Dima’s breath quickened. He’d be furious if she tried to leave, but hearing her describe her encounter with the tall, rough bartender was unbelievable foreplay. He couldn’t have explained it had he possessed his entire mind. Which he didn’t.
He stroked down her waist, over her hip. He’d gripped her hips thousands of times. Never like this. Never had his heart hopped up to dance in his throat. So many things he’d like to do with her. To her.
Such a huge leap.
If things went bad…
Losing his best friend would shake his life to its foundation, but he might be on the cusp of losing her anyway. He wanted Devant and the freedom of new challenges. She wanted back on the same tired circuit, as if nothing had changed. Should he lose his Lizzie, he’d rather it be because they went out as champions—both on and off stage. If he was going to hell, he might as well get there running.
Moss-green eyes drifted shut as her body relaxed over his lap. The slope of her shoulders slumped deeper into the cushions as her knees loosened, as if she’d let him do absolutely anything. “Would you rather I don’t talk about him?”
“No,” he ground out. “Because it doesn’t matter. He’s not here.”
He cupped her hot pussy with his entire hand. His palm centered over the damp scratch of her lace panties.
Her quiet “Oh” went straight to his cock.
“How well did he fill you, little one?”
She gave a contented hum. “So well, Dima. He was big. Very.”
His chest clenched. Envy and excitement. Barely controlled. Rather than needing to squash a bubble of jealousy, his arousal jumped. His mind was a mess of confusion, but his body craved more of that gorgeous depravity.
With one flick of his wrist, he tossed her skirt up to pool over her stomach. The black of her panties was an enticing contrast to her strong, pale thighs. He traced a feather-light touch from her navel to the crease between her damp lips. Wetness. Heat. Exactly what he desired.
“Your scream…” He repeated the deliberate touch, pushing a little deeper this time. He was fairly sure her pussy was bare—one of the few tiny mysteries she’d kept lately. Be damned, he was so close to finding out, his hands shook. “Do you always scream like that?”
“Not every time.”
She shook her head, which spread her luminous hair against the couch cushion. The gold gleamed. He’d always thought her pretty, even beautiful, but when she’d arrived from her parents’ house with bright blonde hair, not her usual dark brown or raven black, something had tripped over inside him. It was like meeting a whole new woman.
“Only when it’s good,” she whispered. Her voice was quiet but not weak. That constant tingle of teasing made her stronger than she knew. “Only when I come so hard, it’s like I lose myself.”
That was a challenge if he’d ever heard one. He knew the steps, knew what he wanted to achieve, knew where his body needed to be. At that moment, he needed to taste her pussy more than he needed to keep dancing.
Dima stripped her panties. She let them go willingly, twisting her hips and laughing a little when he yanked them past her high heels.
Luscious. A tiny track of carefully trimmed hair arrowed down to his prize, one greater than three world championships. Light from the street gleamed off her damp lips. He tucked the panties into the pocket of his track pants. He’d keep those. The scrap of lace could retire in good grace.
“Come on, Dima. You know you want to.” Lizzie’s hand burrowed deep in his hair.
The intimate touch was something he’d missed. When they were younger, they’d never thought anything of touching. Their entire livelihood depended on physical contact. Even on tour, they leaned on one another. Sometimes literally, like the time they’d fallen asleep in full costume, propped against the corridor wall leading from the dressing rooms to the dance floor, exhausted and waiting to go on.
During the last six months, the space between them was a gulf, absent of touch. He missed it as much as he missed everything about her.
He shook free of that painful lack. “Want to…?”
“Lick me. Right where Paul’s huge cock fucked me.”
His low growl came without warning. She pushed him and pushed him. Always. Again.
Until he snapped.
He locked his hand around her wrist, pinned her arm above her head. “You’re not in charge here, little one. Don’t make that mistake.”
“No?” Her hips rose off his lap, but he held her still. “It didn’t feel like it earlier, when I straddled Paul right in front of you. I haven’t felt that kind of rush since we took home our last trophy.”