Living in Sin (Living In…) (11 page)

He nodded once, lifting his glass and drinking the rest of the liquid in it before putting it back down on the table beside him. “Then let’s go.”

Kahu got her to follow him as they went upstairs, to his own apartment that was situated above the club.

The door was down the end of a short hallway and he opened it up for her, standing aside so she could enter first, stepping into a large room with high, ornate ceilings and large windows that had views out onto Auckland’s large, green inner city park. Ivy partly covered the windows, making the light dim and green, like being underwater.

The floor was of dark, polished wood, the walls plain white. There was a low couch under the windows, the leather cracked and old, a velvet blanket half covering it. A couple of eastern style rugs in blues and reds gave the room color, while lots of bookcases stuffed with books and knickknacks gave it character.

It was warm, though there was no fireplace up here, which meant he must have some kind of central heating going on in the room.

She swallowed, clutching her coat around her, feeling awkward and restless and jumpy as Kahu shut the door, the sound of the club downstairs cutting off completely.

“That’s some sound-proofing you’ve got there,” she said inanely.

He turned from the door and came toward her. And Lily felt herself tense up, her mouth dry as the desert at midday, her lungs fighting for the oxygen that Kahu had apparently shut out when he’d closed the door.

Yet he stopped in front of her without touching, his hands loose at his sides. He seemed more relaxed than he’d been downstairs and that might have made her feel less tense if not for that black glitter in the depths of his eyes. The one that told her he was hungry. For her.

“Don’t speak.” His voice was quiet, yet she could hear the command in the words. “I only want to hear you if you need to use that word we talked about.”

Instinctive protests filled her mouth, but she bit them back. Hell, if he wanted her to be quiet, then she had no problem with it. She didn’t know what to say anyway.

Nodding, she kept her lips shut tight.

He looked down at her, not speaking, the brutally handsome lines of his face unyielding. And she felt the shakes return, her heartbeat going into overdrive. He was so close, that spicy scent of his, the one that reminded her of summer, making her want to bury her face in the warm cotton of his shirt, cover herself with heat.

“Don’t move,” he murmured, as if he could sense the restlessness and nervous tension inside her and knew what she was desperate to do.

So she stood her ground, not knowing where to put her hands so keeping them tightly clutching onto her coat.

Then he cupped her face between his palms.

Any air that had been in her lungs rushed out of it as the heat of his skin met hers. And she trembled all over. She couldn’t look away from the inky blackness of his eyes, the darkness seeming to pull her in, suck her under.

“Breathe, Lily,” he whispered.

She inhaled, sucking down a breath like he’d told her.

And then his mouth covered hers.

Shock. Heat. A bolt of lightning straight through her heart.

She couldn’t stop shaking. When had she been kissed last? She couldn’t remember. But soon even that thought had vanished along with everything else in the entire world. The only thing that existed was now, this moment, Kahu’s mouth on hers.

Achingly gentle, his thumbs easing down her lower lip so he could slide his tongue into her mouth, beginning to explore her slowly, tasting her as he did so.

A sound she hadn’t intended to make escaped her, a low moan, and she shut her eyes, dizzy as the blood rushed to her head. Or maybe that was the scotch she’d drunk, the scotch she could taste on him, smoky and hot. She found herself leaning in to him, her mouth opening farther, wanting more.

“Keep still,” he murmured, his lips brushing hers.

Dammit, no. But she did as she was told because she’d promised, struggling to stay still while his thumbs stroked lightly over her cheekbones then down along her jaw, his fingers trailing across the sensitive column of her neck and throat. Fire sparked, heat on frozen ground, waking parts of her she hadn’t realized were there.

She knew how sensitive skin could be, when needles penetrated and scalpels cut. When pain became so pervasive that even the brush of the hospital gown made her want to cry in agony. But she’d never known it could be sensitive to pleasure as well. So that all she wanted was to be touched, stroked, to have his hands on her. Where it didn’t matter what part of her body he touched as long as he was touching it.

