I pull out just enough for me to be in her mouth, not down her throat. I want her to taste me the way I taste her. On her tongue, overwhelming her senses. And when I do come, I hold her head steady. Bliss rocks through me, and I fight the urge to close my eyes. I need to see her. All of it.
She swallows. Her throat works, and she kisses the tip of my dick when she straightens back up. She’s definitely the first person to do that. I choke on my laugh. My cock has stopped throbbing, but I have a feeling I could be hard again in minutes. There’s just something about her that demands more, and my body wants to respond to it.
“That was hot,” she whispers, wiping her lower lip with her thumb.
“I’m going to fuck you into oblivion later,” I promise. I stand and help her to her feet, then tuck myself back in my pants. She straightens her leotard and collects her shorts. “But for now, I’m going to give you space to work.”
She smiles. “Thanks for hanging out with me today.”
I kiss her, then collect my things.
It’s surprisingly difficult to walk away from her. I make it all the way down the block before I cave and open my phone. I look up the ballet. Giselle. There are some recent videos from other ballet companies performing it on stage. One of the more popular videos is from just a month ago, and it’s a solo.
I click on it and wait for it to load. My annoyance picks up the longer it takes—hell, I don’t even know if I’m on the right path here. I’m completely winging it.
When it does load, the music is immediately familiar.
And what might be even worse? The dance is familiar. Especially when the music switches, the frenzy of the song picking up. It’s the same moves, as far as I can tell. The same choreography.
Where would she have learned that?
There is where she stumbled. Just at the end.
Something isn’t adding up here. Choreography she doesn’t have a reason to know, muscle memory. How long does it take for that sort of thing to stick? How many hours of practice would she have needed to do to cement it in her memory?
Even if her memory isn’t there.
I let out a ragged sigh and rub my face. I believe her when she says she doesn’t know how she knew it. But now it’s a mystery that will nag at me—so I’ll figure it out for both of us.
And I have a feeling that means digging more into her past than she’d want.
Whatever. I’m going to do it anyway.
52
VIOLET
Today is the day. I know it before I even open my eyes.
I barely slept last night. The anticipation was almost too great. Grey didn’t seem to mind that I kept rolling over, tossing and turning like my sleep problem was pillow-related. He was as awake as me, I think, holding me until I found a comfortable position.
Which lasted only an hour before I was shifting again.
At one point, probably close to three in the morning, he slid inside me and fucked me into a dream-like state. We both slept after that. But now, as I twist toward him and stretch out, reaching, I realize I’m alone.
His side of the bed is cold.
I sit up and press the blanket to my bare chest. His bedroom door is open.
Silence reigns through the house, but I still wait a moment, then slip out from under the covers. I find a Hawks sweatshirt, my panties and shorts, and pull everything on before I wander into the hall. Still nothing.
I brush my teeth, take care of business, and shake out my limbs. The nerves return with a crackle—not that they ever left. Grey’s disappearance just temporarily distracted me.
Crown Point Ballet is holding company auditions at nine o’clock. It means I’ll probably be there all day. But there will be plenty of time to stress about that… after I eat breakfast.
At this point, it feels like this house is partially more like home. We’ve been here for a while, and the guys have adjusted. They cleared out a cabinet in the kitchen for us and space in the fridge. They stock our preferred liquor. Knox and Willow are still going back and forth like a seesaw, but I told her I wouldn’t interfere. They’ll work it out.
There’s a piece of paper in the kitchen, a handwritten note from Greyson. Went for a run. See you soon. -G
I smile and turn away. There’s already coffee in the pot. I make myself a cup and slink into the living room, curling up in a ball. I should’ve grabbed my phone when I was upstairs, to run through the music, but I’m so tired.
I just woke up and it feels like I’ve been awake for a year.
My eyes close, and I sink deeper into the cushions.
Before I know it, someone is brushing my hair out of my face. I blink up at Willow, who just shakes her head at me. “I was going to leave you here, but I heard some guys are coming over to watch a hockey game.”
I make a face. “Yeah, probably don’t want to be caught sleeping by any of them.”
“You okay?” She sits next to me, stealing some of the blanket.
I sip my coffee. “Just nerves. I didn’t sleep well.”
“About that…”
“About what?”
“Sleeping.” She rolls her eyes. “Knox and Greyson share a wall. So when you guys get it on at three in the morning, I can, you know…”
My face heats. “Oh my god. Why didn’t you say anything?”
She snorts. “I was trying various ways to drown it out, until…”
“Until…？” Understanding dawns on me. She hasn’t wanted to live here ever. It was only because my issues put her in danger. But she was probably never in danger to begin with, and with me out of the house, the problem is solved. So, she doesn’t have to say it. She’s going back to our apartment. And I can’t even blame her. I set my mug down and throw my arms around her. “I’m sorry.”
She hugs me back. “Don’t even apologize, Violet. It’s not your fault.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, right. Pretty sure it is.”
She pulls back and glowers at me. “It is not your fault some wacko decided to obsess about you.”
“You girls talking about me?” Grey strides into the room, pausing next to the couch. “I mean, I wouldn’t call myself a wacko but I’m definitely obsessed with you.”
My face gets hotter, and I don’t answer him.
Is it weird to be attracted to his sweat? His shirt is soaked, his cheeks red. His hair is damp and pushed back off his face. It just makes me want to jump his bones.
“I’m uncomfortable,” Willow deadpans. “So on that note… I’m gonna head back to the apartment. See if there’s any damage. I’ll see you guys later.”
Later. Right. We’re going to Grey’s hockey game together. It’s a pretty big game, the quarterfinals for the national tournament. Their bus leaves at two, and Willow and I are driving down with Amanda after my audition, which should end by two or three.
Grey doesn’t look away from me, but he nods at her words. As soon as she’s out of the room, he braces his hands on either side of me and leans down. He gives me a quick kiss. Before he can pull back, though, I grab the front of his shirt and yank him down more forcefully. He takes my coffee cup and tosses it behind him. It crashes, coffee probably going everywhere, but we don’t even flinch. He’s immediately pushing the blanket aside and sliding his hands up under the sweatshirt.