Lead and Follow(78)

She laughed shakily. Her hands rose to the back of his neck. Fine tremors worked over his skin from the touch. “How could you keep all of that in? For so long? You dream so big.”

“Don’t you see? So many things to go wrong.” He swallowed hard. “So many places I could still fuck it up. If you really need to go back to the circuit, something still to prove, we’ll do that instead.”

“I don’t. I like the sound of your ride a hell of a lot better.”

“You’re sure?”

“Oh, yeah.” She grinned. “I dare you to tell me tonight wasn’t the best dance we’ve ever had. I’d be an idiot to give that up.”

His gaze flicked over her features, landing on those steady green eyes. “Lizzie, are you saying…? Will you marry me?”

“Absolutely.”

How much he adored her faith in him, and how much it scared him too. He took her mouth with a hard, sweeping kiss that revealed everything he was still working up the courage to say. Those thoughts came out as whispers against her skin, as his mouth skated over her neck, her shoulders, her breasts.

“I’ve taken you for granted for so long,” she said softly, her words sliding between them. “How could I not? Fifteen years of being safe and loved and completely understood. You’ve always been there for me. That didn’t mean you always would be. When I think about you and Svetlana…” Her voice broke.

“I told her no.” Dima gathered her close. “It wasn’t even a choice, in the end. I’m yours, little one.”

Their touches ramped so fast. More kisses. More hungry need to prove the words true. The press of her lips was drugging and heady, spinning him into the air. Leaps that never came down.

He rucked her skirt back up, shoved his pants down past his hips. A condom made a fast-scramble appearance. He pushed into her with one deep thrust. They froze. Lizzie’s nails scored his skin. She hissed, and he slowly withdrew until only his head balanced in her wet sheathe.

“Dima mine,” she breathed. Her eyes were hazy, but she didn’t look away. Locked gazes. Her intensity worked down his spine.

He shifted her pelvis forward a fraction, until each of his strokes earned one of those fabulous, airy gasps. The next flurry of strokes turned gasps into moans. He covered her mouth with one hand.

“Uh-uh, little one,” he purred. He couldn’t keep the smile out of his voice, even if it made her shoot daggers at him. “You have to be quieter than that in my dressing room.”

She tucked her fingers around his hand, pulled it off her mouth. “Our dressing room.”

He chuckled, but it was strained by the effort of holding back his climax. “Yes, ours. Seems appropriate. This is where we started, after all.”

“No more Pauls, though.”

He hitched her knee over his elbow, jacked her higher. “Not without talking to me first.”

She must have liked that, because her pussy clenched down hard on his cock. Her eyes fluttered shut, her face turned to the side, reflected back by the big mirror behind her. Her hands spread over his chest in absolute trust, letting him set their pace.

There, Dima lost his control. That trust. Everything he’d wanted and been afraid to ask for.

The moves turned jerky. Harder. Lizzie’s pelvis lifted toward him. She groaned, low and soft when he fucked hard enough that her back squeaked against the mirror. She shoved her own hand in her mouth, the meat of her palm at her teeth.

She was slick and hot and perfect. Everything. Always. He couldn’t hold it anymore. With his thumb between them on her clit, he amped it up again. The pleasure cut loose. She came only seconds ahead of him, scratching her nails down his chest and burying her scream against his neck.

He slapped a hand flat on the mirror, his orgasm cutting him loose at the knees. Tingles ran down his legs, shook out his arms. Burned through his body in a flash of Holy Mother, yes.

Only through the aftermath of soft kisses and straightening clothes did he realize their door was suspiciously quiet. Normally after a performance like that he would’ve been flooded with fans and dancers offering quick congratulations.

He pulled Lizzie’s skirt back down over her hips. “Just to confirm… You’re marrying me, yes?”

She smiled, so brilliantly. Lit up so brightly that he drank up warmth from even being near her. “Yes, Dima mine. I’ll marry you.”

“Good,” he sighed, kissing her again. “But now…” He strode toward the door and yanked it open.

As he’d suspected, Paul waited outside. He looked back over his shoulder and grinned. “I’ve been shooing people away.”