Ballet Master by Cassie Mint

Eight

Raphael

My angel is full of surprises. Just when I think I understand her, when I think I can predict how she will react—she turns my world upside down.

Shit.

The naughty word trips off her tongue. What else can I make polite little Paige say?

If we were in my hotel suite, I would drag this out. Would make it last for hours and hours, only stopping to rub Paige’s shoulders and bring her glasses of ice water.

But we’re not in my suite. We’re exposed, out in the open, and though that adds a sharp edge to my hunger, it also hurries me along.

I don’t want Paige to get caught here with me. Nor do I want her to catch a chill. So I scoop her into my arms, backing her against the wall, and wait with gritted teeth as she fumbles with the button of my pants.

“Sorry—I can’t—”

“It’s alright. Relax, sweetheart.” She sighs softly, melting in my arms, and tries again, slower this time. My button pops open and her pale hand reaches inside.

I hiss as her fingers close around me.

“You must be quiet, Raphael.” Her voice is thick with amusement. “Can you do that?”

She drags her fingers from my root to my tip. Her grip is gentle, featherlight, and somehow that is more maddening than if she squeezed. I buck into her hand, flattening her back against the brick. It’s cold against her flushed bare skin, and she shivers, squirming closer.

Yes.

This is heaven. This is all I’ll ever need.

I balance Paige against the wall as I roll on a condom. She cannot dance if she falls pregnant, and I will not risk everything she has worked so hard for, never mind that I want to feel her against my skin so badly my teeth ache.

No. There will be plenty of time to make beautiful, caramel-haired babies.

A whole lifetime of my Paige.

She is warm and wet when I notch the head of my cock to her entrance. Her muscles twitch and pulse, urging me inside.

“Are you sure?”

I cannot believe I am asking that question.

Except—yes, of course I am. I would rather die than make her unhappy.

“Yes.” She nods rapidly, her eyes already glazed. “Please. Hurry.”

It’s such a tight squeeze that spots of white flash over my eyes. I clench my jaw and push in slowly, her slickness easing the way. Every time Paige tenses, her breath coming faster, I pause and let her adjust.

I will not rush her.

Not even with my heart galloping in my chest.

When we are finally sealed together, her naked body sprawled against the brick, my clothing still intact—I screw my eyes shut and will myself not to come apart.

“Move.” She tugs at my shirt, her voice thick. “Please, I—I need you to move.”

“Needy angel.” I twitch my hips forward, eyes still screwed shut, and smirk at her strangled moan. “Begging for my cock against a wall backstage. Dancing for me like such a little tease.”

Paige whimpers, latching onto my neck and sucking hard enough to bruise. She’s trying to mark me, to claim me as her own, and that knowledge makes my lip curl in a snarl. My hips snap harder, faster, and she bounces in my arms, sliding up and down on my cock.

“I’m yours, pretty girl. No need to be jealous.”

“You’re mine,” she whispers. “You’re mine.”

It’s another surprise, this possessive streak, but a good one. I offer her the other side of my throat to mark too.

“Show everyone.” I punch my hips forward, slamming deeper inside her. She groans, tugging at my hair. “Stake your claim.”

Feeling her little tongue lathe at my skin—feeling her teeth scrape—I blow out a hard breath and steady one hand on the brick. She bounces on my cock, clinging to my shoulders and working herself up and down, and she’s so hot and sweet that I see stars.

Crack.

My palm glances off her ass, reddening the skin. Paige whimpers, squirming in my arms to fuck me faster, harder, her eyes unfocused and bright.

“That’s it,” I say, ragged. “Climb me, wildcat.”

The truth is, I can barely believe this is real. She feels too tight and wet; her moans are too sweet; her nails digging into me are the perfect bite of pain.

I used to find heaven in dance.

Now it’s pumping its hot pussy on my cock.

“I’m going to keep you,” I tell her raggedly. “Would you like that, angel?”

She hiccups and nods, working her hips faster, faster.

“Show me.” I slide a hand between us and rub her clit. “Show me.”

Paige comes with a hoarse cry, her legs twitching around my hips. She bites my shoulder again, the little fiend, and the sharp points of those teeth drive me over the edge too.

“Angel,” I growl, thrusting inside her in three deep, slow strokes. I hold there, emptying into her heat.

My ears ring as sounds fade back in. First, there is our ragged breathing. Then the distant rumble of traffic out on the road.

Then heels drumming over the stage.

“Quickly.” I pull out with a wince and put Paige down. I barely have time to snatch up her clothes and push her naked body behind a drape, to tuck myself away condom and all, before Madame calls out my name.

“Monsieur Dupont! There you are.” She eyes the empty alcove closely as she walks near. “I’ve been looking for you.”

I stride out to meet her, away from the smell of sex lingering in the air. Away from Paige, hidden and vulnerable.

“Madame. What is it you need?”

The woman leads me away, babbling about costumes and lighting. I go with a frustrated glance over my shoulder, every atom in me screaming out to stay with Paige.

To dress her. Hold her. Kiss her forehead.

Damn this meddling woman.

“Make this quick,” I mutter. “I have matters to attend to.”

“In that alcove?” Madame asks lightly.

I stare at her, but her weathered face is blank. Innocent.

“In my hotel.”

It’s true. I plan to run a bubble bath for Paige. To feed her strawberries and champagne.

“Of course, Monsieur.” Her heels drum faster across the stage. “I have my own business to attend.”