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“I think you like paying me this way,” I growl in her ear. “Be honest.”
“Yes!” she gasps as I grind against her clit.
“Dirty little slut,” I chide. “Maybe I’m not charging you nearly enough then. Maybe I ought to just keep you tied here until I’m satisfied that I’ve received proper compensation,” I threaten.
“But–” Whitney’s objection ends in a cry as I pinch her nipple and thrust mercilessly against her G-spot, extracting a second orgasm from her before she can finish her sentence.
Fucking hell, it’s hard not to come when she’s gripping my cock like a vise.
“I’ll take that as agreement,” I growl, rocking into her harder.
Whitney shudders with her release, her chest heaving as her hips rock in time with my thrusts. Her full lips part as gasps issue from her with each deep penetration, and I’m sorely tempted to kiss her. But I shouldn’t. I can’t. It’s too intimate, and this scene is about regaining some distance. I put us in the roles of complete strangers in order solidify that. I can’t simply undo it now. But that doesn’t make me want to any less.
I pull back suddenly, sliding out of Whitney’s depths without warning to grip her hips and turn her onto her stomach. She releases a squeal that makes my balls tighten with anticipation, and I spread her ass cheeks, lining up with her puckered hole. I inch inside her this time, allowing her to acclimate to my size as I reach around her to play with her clit. Her hips rise with anticipation, granting me better access to her asshole at the same time.
I groan as I fill her tight ass inch by inch, and Whitney mewls with the new penetration. I love the sound of her arousal, the soft groans that tell me she wants more. My fingers circle her clit, pressing adamantly against the small bundle of nerves as I begin to rock in and out of her. Whitney responds greedily, bumping back into me, and I find nothing hotter than my woman silently demanding I fuck her ass.
Maintaining my clit play with my thumb, I slide two fingers inside her pussy, and she clenches around them deliciously. Whitney bucks, her back arching as she stretches her arms to the limit in an effort to intensify her penetration. I thrust hard as my impending orgasm drives any sense of gentleness from my mind. And when Whitney explodes around me in a third intense orgasm, I can’t hold out any longer.
I shove deep inside her ass, releasing my load in bursts as she sobs beneath me, her body quivering as her clit twitches and her pussy throbs around my fingers. Her ass grips me hard, holding my cock within her depths until she’s holding all my cum. Gently, I ease out of her, doing my best to make up for the brutal ways I used her ass last time.
“Fucking hell that felt good,” she gasps before collapsing onto her stomach once again.
I release a dark chuckle. “Good. Because I plan on keeping you up all night.”
The lust-filled haze that fogs her eyes as she looks over her shoulder at me brings a wicked smile to my face, and the one she returns is coy and hungry. This girl is fucking insatiable, and I can’t wait for another taste.
18
WHITNEY
I can’t get my mind off of the sex Ilya and I had. Certainly not by the next day, when we’ve hardly slept a wink. And even at Danza that night, as I dance with my friends, I can feel the ghost of his body pressed against mine, his cock filling my aching, well-used holes. And by the time school starts on Monday, I’m still throbbing with his absence. This is a kind of sore I enjoy. Thoroughly.
I know that our night at the ballet on Friday was meant as an apology. He handled me far more carefully, watched me more closely to ensure I enjoyed every minute of our night. Even when I got nervous about him taking a picture of me playing myself, he somehow made it okay. It makes my skin tingle every time I think of the image he took–only of my face–in that moment. It’s intensely erotic, and yet, not a single picture leaves me feeling vulnerable and overly exposed.
I still don’t know what to think about him taking his anger out on me the weekend before, but I can tell he really tried to apologize for it this weekend. Even if he didn’t say it in so many words. On top of the ballet I was excited about, which he’d clearly cared to remember, even the way Ilya touched me had shown consideration. Torturously good consideration.
Goosebumps ripple across my flesh as I finish gulping down some water during my break in Professor Moriari’s class. I need to stop thinking of Ilya and focus on the routine my new partner, Trent, and I are learning. But I needed a minute away from the well-built dancer and his ridiculous blond man bun. He’s absolutely driving me up the wall. I’ve never fully understood the expression “dumb as a doornail” until I started working with Trent last week. He’s strong, at least, and a decent dancer, so I’m not too worried about succeeding at performing our choreographed piece for the autumn showcase. But sometimes the things he says are painfully stupid.
As I put off joining him at our square of mat to practice the start of our routine once more, I glance over at my new friend Anya and her partner. She got Fin, lucky duck. And wow do they look like they’re shaping up quickly. It’s no surprise, considering Fin is such a stable base and a talented dancer. But Anya looks ready for the stage already, and they haven’t even finished learning their lifts. Fin says something that makes Anya laugh, and I’m happy to see they’re getting along. After this weekend at Danza, I’m fully confident I like this girl from Uptown. She’s smart and kind but almost painfully shy it seems. I think Fin’s good-natured humor might break her out of her shell more.
I sigh as I screw the cap back onto my water and slide it into my cubby, resigned to rejoining my own less-than-entertaining partner. I wonder if I brought a literal carrot and stick to practice if we might make better headway on our routine.
“You ready?” Trent asks when I rejoin him by the mirror.
“As I’ll ever be. Shall we start from the second phase? I think we’ve got the first section locked in well enough for now.”
“The part that starts with the one lift?” he asks, his electric-blue eyes holding confusion.
I fight the urge to sigh heavily as I’m forced to speak in his rudimentary description of our dance. “Yes, Trent, thepartthat starts with theonelift.”Does it matter that we have six lifts in our routine spread over three phases?Not to my partner. I’ve had to learn his names for the different sections of our dance in our first few days of practice because he’s constantly mixing up the names of movements or referring to sections so vaguely I feel like my brain’s being twisted into knots every time we speak.
I take my position and make sure that Trent is actually prepared to start at the place I said, then I count us in. His movement is solid as we step into action, his lines correct as he piques behind me and I fouette, rising up onto the toes of my left foot as I whip my right foot around, spinning me in place.
Our hands meet as Trent brings me to a stop and places his free hand on my hip. We stride together in a pas de deux, his hands firmly gripping my waist, his solid arms flexing each time I leap into the air for ourone liftthat’s more like three strung together in rapid succession. Then, as I star to arabesque–at which point Trent is supposed to support me for my next move–I find my partner spinning away, moving on to a random section in the third phase of our dance.
“No!” Professor Moriari shouts as I wobble dangerously on one foot. “No, no, no! You are supposed to be there for your partner, Trent. Don’t you see her in position for the lift?”
He flutters his hand in my direction as Trent looks back at me in surprise, completely baffled by the fact that he must be in the wrong place. I drop my foot to regain my balance and try not to grind my teeth. This is going to take so much extra work, with Trent’s head in the clouds. Only I don’t know how to make my partner learn the routine. He said he reviewed it this weekend.So is it his retention that’s lacking?I take a deep breath, trying to find my patience with him. Hopefully, he’ll get better once we’re more familiar with the steps.
