one easy motion, Marcus slipped the flimsy fabric down and flicked his tongue over her nipple. A bolt of pleasure shot through her, and her eyes fluttered closed as she slid a hand back to Marcus’s hair. Her fingers tangled in the loose curls as his tongue flicked again, harder and more insistently this time.
Then, to her dismay, he stopped. Her eyes flew open. He was looking at her, his dimple deep as a cheeky smile played on his lips.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he murmured, “were you enjoying that?” She stared, unable to muster a response. “Did you like it,” he breathed, and he slid his other hand up her rib cage to rest just under her other breast, his fingers unbearably close to her most sensitive flesh and his breath dancing over her skin, “when I was playing with your nipples?”
Heather gaped at him, then words returned to her.
“You absolute shit stirrer!” She shoved him playfully on the shoulder, her glare undermined by the giggle that escaped her. Marcus let out that bark of a laugh she was coming to crave so much, and she wanted to pull him back down against her. But a second later, his weight was gone, and he knelt on the bed.
Heather sat up quickly, wanting to close the space between his body and hers, and pressed her lips against the ridges of his abs before trailing her fingers over the skin above his belt. Marcusgroaned, and she grinned against his skin, wondering if she’d ever heard a sexier sound in her life.
Marcus slipped off the bed and stood over her, breathing hard, his lips slightly swollen and flushed a deep reddish pink. She scooted forward and reached for the button of his jeans, but he stopped her. For a moment, she was confused: Did he not want to have sex? She bit her lip.
“Is something wrong?” Heather watched his face, wondering if she’d broken the mood and ruined the moment.
“Not at all,” he said, with a hard, audible swallow. “There’s just something I really want to do right now.”
Then Marcus lowered himself carefully and knelt on the sheepskin rug at the end of the bed. He leaned forward and, dropping a kiss onto her collarbone, hooked his fingers into the waistband of her pajama pants.
“Can I take these off you?” His voice was husky with need again, and she thought she felt his fingers trembling against her hips.
Heather met his eyes and nodded, then decided to make herself perfectly clear. “As long as you take the panties, too.”
She had never seen him move so fast. She had barely lifted her hips when he peeled the pants down her thighs and slid them over her pointed feet, tossing them haphazardly onto the floorboards. The Marcus who moved slowly and cautiously was gone, replaced by a man who wasted no time spreading her thighs and settling himself between them, who moaned loudly when he caught his first glimpse of what waited for him there.
“Fuck, Heather,” he groaned. Heather had never much cared for cursing, had especially hated the way Jack wielded curse words like weapons when he was angry. But she found she didn’t mind when the words were in Marcus’s mouth, and his mouth was on her.
