Page 116 of The Dangerous Dance

"I know what you want." His mouth against the back of my neck. "I want to give you what you want."

"Then move."

He moves.

The first stroke. Slow, deliberate, the drag of him inside me, the way my body opens and accepts and wants more. I grip the barre and I watch us in the mirror.

"Again," I say.

He pulls back. The emptiness of him leaving. Then he pushes in again, deeper this time, a different angle, the head of his cock finding the place inside me that makes my breath catch and my hands tighten on the barre.

"There," I say. "Right. There."

He finds it again. Stays on it. Each stroke deliberate. Each stroke hitting the place that makes me make sounds I cannot control.

"Look at us," he says. His voice in my ear. His hands solid on my hips. "Look."

I look.

In the mirror. Me bent slightly forward, my hands on the barre, my breasts moving with each thrust, my face in a state I have never seen my face in before. Not performing. Not controlling. Just feeling. And behind me, him. His jaw tight. His eyes on me, on us, on the fact of his body moving into mine.

"You." He breathes. A stroke that goes deeper than the others. "You feel."

"I know," I say. "I feel you. I feel."

He shifts. Changes the angle, his hands pulling my hips back to meet him, the new depth this creates, the way it lets him fill me completely. The sound I make is not articulate. The sound he makes in answer is not articulate either.

"More," I say.

He gives me more. Still controlled, still intentional, but faster now, harder, the sound of our bodies meeting filling the studio. The wet of it. The slap of skin on skin. The small creaking of the barre under my grip.

My thigh comes up again. Onto the barre, opening me wider, and the shift in position lets him deeper and we both make sounds, his a groan, mine something higher, something that cracks at the edge.

"God, Nadia."

"Don't stop. Don't."

He does not.

He fucks me against the barre with the precision of a man who knows exactly what he is doing to me, and I take it and I want it and I watch us in the mirror.

"I'm going to," I say. The edge of it. The approaching edge.

"I know," he says. "I can feel you. I can feel you getting."

"Yes."

"Come," he says. "I want to feel you come on my cock."

The word in his mouth. The crude beauty of it. Liam, who speaks in measured operational sentences, saying cock in my ear while he is inside me.

I come.

The devastation of it. Not like the first one. This one is pulled from somewhere deeper, somewhere his body reaches that no one else has reached, and it takes me apart. I clench around him and I make a sound that is almost a sob and my arms shake and he holds me up, his hands on my hips, his cock still inside me, still moving through it, extending it.

"That's it," he says. His voice rough. "That's. God, Nadia, you feel."

"Don't stop. I want to feel you come. I want."