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It takes me a moment to register it all. His hands, gentle on my waist. His warm citrus scent filling the air around us. His mouth, soft and gentle on mine. He pulls me closer, but there’s nothing hard or fast or desperate about it. Instead, he draws me against him, as if he’s offering the hard solidity of his body for my comfort, for my protection. Something for me to lean against, to weather the storm that’s sprung up inside of me.
His mouth moves over mine, so impossibly gentle that it startles me. I had expected the kiss to be rough and demanding. I hadn’t thought that there could be anything so gentle about this man.
The fact that there is feels as if it devastates something in me. It draws me in, magnifying how much I want him, taking the raw desire and spinning it into something else, something with feeling. The ache of need spreads into my chest, wrapping itself around my heart, and I want to cling to him. I want to trust him. I want to believe that this isn’t some sort of trap.
His hands slide down my waist to my hips, pulling me closer. For all the strange sweetness of the kiss, there’s no shortage of lust. I can feel how hard he is, pressing against me, and a jolt of pure lust crackles over my nerves, making me shudder. I hear the soft moan that I let out, vibrating against his mouth.
Dimly, I can hear the sound of the other members of the corps further down the hall. Teachers, students. There’s nothing wrong with my standing here, kissing Lorenzo, but some deep instinct tells me to pull away.
Doing so feels like dragging two magnets apart. I want to sink back into his arms the moment I break the kiss, and from the dark, heated look in his eyes, I think he feels the same.
He reaches up, almost as if he does it without thinking, and pushes a lock of hair behind my ear that’s fallen free of my ballerina’s bun. “You look beautiful like this,” he murmurs, his voice low and rasping. “Disheveled. It makes me want?—”
His voice trails off, and I can feel myself leaning towards him, longing for him to finish the sentence. “What do you want?” I whisper, unable to stop myself, and a look of aching regret flickers in his gaze.
My stomach sinks, slowly. Once again, he’s going to pull away from me.
“I want you to give me back the pills, for now,” he says gently. “I want you to hold off on selling any more until the heat dies down. It’s the best way to keep you safe.”
The panic surges again, thick and choking. “I can’t,” I breathe, my voice shaking. “You know I can’t. Lorenzo?—”
All the calm of earlier, the surety that for a little while at least, things would be better, dissolves. “This was enough for now, but it won’t last?—”
“Mila.” He reaches up, cupping his hand against my face. “Listen to me, please. I understand your situation. I’m not going to leave you out in the cold. But we need to be smart about this.”
He reaches into his pocket then, and I stare, feeling as if my mind has gone foggy as I see him slip a thick fold of bills free. “Here.” He presses it into my hand. “Don’t worry about calling it an advance, or anything at all. We can work it out later. And you’ll earn it, when the heat dies down, so don’t?—”
My mind is spinning. It’s meant to be a gift, that much is clear—but my time with Alfio taught me that no gift ever comes free. That whatever is offered to me, I should be ready to pay for it immediately, before the cost becomes more dear.
Lorenzo isn’t Alfio. He’s shown me that much. But old habits die hard.
And wanting him makes it that much easier to do what I feel certain I should.
I grab his hand, tugging him towards the other side of the hall. There’s a back room there, an unused office, and I knew what I would do as soon as the money appeared out of his pocket.
“Mila—”
He follows me, even as the protestation of my name fills the air between us. I pull him into the room, closing and locking the door behind us, and urge him back against the wall next to it. For a brief moment, he allows it, and then shakes his head.
“Mila, stop.”
I ignore him, sinking down to my knees. He’s still half-hard, the firm shape of his cock pressing against the front of his trousers. I already know what he feels like in my hand, but I want more. I want to know what he feels like in my mouth.
In the back of my head, I know this is an excuse to get what I want from him. I can frame it in my head that I’m doing this in exchange for the money, to make sure that there are no debts between us, that he won’t later think of something so much worse that he wants. But the truth is that I want to be here, down on my knees for him, my hands reaching for his belt.
“You don’t need to do this.” His gaze, locked on my mouth, tells a different story. I can see the heat in his eyes, the tension running through his body. His thigh muscles are rigid, his cock already stiffening, and his hand reaches for my hair as if he can’t help himself, his thumb brushing over my cheekbone as I unbuckle his belt and reach for his zipper. “Mila?—”
“I want to.” I breathe the words as I draw his zipper down, my fingers slipping inside to feel the thick heat of his cock. “I want this. Please.”
His eyes close for a brief moment, and I feel his cock jerk against my fingers. “God, principessa. Do you have any idea what that does to a man?”
“What?” My fingers stroke along his length, easing him out of his suit trousers.
“Hearing you beg to suck my cock.” His voice is low and rasping, so thick with desire that I can almost feel it sliding over my skin. “Do you know how many times I’ve imagined that? This?”
Lorenzo looks down at me, on my knees for him, my hand wrapped around his stiff cock an inch from my lips. “I’ve come a dozen times imagining exactly this,” he murmurs. “I should stop you, but how the hell am I supposed to do that?”
“Don’t,” I whisper, and then I slide my lips around the tip of his cock.
