When I glance over I realize he’s closer.
“You’re so good at this,” he whispers.
“What, stretching?”
He shakes his head, his eyes glowing. “At torture. And pretending.”
“Pretending what?”
He steps closer. “That you’re not mine.”
He turns me suddenly, one hand firm at my waist, the other tangling in my hair. My hands grab his arms before I can stop myself, my nails digging into his muscles.
His mouth comes an inch closer to mine, but instead of kissing me, he licks my lips, then bites them, pulling them with his teeth before plunging his tongue in an overwhelming claiming kiss. My entire body wants to give in, but I can’t.I need to stop this.I need to be stronger if I don’t want to crash when he leaves again.
I push him back. “I’m not anyone’s.” I step away with my heart pounding. “I’m free.”
I turn back to the barre, lifting my leg again like nothing happened. Because I learned something this year:if I’m going to survive loving Jax St. Clair… I have to love him from a distance.It’s the only way to keep myself from being consumed.
Behind me, he moves again like a predator stalking its prey. When he reaches the barre, he lifts my leg higher onto it, the stretch a delicious, burning ache.
“Hold it there.”
I steady myself, my muscles trembling with the strain and the anticipation. One of his hands slides along my calf, adjusting my foot like he’s correcting a position. His hand lingers, then he moves it slowly up my leg.
My breath catches and he notices.
“Relax,” he breathes, but his voice is anything but relaxing. “Or don’t. I like it when you fight me.”
He just moves his palm to cup my pussy, the pressure firm through the thin fabric. He hooks his finger in the leotard, sliding it to the side, then rips it with the tights at once.
“Let me look at you, like this,” he whispers.
His gaze shifts from me to the huge mirror that dominates the wall.
I’m glad I can’t see him well because I know I’m blushing from head to toe.
I hear another rip and I realize it was his shirt. “What are you…”
He uses the strip of fabric and loops it around my neck.
“Bend over for me, friend,” he tells me, pushing my back forward. “Keep your leg like that,” he holds my ankle, showing me how to stay balanced, a perfect, obscene display.
He uses his other hand, moving around my leg, pushing my lower back down further. “How does this stretch feel?”
I moan. “Good.”
He slides a finger inside me. “How about this stretch?”
He pulls on the fabric on my neck with a warning tug. “Good?”
I nod, my throat too tight to form words.
He slides a second finger inside me, scissoring them. My hips rock against his hand. He just chuckles and withdraws his fingers completely. I whimper at the loss, at the sudden emptiness.
“My rabbit,” he murmurs. I hear the sound of his zipper, the rustle of his jeans, and then the hot, heavy weight of his cock presses against my entrance. He slides it through my pussy, coating himself in my wetness, teasing us both.
“Jax,” I gasp, my head hanging down.
