Page 2 of Fallen Angel

“Pull this side seam, off it comes,” Agnes says, appraising her clinically. “But rehearse that on your own time.”

A low whistle comes from the doorway: Alec has arrived.

Chapter Two

That dress is worth losing your head over. And I don’t mean the one on my neck,” Alec says with a smile.

Mallory searches for something clever to say in French. But she can only come up with merde. That’s the thing about Alec—when he’s close to her, she can’t think for shit.

“You’re early.”

“I know, I know. Where’s the guillotine when you need it, right?” He grins at her, his sexy smile with the slight gap between his front teeth, the dimple on the right, and two days’ worth of scruff that she can’t look at without imagining how it feels between her legs.

“I thought the door was locked,” Agnes mutters. “I’m going to take care of that. Don’t want any more surprises.”

She leaves them alone in the room.

“Let me help you take that off,” Alec says. “Come over here where there’s more light.”

He steers her to the back of the room, where there’s obviously less light. He kisses her, and she opens her mouth to him, her stomach doing the little flip it always does still, five years into their relationship.

“We should get out of here,” she says, ready to skip dinner and go straight to their apartment.

He unlaces the corset, then traces the line of her spine with his finger. “What’s the rush?”

They share a smile and duck behind the hanging black sheet that serves as a makeshift dressing area.

Alec stands behind her, finishing the job of freeing her body from the corset. He gently pulls it off and sets it aside, then reaches around to cup her breasts with both hands. His index fingers play gently with her nipples, and her breath quickens. Even after six years together, the sex is still thrilling and unpredictable.

“Don’t we have dinner reservations?” she says haltingly, her body arching back to meet his erection pressing against her ass. He rubs it against her, and she reaches behind to trace the length of him over his pants. He groans, grinding against her with enough pressure that she needs to reach forward and steady herself on a wooden stool covered with discarded costumes.

Alec traces the edge of her panties, then slips a finger inside her, perfectly slowly.

“Yes,” she breathes, and he moves it in and out, in and out, the pressure growing slightly with each stroke.

He touches her clit, barely rubbing her. Her heart beats fast, her mind entering that fugue state that only he can send her in, better than any drug. She arches her back, and he dips his finger inside her again. She knows she’s going to come but doesn’t want to—she’d rather save it for later where she can be truly uninhibited.

“Don’t think so much,” Alec says, knowing her too well. After all these years, he still knows how to thrill her, to keep her slightly off-balance.

And then she lets herself go, her pussy shuddering against his hand in waves that force a loud moan from her lips.

He kisses the back of her neck, and when she turns around, he cups her face in his hands. Her mind is already switching back to logic mode, worrying about whether Agnes heard them.

“We should get out of here,” she whispers, looking into his eyes. They’re bewitching, a beautiful, dark ocean blue—and nothing makes her feel sexier than them focused on her. The gaze of a rapt burlesque audience is nothing compared to a single look from Alec.

“Okay, birthday girl. Let’s go.”

He takes her by the hand and leads her through the halls toward the dark mainstage room.

She wonders why he didn’t just go out the side exit; she doesn’t even know where the light switches are in this room. But she does know the space itself by heart: a long bar alongside one wall, and the rest of the space filled with tables and chairs in view of the stage. It’s hard to believe that this time last year, she’d yet to step foot in the place. Now it’s her second home.

Really, she’s a different person than she was one year ago. And it’s all thanks to this place, the Blue Angel. She’d been living a life of caution, of people-pleasing—everyone but herself. Worst of all, she’d been insecure in her relationship with Alec. But ultimately she realized the problem wasn’t in her relationship—it was her disconnection from her true self. Burlesque helped her find her way back to that.

She stumbles over a chair in the dark. And then the lights turn on.

“Surprise!”

“Happy birthday!”