“Tell me to stop,” he breathes against my lips.
“No.”
“Isadora—”
“I don’t want you to stop.”
He makes a low, rough sound that vibrates through his chest and into mine, and then he’s walking me backward and my back hits the mirrored wall with enough force to rattle the barre. The glass is cold through my thin shirt, but his body is furnace-hot against my front. The contrast makes me gasp, and he swallows the sound with another kiss, deeper this time, more demanding.
His hands slide up my sides, mapping the curve of my waist, the indent of my ribs. When his thumbs brush the underside of my breasts, I arch into him instinctively, and he makes that sound again—that groan that feels like it’s being pulled from somewhere deep inside him.
“You have no idea,” he murmurs against the corner of my mouth, “how much I’ve wanted to do this.”
I laugh, breathless and slightly hysterical. “Me too.”
His teeth graze the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder, and my thoughts scatter like startled birds.
“That’s cheating,” I manage.
“Is it?” Another kiss, this one right over my pulse point. “I thought all was fair in love and dance.”
Love.
The word lands somewhere in my chest and takes root. I pull his mouth back to mine, kissing him harder, and my hands find the hem of his shirt. The fabric bunches as I push it up, and my fingers finally touch bare skin. He sucks in a sharp breath.
His skin is hot and smooth, with firm ridges of muscle beneath it. I trace the lines of his abdomen, feeling the way he tenses under my touch, ad the way his breath stutters when my nails scrape lightly over his ribs.
“Isadora.” His voice is wrecked. “If you keep doing that?—”
“What?”
“I’m going to lose what little control I have left.”
“Maybe I want you to lose control.”
He pulls back just enough to look at me. The red flames in his eyes are brighter than I’ve ever seen them, and there’s something almost wild in his expression.
“Do you know what you’re saying?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know what I am?”
“Yes.”
“And you still?—”
I reach up and cup his face in my hands. “I know exactly what you are, Mal. I’ve known since the moment you walked into mystudio and turned everything upside down.” My thumbs trace his cheekbones. “You’re chaos. You’re impossible. You’re the most infuriating person I’ve ever met.”
His jaw tightens. “That’s not exactly?—”
“You’re also kind,” I continue. “And patient. And you stayed. When I asked for help, you stayed.” My voice cracks slightly. “Do you know how rare that is? Do you know how many people in my life have left the moment things got difficult?”
“Isadora—”
“I don’t care what you are. I care who you are. And who you are is someone I—” I stop, the words catching in my throat. “Someone I trust.”
For a long moment, he just looks at me. Then something shifts in his expression, so vulnerable it makes my heart ache.
