One Last Dance (6 page)

“Put your arms around my neck,”
he whispered against her lips. She slid her hands into his hair, clinging, and
arching her back to press her breasts into his hand. “Mmm, yes. Like that. Now
spread your legs for me.”

Again, she obeyed, leaning back
against the tall, lean length of his body as she slid her feet farther apart.
The rigid length of his erection pressed against the small of her back. Sophie
rocked her hips, rubbing herself along his cock. Henry’s hands tightened on
her. He ran his fingertips through her dark curls until he found the top of her
slit. Sophie whimpered into his mouth as he parted the moist lips of her sex
and slid one, then two, fingers inside her.

She bucked against his invading
hand, body undulating against his as she chased the contact she so desperately
needed. Henry rubbed the base of his palm in wide circles around her clit, his
fingers pumping in and out of her clinging pussy. He curled his tongue around
hers, sucking. She was so close, her orgasm a tight, glittering star nearly
within her reach.

“Oh god!”

Henry plunged his fingers deeper
into her, stroking against her slick inner walls. His long thumb pressed her
clit hard while his other hand rolled the taut bud of her nipple between his
calloused fingers.

Sophie came, moaning as she
clamped around his fingers, squeezing rhythmically. All her muscles trembled as
pleasure poured through her, hot and sweet as honey. She shuddered in his
strong arms, pressing her mouth hard against his neck, tasting the salt of his
skin. The tidal wave of sensation seemed to cover her for long minutes while
she whimpered and panted.

He was still completely dressed.
She was quaking in the aftermath of a truly spectacular orgasm, and Henry
hadn’t even removed his watch. It made her feel hot and shivery all over again.
He was murmuring to her, low words in another language. She didn’t understand
them. She didn’t care. They were rough, sweet, sexy words. He whispered them
between the soft kisses he rained down on her shoulders.

“
C’è la mia bella ragazza
.”
He picked her up. Sophie melted into his chest, clutching to his strength. His
lean muscles were taut against her skin, even through his shirt.

“I don’t know what that means.”

He nipped her lower lip. “It’s
not important.” Henry pivoted, crossing the small sitting room in two strides.
He pushed open the door with his foot, carrying her across the threshold into
his bedroom. Sophie gasped. The entire wall was windows, looking out over the
city.

The bed was massive, a great lake
of a bed covered in a dark green blanket. She gave a small cry as Henry tossed
her lightly into the center of the vast mattress. Sophie watched as Henry
pulled off his shoes and socks and hastily tossed them aside before reaching
for his shirt. She reached out, touching the back of his hand.

“Let me?”

His hands dropped. “Do it then.
Undress me, Sophie.”

She bit her lip, tugging the
shirt from his waistband, keeping her eyes on his face. Sophie opened each
button slowly, baring his chest inch by inch. When every button was undone, she
pulled his shirt open, shoving it off his wide shoulders and tugging it down
his arms.

Henry pulled the sleeves free of
his wrists and dropped the shirt. His chest was muscled and lightly furred with
dark hair. Beneath the broad expanse, his stomach was flat and hard. She rubbed
her palms over his shoulders, down his arms, leaning in to press her mouth
against his skin. He tasted of sweat and spice. She traced patterns on his
flesh with her tongue, on his neck, his collarbone.

When he drew back his eyes were
fierce as coals. “Get on your knees.”

Desire shot through her legs at
the sensual fire in the words. Her pussy grew slick and was once again
throbbing. She sank to her knees at his feet. Henry stared down at her,
touching her cheek. “Finish. Undress me.”

Her hands trembled as she raised
them to his belt. She undid the buckle, tugging the length of leather free of
its loops and tossing it aside. It was a matter then of only sliding down his
zipper and pushing his slacks down off his hips. They slid to his ankles and he
kicked them away, leaving him in only his boxers. His erection was practically
bursting through the thin fabric.

She bit her lip, slipping her
fingers into the waistband and drawing out the hard length of his cock. He was
thick and long, the smooth head engorged. Sophie opened her mouth wide and
 wrapped her lips around the spongy tip, licking at a bead of pre-cum. It
was salty and slick. Henry hissed as she took him into her mouth, sliding her
lips down his shaft. Tasting him like this, pleasuring him like this,
intensified Sophie’s own desire. The glide of his silken skin against her
tongue, the salt and male musk flavor of him, the springy hair at the base that
tickled against her nose when she fully engulfed him—every sensation only
heightened her own arousal.

