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Instead, I sit there and fight myself, until the moment I see her walk out onto the main floor.
She sees me almost instantly, as if she’s drawn in by the same feeling I have every time I see her. She’s wearing the same lingerie, and her hair falls over her shoulders as she sways towards me, her blue eyes lingering on my face.
“Lorenzo.” She says my name, her voice low and husky, and I wonder if that’s how she would say it lost in the throes of desire, when she’s no longer able to pretend any longer.
I want to strip away all her artifice, to see who she is under the practiced seduction, under the games she’s taught herself to play. I want to find out how she moves, how she sounds, what she does when she’s only herself, and no one else.
“What are you doing here?” Her voice has the hint of a tremble to it, as if she’s afraid of the answer. As if she thinks that I’ve reconsidered since we last talked, and have come to tell her I don’t need or want her to work for us any longer.
“I have an offer for you.” I stay where I am, seated on the couch, but she takes a step forward, between my spread legs. Her perfume washes over me, and I have to fight not to suck in a deep breath. She smells like warm, feminine skin and floral-scented linen, like a bed warmed with sex and sheets tangled around limbs. I hadn’t thought I could get any harder, but my cock stiffens, aching with a jolt of desire that feels like pain.
Her eyes widen a fraction, her lashes sweeping her cheeks as she looks down at me with hooded eyes. “Do you want to discuss it in the back room?”
No, I think, but my mouth shapes a different word. A word that I’ve been fighting since the moment Mila waltzed into my office and offered herself up on a silver platter to me.
“Yes.”
For a brief second, I could swear the look of pleasure that lights up her face is genuine. She reaches for my hand, tugging me up off of the couch, and I let her. Her eyes sweep over my face, and I think I see my own desire reflected there.
She’s a tide, dragging me under, and I feel utterly helpless to refuse.
The ‘back room’ should be enough to jolt me out of my desire. It’s a reminder of how shitty of a place this is, as we pass the one bored-looking bouncer and go down the hall to a room with nothing but a long couch that looks as if it’s seen better days, two tables, and a dock for music. The tissue box on one of the tables makes me wince. It makes me want to leave—but not alone.
I want to take Mila with me. I want to get her out of this place, to make sure that men like the ones crowding the stage are never allowed to touch her again. That she never needs to let them touch her again.
I have that power. And in that moment, as she leads me to the couch, I intend to use it.
“Do you want a drink?” Her voice is soft, musical, and it only adds to the heat in my blood. I feel dazed, like she’s something I’m high on, like I’ve taken the same drugs I’ve given her to sell. I shake my head, and she looks down at me, her face soft and eager in a way that I know is dangerous for us both.
She’s out of place here. It was clear on the stage, and it’s clearer now, watching her delicate, graceful movements as she goes to put on the music. She walks like a dancer, her posture perfect, her every movement poised, the fluidity of the ballet ingrained into her with long years of practice.
I expect the music to be something harsh and lewd, the sort of gyrating, grinding beat that’s playing out on the main floor, but what spills out of the speakers is slower and more sensual. It’s as if she knows what I want. What would arouse me the most.
It feels as if I’ve been hard for far too long. When Mila turns, swaying towards me in the blue lingerie, my cock tries to jerk and throb in my trousers, but there’s no room. I clench my jaw, fighting the sensations, the need to grab her, and spill her back onto the couch. I wonder what she would do, if I tried to have her here. If I gave in to what I want—what I need.
The thought is enough to momentarily bring me back to my senses. Even if I were going to take her up on her offer, even if I couldn’t stop myself from crossing that line, it wouldn’t be here. I’d take her back to my apartment, undress her, and lay her back on sheets so soft that they’d be slippery against her skin, where I could spend hours finding all the ways to make her come undone.
“You’re a thousand miles away,” Mila whispers, her voice close enough that it snaps me out of the fantasy, bringing me back to the present. She’s right in front of me, straddling my leg, one knee on the couch between them. She’s so close that I could touch her, but here, of all places, I know I can’t.
It’s the sweetest, most exquisite agony I’ve ever felt.
“You said you had an offer for me.” She arches her back, moving to the music, her breasts very close to my face. I press my hands against the couch, despite my desire not to touch any of the surfaces in this place, curling my fingers into my palms. If I touch her, I won’t be able to stop.
My control has never been so close to snapping as it is at this moment.
“You don’t have to sell the drugs.” I look up into her delicate face, her wide blue eyes, and her soft, full mouth. “If you don’t want to do it, I’ll simply give you the money you need. You don’t need to do anything at all.”
Mila flinches, her expression shuttering in an instant. Whatever softness and authenticity there was a moment ago is gone, frozen over as she continues dancing, but with none of the desire of before. “Nothing comes free,” she whispers. “Especially not that.”
“Just because the other men who patronize the ballet sleep with the dancers doesn’t mean I have to. I can still take Altiere’s place as your patron without fucking you, Mila. You won’t have to run drugs for me, and I won’t have to?—”
“Fuck me?” There’s something knife-like in her voice that startles me, a hurt that I hadn’t expected. “Our arrangement now means that you don’t have to.”
“I wouldn’t have to, regardless?—”
That hurt flashes in her eyes, just for a moment, and I realize what I said. “Mila. What I mean is?—”
Her face is carefully blank as she straddles me, hovering just over my cock as her hands brace behind me on the back of the couch. I’ve never been anything other than in perfect control of my thoughts and emotions, even in bed, but having Mila atop me makes me feel as if I’m thinking through a fog. Everything seems narrowed in to the inch of space between her thighs and mine, that small distance that, if closed, would feel so exquisitely good.
