Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 33433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
"That was what? Six years ago? It's a different world now," Harlan murmurs. "I don't know if you've noticed or not, but you helped change it. You don't have to dance where you're miserable, not when you're the one who opened doors for dancers who break the mold."
"Maybe, but I've caused a lot of problems in the last six years, Harlan. Like a lot," I remind him, chewing on a piece of steak. "Slapping Greg on stage was just the latest incident in a long line of me refusing to shut up and take it like a good little ballerina should."
"You should have hit him harder," he grunts.
I grin. I kind of love that he's a savage who hates Greg as much as I do. It feeds my petty little soul.
Part of me wonders if he's right, though. Is there a place for me out there where it doesn't feel so damn heavy every single day? I don't know.
"Enough about ballet," I say, shoving the wistful thought to the back of my mind. "Tell me something about you that no one knows."
"You mean other than my fantasy football league secret?" he says, his lips twitching.
I laugh at the reminder. "How is Tye looking this season?"
"Deplorable," he says cheerfully. "He's mad as hell that he's tanking our whole league again because of me."
I grin around a bite of potato. "You're evil."
"You fucking love it."
He isn't wrong about that. I've spent months falling for this man and his wicked sense of humor. What the hell am I going to do about it?
"I've got a good one for you," he murmurs while I'm still trying to figure out an answer. His lips curve into a deadly smirk. "But you aren't allowed to slap me for it."
"Oh, jeez." I eye him sideways. "What did you do?"
"I've spent the last four months jerking my cock raw to clips of you dancing," he says, his eyes locked on mine. "I was mad as hell when you blocked me, ballerina. Not just because it meant you weren't talking to me anymore, but because it meant I didn't get to watch you dance." He groans softly, his eyes dark. "You're so fucking beautiful when you dance."
"Harlan," I gasp, shocked and shaking. "You didn't."
"I did. Every goddamn day, Sophie."
I don't know what to say. Maybe I should be offended or mortified. But…I'm not. Not even a little bit.
"You mad?" he asks.
"No," I whisper, licking my lips. My heart pounds like a damn drum. "M-maybe I've gotten myself off to your social media a few times, too."
Heat flares in his eyes, his fork clattering to his plate. "How many times?"
"A few."
"How many, Sophie?" he practically growls at me, as if his whole world hinges on my answer.
Maybe that's what makes me bold enough to tell him the truth. Or maybe it's that I want to shock him too, leave his world in ruins the same way he's annihilating mine.
"Almost every day since we met at the engagement party," I whisper. "I regretted running that night, Harlan. I wish I'd asked for what I really wanted from you that night."
"What did you want? Tell me."
"To climb you."
His chair scrapes back so fast, it wobbles. And then he's on his feet, looming over the table like a mountain, blotting out the rest of the world. He's at my side in two steps, hauling me up out of my chair with his hands around my waist.
"You still want to climb me?" he growls, his lips inches from mine.
My mouth won't work, so I simply nod.
I'm airborne. Literally. My feet leave the ground as he lifts me, my legs locking reflexively around his hips. He's kissing me again, with the kind of greedy, controlled violence that says he's been holding back for way too long, and then the elevator doors open behind us, and he's hauling me inside.
My back hits the metal wall with a solid thunk as the doors slide closed.
I gasp, and his hand is immediately on my face, holding me still. My body flares hot, every rational thought melting.
I fist the lapels of his jacket, desperate to get closer.
"Claim your prize," he rasps, biting my bottom lip. "Climb, ballerina."
I plant my hands against his shoulders and boost myself higher, until the hard ridge of his cock is nestled against my center, burning hot.
I'm not proud of the noise I make when he grinds his hips into me, but he is. He's smug about it—the gorgeous bastard.
"Damn, I want to hear you make that sound again," he groans, his hand sliding along the wall until he finds the emergency stop button. He slaps it, essentially locking everyone out of the elevator but the two of us.
His fingers slip under the hem of my dress, dragging the fabric up my thighs, his knuckles rough against my skin. His eyes drop to my wet panties.