Sophie stroked him, tongue
curling around his shaft. Henry groaned, sliding himself between her lips,
shuddering. Again he murmured words she couldn’t understand. She didn’t care.
It’s
not important
, he’d said. It wasn’t.

“Sophie,” he moaned. “Dolce
ragazza. Stop.” She pulled off of him, looking up into his smoldering eyes. He
stroked her face. “I need to be inside you now.”

The words took away all her
breath. Henry grasped her shoulders, pulling her up and pushing her back onto
the lush, soft bedcover. She lay back, gazing at him, breath uneven. His cock
stood up against his muscled belly, glistening with her saliva.

“Spread your legs.”

She did, watching him as he
crawled over her. His hard body glistened with a fine sheen of sweat. Sophie
stroked his shoulders and back, urging him upward until he knelt between her
splayed thighs. His cock prodded gently against the slick lips of her sex.
Sophie whimpered and slid her thigh against his hip, gasping at the feel of her
skin gliding against his. They both moaned as he slid his shaft up and down her
slit. “That’s it. Just like that.”

He teased her, pumping his hips
in tiny increments, rubbing the head of his cock over her clit. Each time the
smooth, spongy tip kissed the throbbing bud it set off sparks in her belly. She
arched her back, pressing her breasts against his chest, trying to coax him
into her wet cleft. He bit her lower lip and plunged into her, burying his cock
in her clinging flesh. Her thighs tightened around his hips as he began to move
within her. He pulled out slowly and the slippery glide of his cock as he
withdrew it tingled along her nerve endings. Then he pushed back in and Sophie
lifted her hips to meet him.

They moved together, and apart,
and together again. Each time his shaft parted her he seemed to press deeper,
touch someplace new. She undulated against him, welcoming him back inside her
with each thrust. Her heart pounded in her chest in time with the throb of her
clit. Henry ground his pelvis against her with every downstroke, rubbing
against the turgid nub and sending waves of pleasure throughout Sophie’s body.

His pace picked up. He thrust
harder now, stomach slapping against hers with a resounding clap. His cock
pounded into her, sliding against the wet silk of her inner walls. The
delicious friction built a fire in her belly.

Henry slowed again, drawing out
languidly, his ragged breath tickling against the aching tips of her breasts.
One hard hand slapped her hip. “On your hands and knees, dolce.”

She rolled over and scrambled to
her knees, bracing herself on her arms. Henry’s hands were warm on her buttocks
as he kneaded the pale globes. He spread her open, notching the head of his
cock back against her slick folds, and pushed into her once again.

Sophie moaned, long and low. His
hard, calloused hands stroked her back, gripping her shoulders and pulling her
back against him, impaling her on the rigid length of his cock as he thrust
forward. Sophie found herself begging, saying words she never thought she’d
utter.

He obliged, picking up the pace
and pushing her head down deliciously  until her cheek was rubbing against
the sheets. She felt her hair being tugged. Oh god to finally be handled like
this, roughly, the way her body wanted to be handled.

“You’re going to come soon,”
Henry moaned. His hand eased down from her hair to her neck to her shoulder as
he fucked her harder still. “Now.”

Every muscle seemed to go tight
within her. The coil of delicious tension unraveled viciously from her pussy to
her toes. Her body clenched around his cock and she screamed in pleasure as her
orgasm washed over her like a sudden storm.

“God you come good,” Henry
rasped.

She did. She came and came, and
came some more. Each cell that had drawn in, expanded into a new wave of
pleasure. Her slick inner walls clamped down hard on the rigid length of his
shaft, squeezing him like a fist within her. Henry cursed, bucking against her,
driving himself deep. Sophie felt the hot pulse as he spilled his seed. The
sensation set off another cascade of pleasure. His fingers dug almost painfully
into her hips as pressed her tight against his groin while his cock throbbed
inside her.

Sophie shivered. It didn’t seem
to matter that she’d just had a nearly cataclysmic orgasm. When Henry glided
his shaft in and out of her like that, it made her feel as if she could start
all over again.

