Since I’ve got nothing to do but protect her, pretend to be her husband, stop her from running off with somegobshite, and help draw out whoever’s sending her crap, this is good. A little hate sex never hurt a soul.
I pull her onto my lap, spreading her thighs on either side of my hips. Her tits are in the perfect sucking and biting zone. Of course, I should have stripped first, but I have to admit there’s a kinky hot element to her being vulnerable and naked and me mostly dressed. I rest my palms for a moment on her ass.
“You’re still a virgin somewhere.”
She hisses at me.
“So that’s where Lola learned his manners. It explains a lot.”
“You’re such a?—”
“Gobshite’sa good one.” I grin.
Her eyes narrow. “Gobshite.This isn’t funny.”
I reach up and start pulling the pins from her hair, letting it loose. “That’s better. I like the ballerina slash librarian slash secretary look, but I like your flames raining down around your face more.”
“Life of a dancer.” There’s a bitter note in her voice. “Hair up and pulled back.”
I frown. “You’re beautiful to watch, you know. I can see why some fans might take it a little far.”
Her copper eyes slide away, turning darker as they do, and her fingers twist in my hair. The leg of my pants is getting wet from her, but I don’t mind. Her nipples are hard as she rocks back and forth on my thigh, and I don’t even think she realizes it.
Christ, I could fuck her forever. And I meant it when I said I’d wished I’d taken my time. She deserves to be opened like a flower, made utterly ready for me. She was ready, more than ready, but that mental and physical thing should have happened together.
Fuck, I sound like I’m from the wrong century.
Still, I wish I’d spent more time before thrusting hard into her. I was rough where in that moment, and I shouldn’t have been.
“Sometimes my feet bleed, and my toes are sort of ugly now from years of abuse in the pointe shoes,” she says. “I have to watch what I eat. I like healthy, but sometimes I want to binge on sweets. I want to be a glutton and drinkuntil I pass out.”
“No, you don’t. The next day’s hell,” I say.
Her gaze comes back to me. “Don’t patronize me.”
“No, I’m not. If you don’t want to do it, then don’t.”
“They named me one of the lead dancers tonight.”
“So?” I shrug, dipping my head and licking a path from one nipple to the other, and she pulls my hair. I look up at her.
“So,” she says, eyes snapping, “my mother bought the position for me.”
“Your mother also wants to buy you a husband, so I don’t think she should be your role model there, Molly.”
She pulls my hair harder, and I tug back and bite her nipple. She squeals, even though it wasn’t hard.
“I don’t want any of it.”
“Then don’t do it.”
“Money.”
Fuck. Rich girls. This time I tangle my hand in her hair and tug, too, and she almost fucking purrs. “Then get a job, Marlowe. If dance isn’t your dream, there must be something that is.”
“I used to help Daddy with the business, his side ones. I helped him come up with some new ideas.”
For a moment I think she might mean something reckless. but she doesn’t.