And the kiss went on and on, the moment lasting forever as he tipped her head back farther, exploring deeper, becoming hotter, until her whole soul was drawn thin with want. To press against him. To put her hands on his chest. Touch him the way he was touching her.

Yet way before she was ready, he released her, leaving her shaking like a leaf as she looked up into his face.

Had he felt that? Had he been shattered by that kiss too?

The bronzed skin of his cheekbones was flushed and his jaw was tight, his eyes glittering. So yeah, maybe. She hoped so because she didn’t want to be alone in this.

And perhaps he heard her unspoken thought because he said, in a voice that wasn’t quite steady, “You taste like heaven, ballerina. But I think other parts of you might taste even better and I can’t wait.” He took a step back, giving her some space. “Take your clothes off. And then I want you to put your pointe shoes on.”

Somehow the nervousness and tension she’d felt earlier had gone. Like the kiss had taken it from her. So that she was able to turn away from him and go over to the couch without trembling. Able to deal with the buttons of her coat and slide it off, leaving her in her lace dress.

“Wait,” he said softly and she did, standing with her back to him, her breathing getting shorter and shorter. “That dress is beautiful, but I think it would look better if you had nothing on underneath it.”

Oh, she could do that. Indeed she could.

Her hands were shaking again but she managed to get the overdress off over her head and the silver shift underneath it. Then she took her bra off and slid her panties down her legs, stepping out of them before grabbing the lace dress and putting it on again. The feeling of the lace against her hardened nipples drew shudders from her and as she sat on the couch to take her boots off, she had to clench her thighs, the sensation heightened by the coolness of the leather against her bare butt.

It made it even worse to know he was watching her every move, his gaze on her face, seeing everything that passed over it.

She tried to concentrate on getting her boots off and once those were done, taking the pointe shoes out of her satchel. It was as she lifted her foot into the shoe that he stepped forward, kneeling at her feet in a fluid, controlled movement, his hands coming to rest on hers, stilling them.

“I’ll do that.” And he did, holding her foot and sliding the pointe shoe onto it.

She couldn’t stop the outrush of breath that escaped her as his fingers brushed her sensitive instep, the shock of the touch working its way up her calf. And unease twisted inside her.

This was too much. She couldn’t cope with this, she just couldn’t.

Yet she stayed still as he wound the ribbons tight around her ankle, not quite how she would do them, but good enough for their purposes. Then he moved on to her other foot. “You’re bruised,” he murmured, looking down at her toes.

She flushed, self-conscious again. Ballet dancer feet. Not pretty. Did he want her to answer? Explain?

Like he knew every thought that went through her head, he glanced at her. “You can speak.”

“Pointe shoes hurt sometimes.” Jesus, was that thick, husky voice really hers? “It’s no big deal, though. All part of being a dancer.”

He nodded then glanced down at the foot in his hand. “You won’t have to wear them long tonight.” Picking up the shoe, he slid it on then began tying the ribbon, taking a ridiculously long time about it too, so that her breathing got faster and her skin prickled. So that she had to clench her thighs tighter because she didn’t know what he planned and the not knowing was making her ache. Making her breath clog in her throat.

Eventually he finished and let go of her foot. But he didn’t move, his hungry gaze moving down from her face to take in her breasts, partly visible through the lace, before moving down even farther over her hips and stomach, to focus steadfastly between her thighs.

Her heart kicked hard in her chest.

His hands settled on her knees and her heart kicked even harder as he pushed them apart. “Lie back,” he murmured.

Every muscle in her body tightened. Fear crept up on her, fear of losing it in front of him. Losing her grip on her body. On herself. Because he would make her, she already knew that. If she was trembling so hard she couldn’t stop now, how bad would it get when he really started touching her?

Kahu’s gaze caught hers. His palms were warm on her knees, his thumbs making her shiver as he gently stroked the insides of them. “Do you want to say the word, Lily?”

“Yes,” she croaked, hating herself for admitting it.

“Fear won’t hurt you. But if you feel you have to say it then say it.”

She opened her mouth but this time nothing came out.