Finally, after what seemed long
minutes of twitching delight,  the last drop of the pleasure was
completely wrung out of her. Henry too, leaned heavily against her back,
panting.

He collapsed behind her, curling
his body around her. She twined her fingers through his hair, turning her head
to gaze into those inky black eyes. They were heavy lidded now, drowsy. She
kissed him lightly, brushing his lower lip with her tongue. There were things
she needed to think about. The edges of her brain fizzed with them as she let
her eyes close.

Grey morning light woke her.
Sophie blinked and stretched. She groaned at the sweet languor still lingering
in her muscles. Her body hadn’t felt this satisfied in years. Maybe ever. She
had always enjoyed sex but last night, with Henry, she’d wallowed in it. The
tastes, the smells, every sensation. Even remembering it caused a pleasurable
fizz in her blood.

She was alone in the vast bed,
but she could hear movement nearby. Sitting up, she glanced around the room.
She’d noticed little besides the giant bed and it’s velvety coverlet last
night. Now she could appreciate the room’s clean lines, its dark, polished wood
and the simple sumptuousness of it. It said a lot about the man who slept here.
He liked his luxury—there were touches of it everywhere, from the cut crystal
of the light fixtures to the electronic pad that clearly controlled the window
shutters—but it was muted, not ostentatious. It fit with what she knew of
Henry.

Which was, admittedly, not much.
However, the smell of coffee was wafting into the bedroom and her belly rumbled
at the prospect of breakfast. She crawled to the end of the bed and swung her
legs down.

Hadn’t she been wearing shoes?
She distinctly remembered Henry’s gruff ‘leave them on’. But her feet were bare
now. She wiggled her toes. Shoes were not a priority at the moment. Clothes
might be good though. The door that led from the bedroom to the sitting room
beyond was closed.

All of her clothes were out
there. She couldn’t just waltz out completely naked. What if he had guests? She
scanned the bedroom. He had to have something she could cover up with. Her eyes
lit on the rumpled pile of his clothes. Perfect. She pulled his boxers up over
her hips. They were much too big for her slender frame, but if she tucked and
rolled them... By the time she got them to stay up on her, they resembled short
shorts more than boxers.

She found a button-down shirt and
pulled it over her head, relishing the feel of the shirt’s fabric on her
breasts.  The sleeves were still half rolled up. She repeated the tucking
and rolling process on them too. There, that was as suitable for company as she
was going to get without her clothes. She ran a hand through her mussed hair
and opened the door.

The sitting room had been
reorganized, the rug unrolled and the loveseats back in place. There was no
sign of her clothes. Blood surged into Sophie’s cheeks at the idea of a maid
finding her pants and shirt and bra strewn all over the stylish room. There was
nothing she could do about it now, though, so she squared her shoulders and
turned toward the terrace, following her nose toward the heavenly scent of
coffee.

“Good morning,” she said, smiling
at Henry. He sat at the cafe table, reading the newspaper. He was fully dressed
in a dark blue suit, minus the tie, and his hair was still slightly damp.
Sophie was an early riser. You had to be when you were a dancer. She wasn’t
wearing a watch, but she’d guess it was no later than seven, and here he was,
dressed for the day.

He looked up at her, dark eyes
roving over attire. He didn’t smile, but she saw the slightest twitch of his
lips and the heat flaring in his gaze. It seemed he enjoyed watching her walk
in for breakfast in his clothes. She shivered with desire, plucking at the hem
of the shirt, which nearly reached her knees. “I hope you don’t mind. My
clothes seem to have disappeared.”

“I don’t mind at all.” He
motioned her to sit. “And I apologize about the clothes. Regina sent them out
with the wash. I’ll get them back to you as soon as I can. In the meantime,
there’s something for you in the dressing room. But please, eat first.”

Sophie spooned some mixed fruit
onto her plate and snagged a piece of toast while Henry poured her a cup of
coffee from the French press. She popped a bit of melon into her mouth, chewing
the sweet flesh slowly while she added cream and a bit of sugar to her cup.
“Thank you.”

They sat at breakfast like that
for several moments—Sophie enjoying fruit and toast with her coffee, Henry
reading the paper. As she munched on a bite of toast, studying his handsome
face, she thought of the words he’d said the previous night and sudden
understanding broke over her. “Oh! It’s
Italian
.”

