And their single sexual encounter. God, what a train wreck. He hadn’t been a virgin, but Lizzie had outranked him when it came to experience. No surprise there. Her teen years had been a series of mistakes even more ridiculous than jumping Paul. So when it came to a drunken, groping fumble that progressed to actual intercourse, she’d taken the lead, working his cock so hard and so eagerly, she’d practically guaranteed a thirty-second fuck. She still couldn’t tell what was worse—her embarrassment and disappointment, or knowing she’d made him feel the same way.
Since those hard lessons, trusting Dima had become her whole world. Their magic only happened when he led. They drove each other like cruel taskmasters during rehearsals, pushing to perfection, sharing ideas and fighting and making their union stronger because of that no-holds-barred exchange.
When the lights hit the stage, however, and their bodies found one another, he was in charge.
Too bad it couldn’t fall into place like that once the spotlight dimmed. How could she ever trust her future to a man who never opened up? Especially when so much between them remained uncertain? His deep, contemplative silences would be the end of her.
He crooked his two fingers, earning her tight groan.
“Bad things happen,” she answered at last.
“Always so hard on yourself.”
His grin was soft, nearly apologetic. Such lovely lips, firm and wide. She wanted to kiss the slight cleft in his chin and keep kissing until she learned every inch, every texture.
“Let’s just say,” he whispered, “that things don’t turn out as well as they could.” Leaning nearer, he dragged his tongue along the inside of her thigh. His fingers pulsed up and in. She shuddered as he rubbed her G-spot, rocketing her back to that high, hot arousal. “I’m asking you to trust me, little one.”
“Dima?”
With a groan, he dropped his forehead to her stomach. “What now?”
“I don’t…”
This was harder than she would’ve guessed. No, that wasn’t true. Talking to her partner about the man she’d just screwed should be hard. She simply didn’t like that she’d crammed herself into such a dumb-shit predicament. Ideally, she wouldn’t have needed sex with a stranger to bait the lover she really wanted.
Oh, no. Can’t go there.
She inhaled deeply. “I don’t want to spend the rest of the night lying in bed, comparing you and Paul.”
“Would you?”
“I think so. I’ve never done this before. Two guys. One night. Hell, you know that.”
“I don’t know anything of the kind.”
Her face flamed. “Well, I haven’t.”
He nodded soberly, eyes still intently focused. “Fine.”
Apparently making some sort of decision—not that he’d ever tell her in advance—he scooted off the couch and helped her to the floor. He propped a throw cushion under her head, urging her without words to lie flat on the hardwood.
The nervous tension in her belly wouldn’t calm. This had all the potential for a cosmic, flaming disaster. To have sex with Dima—again, now that they were grown—would change everything. What did she have to lose? She couldn’t dance with him, not yet. Every day that he left for the club was another day he slipped out of reach. She’d grabbed his attention with Paul, and had every intention of keeping it. Entirely.
He wore the furrowed expression his features assumed when soaking up new choreography. There was no one better. No one.
She touched his cheek. “I trust you,” she whispered.
Easier said than done. Whatever she’d expected fizzled away as he stood and stripped. Clean, efficient movements. She’d seen him change clothes more times than she could recall. Something had clicked off years earlier, so she’d no longer viewed him as a man to be admired, let alone to be lusted after.
Yet she hadn’t been putting on an act when goading Paul. Dima had an extraordinary body. Built through countless hours of practice, yoga and a strict regime of healthy foods, he could’ve been a model in anatomy classes. Every muscle defined. Every stretch of sinew precise, as if masculine grace could be drawn with lines of flesh, bone and skin.
And his cock. Good Lord, he was beautiful even there. Proud and firm, just like his stance. Even a little bit arrogant. Why shouldn’t he be?
Mine.
Lizzie licked her lips. He made her dizzy in ways she’d never thought possible. Not from Dima.
He knelt and straddled her body, facing her feet. The heart-stopping view of his back was illuminated by light angling through the far window. She watched, transfixed, as he levered down her body into a classic 69 position.