He stared at her a long moment, his thumbs stroking lazily. “You know what I think?” he said softly. “I think you don’t want this to end. I think you don’t want to give into this fear. Because I can see how turned on you are. I can smell it too. But understand that you’re not the only one, okay? I’m so hard for you I think I’d break if you walked out on me now.”

Were those tears in her eyes? Was that what was making her vision blur?

“You’re a dancer, Lily” he went on. “Tell me what the music means to you.”

She blinked hard to clear her vision, her throat thick, not sure where he was going with this. “It…leads me, I guess. It lets me know how to move and when. It shows me the way.”

“Right. So I need you to think of me as your music.” His thumbs stopped moving, sharp points of heat against her skin. “And you need to trust me to lead you, to show you the way. Does that make sense?”

The words found an echo inside her, a response, and she stared stupidly at him for a second as the meaning penetrated.

The music was part of the dance. Without it there were only forms. Only position. Without it she couldn’t move, couldn’t find her way through. But when she had it, she gripped on tight to it. Let it move her, lead her. And she trusted it to hold her when she leapt and catch her when she came back down again.

The music was her guide. It set her free.

I am your music. Trust me.

Oh, she could do that. She was a dancer and music was the air she breathed.

Lily took a breath “Okay.” And one by one, she relaxed her muscles, slowly lying back against the couch.

This time when he pushed her knees apart she let him, shuddering as he slid her dress up, his gaze lowered between her thighs to where she was bare and wet and aching. His fingers trailed up and down the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, making her want to twist and turn in his grip, ease the restless feeling inside her.

“Christ, you’re beautiful.” His voice was rougher now, a sensual rasp against her skin. “Look at you, all wet and hot for me. But I’m not going to go easy on you, sweetheart. You made me so hard last time, with your fingers in your pussy.” His thumbs trailed up the insides of her thighs and she began to pant. “I know you want to move, want to come, but I’m not going to let you. Not yet.” He leaned in, his breath warm and she had to bite her lip, trembling as the pulse of desire began to beat hard inside her.

“You know what I did after I left you last Monday?” he whispered. “I had to go upstairs and jerk off before I could do anything. That pissed me off. All week I had to go around with the taste of you in my mouth. So I’m going to punish you for that, ballerina. I’m going to eat that pretty little cunt of yours until you’re screaming.”

The hard, brutal sound of the word sent a kind of shock through her. And then his hands were pressing hard on her thighs, holding them wide, and she was panting, trembling with the anticipation of the moment.

He lowered his head, his breath hot on her skin, his thumbs parting her tender flesh, the sensation making her moan. And then his tongue licked a hot path straight up the center of her sex.

Her hips jerked against his hands, a cry escaping her. The sensation was sharp, a vicious twist of pleasure made even more intense by the anticipation. And when he did it again, she let out another cry, the sound echoing in the silent room.

She wanted to close her legs, protect herself against the onslaught but his hold was unbreakable. He bent over her like a panther over a kill, licking in long, slow strokes that caught her in the sharp grip of ecstasy.

Lily shut her eyes, trying to lessen the sensations but he wasn’t having any of that.

“Open your eyes,” he ordered in a rough, low voice and she found herself obeying.

He crouched at her feet, long, blunt fingers dark against the pale skin of her thighs, a feral, hungry look in his gaze. “Watch me, ballerina. I want you to watch what I do to you.”

So she did, biting her lip hard as he lowered his head again, as his tongue found her clit and began to move in light, teasing circles. Then she felt his fingers trail lower, to the entrance of her body, stroking before he slid one inside her.

Again, her hips jerked at the unfamiliar sensation, heat prickling all over her body. She groaned as his finger began to move in a slow rhythm, a second joining the first, stretching her gently. His tongue licked over her clit in the same kind of maddening rhythm and she couldn’t keep still, trying to ease the intensity building inside her.

It was getting too much and she couldn’t control it. And that terrified her. Like she was being pushed inexorably over a cliff she couldn’t see the bottom of, with nothing to hold onto, to grab to stop herself from falling.

“Kahu,” she groaned. “Please…I can’t…stop…”