Ballet Master by Cassie Mint

Seven

Paige

“I don’t understand.”

He is everywhere. His broad shoulders block out the light as he crowds me against the wall. His chest hovers half an inch away, but his heat licks through my thin leotard.

“You—you didn’t want me to touch you—”

“I’d die for you to touch me.” The words burst out of him in a snarl, but I’m not afraid. Caged in here, my shoulder blades flush against the cool wall, with his warmth and the faint thump of his heartbeat…

My pulse calms.

“Really?”

Raphael’s dark eyes narrow, boring into mine. For the first time, I let myself see the full force of his obsession. There’s a glint to his eyes, a hard set to his jaw which says this is bigger than either of us.

It’s primal.

Essential.

And suddenly I don’t need his words. His reassurances. Everything I wanted to hear is right there in his eyes. So I raise one eyebrow, lift a trembling hand, and cup the side of his face.

“Like this?”

His stubble scratches my palm. His strong cheekbone is firm under the sweep of my thumb, and his shudder vibrates right through me to the wall.

“Yes,” he rasps. Steps a fraction closer. “Just like that, Paige.”

“How about this?” I lift my other hand and rest it above his heart. His chest heaves, the muscles as firm as rock. I watch my own hand on him, dazed by the sight, by how small I look compared to him. Tiny and fragile.

I’m not fragile, though. And Raphael knows it. Because he growls and presses against me, urging our bodies flush and trapping my hand between us. Something juts against my hip—that hard length of him again—and I swallow a moan as I rock my hips towards him.

“We are in the corridor, Paige.” He ducks his head. Nips my earlobe. “Where anyone could catch us. And here you are, moaning and writhing against me.”

He’s right. He’s right. I can’t get him close enough. I need his friction, his heat, I need more. I nod clumsily, tugging hard on his shirt.

“Yes. Please, Raphael.”

He growls his approval, running the tip of his nose along my hairline. “There it is, angel. Say my name.”

“R-Raphael.”

His hips thrust hard against me. I try to slide a hand between us to touch him, but my limbs are pinned and my head is swimming.

“Beautiful girl.” He sucks my throat. “Soulful girl.” His teeth scrape over my collarbone. All I can do is stand there and let him feast on me, let him turn my legs to jelly and my breath to quick gasps. “You’re going to be fitted with wet panties, aren’t you?” He shakes his head, chuckling. “Bad angel.”

A door scrapes open further down the corridor, and Raphael steps away, swift and calm. He adjusts his sleeve as a technician walks past, grunting hello.

I sprawl against the wall, cheeks flushed and core throbbing. He’s set an ache in me, and if he doesn’t soothe it soon, I’ll go insane.

“We’re ready for you, dear.” The voice by my shoulder makes me jump. A dresser stands in the doorway, her smile bright. She clucks when she sees my flushed red cheeks. “You’ve been working her hard, Monsieur Dupont.”

He nods, face serious. “Yes. Paige needs a firm hand.”

Laughter bubbles up in my throat, but I choke it back. His eyes twinkle at me as I turn to step through the doorway.

“Come straight back to rehearsals when you’re done, Paige. I’m not finished with you.”

* * *

The stage is silent. Dust motes hang in the air, spinning lazily in the evening light. The stage dock doors are flung open, distant traffic rumbling on the roads, but in here the loudest noise is the echo of past applause.

I drop my bag with a thump. Raphael didn’t tell me to stay after rehearsals. He didn’t need to. I read the command in his scorching gaze, in the way he dragged his thumb over his lip as he watched me dance.

The black swan. The seductress.

It suits me more than I thought it would.

The soles of my sneakers drag over the stage floor as I dance through the steps, arms floating through the air. My feet are clumsy in the shoes, but I can’t risk kicking them off and dancing in my tights. It’s slippery, plus there might be dropped nails or other dangers, and I can’t risk my feet.

Like Raphael said. They’re a dancer’s best friend.

My breath comes faster as the steps become more urgent, the black swan’s seduction growing more intense. I spin faster, leap higher, arch my back and toss my head. Then land with a soft thump, more clumsy than in my ballet shoes.

My breath saws in and out of my lungs, and I beam at the empty seats.

Soft claps echo from the stage wing.

“Beautiful. Of course.”

Raphael’s gaze is hungry as he prowls onto the stage, still clapping. His plans for me are written all over his face, but there is something I want to do first. So when he reaches me, arms already outstretched, I stop him with a palm on his chest.

“Wait. Dance with me first.”

He grinds out a laugh. “Paige. You are a torment.” But he seems pleased as his posture changes, moving into a dancer’s pose, and he sweeps me into his arms.Though he does not dance on stage anymore, Raphael is still breathtaking. A force of nature, so powerful and full of grace.

He leads me through steps I don’t recognize at first—certainly not the steps of the prince.

“The dance of the sorcerer,” he murmurs, his mouth against my temple. As though he heard my thoughts out loud. “The wicked magician who corrupts the younger woman.”

I smile, my eyes fixed on his chest. “You’re not wicked.”

“No?” He grips me by the ass suddenly, lifting me and sealing our hips together. “How about now?”

His length nestles against the seam of my leggings, so big and hard and demanding. And if he is wicked then so am I, because I moan and rub against him.

“Do you feel that? Do you feel what you do to me?” His words are strained, spoken into my hair.

“Yes.” I bite my lip. “I need it.”

Raphael curses darkly, striding off stage and into the darkness of the wing. Huge black drapes hang from the ceiling, creating shadowed alleys and secret hideaways. Raphael carries me into an alcove, still urging me to rub against him, swallowing my moans with his kiss.

One hand leaves my ass. I wind my arms around his neck as he shifts his grip, holding me steadier. Then gentle fingers probe at the waistband of my leggings.

“Ah, Paige.” He rests his forehead against mine, rocking his head from side to side. “These layers. You are testing me.”

“You could tear them.” I don’t know where the words come from. They bubble up out of me, unbidden. And it makes no sense—I don’t have so many clothes that I can throw them away like that—but Raphael shudders out a sigh and shakes his head.

“Not here. Another time.” His mouth quirks up. “I will buy you such pretty replacements. And you can model them for me angel, practicing your dance—”

We’re getting so far ahead of ourselves.

Another time?

Modeling for him?

He makes it sound like this will happen again. Like we could be a—a couple—something more than a dirty little secret. Hope swells in my chest, fierce and sudden, and I give him a bruising kiss.

Yes. I want that. I know it’s risky, that it will complicate things…

But it’s also simple between us. So, so simple.

“I will be patient,” he sighs. “Even though my heart might give out.” I pluck at his sleeve, alarmed, but he winks at me, teasing. Raphael puts me down carefully, crowding me deeper into the alcove until my back is against the wall.

Here, we are wrapped up in shadows. But over his shoulder, the stage is lit up with evening light.

“You must be quiet.” He draws my leggings down, dropping to kneel in front of me. I lean one hand on his shoulder as I step out of them. “Can you do that, angel?”

“Of course,” I say, affronted. I’m not that wild with lust.

Raphael chuckles. “We will see.”

He undresses me quickly, positioning himself so that his broad back would hide me from any interlopers. Cool air washes over my bare skin, my nipples pebbling and growing darker, and he lets out a growl before ducking to suck on one. His tongue lathes hot over the sensitive bud, sending a pulse between my legs.

“Shit.” I squeeze my eyes shut, heat flooding my core.

Raphael snorts against my skin. “Language.”