He looked up from his paper at
Sophie, eyebrows raised. She flushed. “Last night. You were speaking Italian.
You said you were from Argentina. I guess I expected Spanish.”

Henry nodded. “My mother’s mother
was Italian. She used to speak it with my mother, and I picked it up. I do
speak Spanish as well, from my father’s family. But I prefer the Italian
for...” He grinned, the dimple his cheek flashing. “You know, don’t you,
dolce?”

Sophie licked toast crumbs off
her lip and wondered how long it would take her to get him out of that suit.
Suddenly he was standing beside her and touching her chin, drawing her face up
until she looked into his eyes. The obsidian depths sparkled with desire. His
thumb brushed her lip. He held out his other hand. Sophie took it, letting him
draw her up and into his arms. She slid her hands around his neck, pressing
herself against him, running her fingers into the hair at his nape. He leaned
down, brushing his mouth against hers.

“Day dreaming about me already?”
He nipped at her lower lip. She looked at him through her lashes, unable to
stop the flush of her cheeks from deepening.

“Since our first dance at the
studio. That night, when I went home...” She trailed off, unable to confess the
scope of her dream.

“And was I as good as you
imagined?”

She slapped at his chest, but
laughter bubbled up her throat as well. “Better, actually. It turns out my
imagination is severely lacking.” She fiddled with his lapel. “What about you?
Did you think about me?”

Henry squeezed her tightly
against his chest, leaning down to nibble her earlobe. “I went home that night
and relived that dance in my head several times. Although, in my version, your
assistant never came in and interrupted us. I kissed you, like I’d wanted to.”

She sighed as he slid his mouth
back to hers and kissed her, deep and sweet. When he lifted his head she
smiled. “I’m torn between finding that charming and upsetting. I was imagining
you naked.”

“Do I seem like the kind of man
whose fantasies end at a kiss?”

Sophie took in a quick breath.
“Well, it’s romantic that it started there then.”

He leaned down, rubbing his lips
against hers. “Ma tutto comincia con un bacio, dolce.”

“What does that mean?” she
murmured against his mouth.

“It all begins with a kiss.” His
tongue emerged to tease at her lips. Sophie melted against him, clinging, as he
explored her mouth. His kisses were as addictive as any drug. He gave her one
and she immediately wanted more. When he lifted his head, she stood on tip-toe
to chase his lips, sucking the full lower one between her teeth.

“I like it the first way better.
Remind me to thank your grandmother.” She tugged playfully at his lapel. “You
make it sound almost as if she raised you.”

A door might as well have slammed
shut, Henry’s hot gaze went cold so quickly. His arms tightened the slightest
bit around her, and then he let her go and stepped back. “You should probably
go. I have meetings all morning.”

He was checking his watch,
gathering up the cell he’d left on the table. Anything but meeting her eyes.
“Henry?” Sophie’s head throbbed with the sudden change in his tone. Was this
what whiplash felt like?

Henry glanced up at her quickly,
gaze barely touching her face before darting back down to the cell phone’s
display screen. “The dressing room is through the bedroom. Regina put a dress
in there for you. I’ll meet you downstairs in the foyer.”

She watched him disappear around
the terrace corner, mouth agape. What had just happened? Clearly, he didn’t
want to talk about his family. But he’d gone from playful and affectionate to
cold and distant so fast her head was still spinning. She was still trying to
adjust emotionally as she stepped into the dressing room.

Sophie barely noticed the opulent
bathtub. Normally, she would have admired it and possibly filled it with warm,
soapy water so she could soak for hours. But Henry had made it clear that it
was time for her to go. She found the dress he’d mentioned hanging from an
armoire above her shoes.

He’d taken them off her. She knew
it. At some point during the night, Henry Medina had slipped off her high
heels. It was a tender gesture completely incongruous with this sudden shift to
an all-business demeanor. He was acting as if they’d shared a cab, not a night
of soul shaking passion. Bewilderment settled over Sophie as she tugged the
soft fabric of the dress down over her head.

In other circumstances she might
have marveled at the perfect fit, the way it bared her slender arms, hugged her
breasts and hips, and flared dramatically down to her knees. She might have
admired the bold pattern. It would be a good dress to tango in. But she filed
all that away for another time, hastily pulling it on and slipping into her shoes.
Her hair-tie was gone.

Had Henry slipped that off her
too? Did he run his fingers through her light hair, watching her as she slept?
Sophie sighed. Who was that other Henry, the one who did those things? If only
he was here, instead of this brusque man who was hurrying her out the door.

Her purse was here too. She
snatched it up almost angrily. Not almost. Beneath the confusion, a small
cauldron of resentment was beginning to boil. She stalked to the stairs,
determined not to be brushed off like some one-night stand. Even if she had
sort of acted like one. Well, that changed now.

“Henry,” she began, walking up to
where he waited by the private elevator. “I think we should talk.”

“Of course, but not now. I really
do have meetings.” He flashed her a quick smile as he ushered her into the
elevator, but it was a shallow one. Flashy and handsome, but not real.

She crossed her arms, eyes
narrowing. “Last night—”

“I agree. It was amazing,” he
interrupted. “Better than I imagined. And I did imagine a lot, Sophie. You are
a talented woman.” The smile he gave her at that moment was more genuine, with
a bit of dimple and a brief glance from his hot black eyes. Sophie felt the
blood in her cheeks and ground her teeth. She was trying to talk seriously and
he was making her blush. It threw her off balance.

“Uh, thank you, but—” The
elevator doors slid open. The ride up yesterday had been interminable, but this
morning barely a minute seemed to have passed. Sophie blinked and stepped out
of the elevator car. Henry held the door, but remained inside.

“Maurice!” he called, raising his
hand to the doorman who stood at attention across the lobby. Maurice looked up,
nodding courteously.

“Morning, Mr. Medina.”

“Call Sophie a cab, would you
please?”

Maurice was already opening the
door. “Of course, Mr. Medina!”

Sophie stared up at Henry, heart
crawling up into her throat. He finally met her gaze. The look in his eyes was
unreadable. His left hand rose and touched her cheek softly.

She turned into the caress,
seeking his warmth. For a moment, it seemed he was going to kiss her. His head
bent slightly and that odd flat look in his eyes softened. But then he froze
and thrust something into her hand. “Here,” he said,“for the dance last night.
And the first one.” Henry stepped back quickly and the elevator doors closed,
as if in collusion with him on his swift escape, leaving her alone in the
palatial lobby.

Her heart squeezed like a fist in
her chest and tears stung her eyes. She glanced down at the envelope he’d
shoved at her. It wasn’t sealed.

Inside was a thick sheaf of green
bills. Sophie swallowed hard, thumbing through them. They were hundred dollar
bills. The tears that had been threatening filled her eyes, spilling out over
her lower lashes and dripping onto the envelope.

This was far more than he’d
offered her for her time. What was the extra money for? Unless...

Unless, he was paying her off,
like she was some whore. That cauldron of anger that had been heating in her
belly cracked, spilling fury into her veins. Beneath the molten anger was the
acid sting of hurt and a curl of smoking shame. She knew this melange of
negative emotions well. She’d last felt them when Christian had left her on the
rehearsal room floor, walking away from her.

Who does this? Why the hell would
this man go through so much trouble just to humiliate her? She thought of an
old joke she’d heard in college: you don’t pay whores for sex,
you pay them
to leave
. And here she was, walking out the door as Henry went back up to
his penthouse for “meetings” and whatever else he had to do. It didn’t really
matter; she had to get out of this man’s life and not come back.

She flung the envelope at the
elevator doors, heedless of the thousands of dollars spilling from it, and spun
on her heel, the swish of the dress’ skirt around her knees only fanning the
flames of her wounded emotions. If only she could tear it off and toss it after
the envelope. She wished she had something else, anything else, to wear.

Get home. That’s what she had to
do. She strode toward the front doors quickly, trying to hold back the tears
that insisted on sliding down her cheeks. She shouldered the door open roughly.

Maurice looked around in
surprise. “I’ll have a cab for you in a second, ma’am. They’re—”

“Don’t bother. I can walk.” It
was more than thirty blocks and the sky was darkening with the threat of rain,
but she didn’t care. She didn’t want to spend one more second standing in front
of this man’s building. The doorman was still talking but Sophie ignored him,
wrapping her arms around herself against the chill in the air and turning her
face toward home.