Naked Angel (14 page)

He lifted her dress to her upper thighs and moved his hands down her legs. Even her muscled legs, crafted by the toughest taskmaster—ballet—were no match for the strength of his hands. He kneaded her thighs, then her calves, and she felt her muscles yield to his firm but gentle touch, melting away months of pressure. And when his hands continued moving up, she did not object as he pulled her dress above her waist, his thumbs grazing the inside of her thighs.

This is it, she thought, as his fingers skimmed the edge of her panties.

“Turn over,” he said, so quietly she was not sure he’d actually said it. But when he stopped touching her, she realized he had. He was waiting for her to move.

She complied, moving onto her back. The skirt of her dress twisted around her waist. When she tried to adjust it, he held her hands at her sides.

“Relax,” he said. She felt her heart beating fast.

“Okay,” she said. And then she let him lift her dress up, over her shoulders, her arms reaching above her head to let him remove it entirely.

His eyes swept over her. She wished that, for once, she’d worn a bra. It would have at least bought her a few more minutes of modesty. But with her tiny build, she never bothered with what was ultimately a useless undergarment. And so she was there on display for him, nude except for her petal pink lace underwear.

The expression in his eyes as he looked down at her was one of such intensity, she almost couldn’t endure looking at him. He did not say she was beautiful, but his gaze told her so.

He dipped his head, his dark hair brushing across her chest softly as he took one nipple into his mouth. The gesture seemed audacious to her, just as everything he said and did was audacious.

She moved one hand to stroke his hair, and she felt a warm throbbing between her legs from the mere flicker of his tongue against her breast. When his teeth grazed her nipple, she surprised herself by moaning.

Max moved one hand down her body as his mouth kissed and sucked her breasts. She found herself spreading her legs for him even before his fingers reached her, and when his finger was inside her, she had to resist the urge to use her own hands to press him even deeper.

“That feels so good,” she said. He moved his body almost on top of hers, now kissing her neck and then her mouth. She used both hands to hold his face to hers, kissing him until she was breathless.

“Do you want to move to the bedroom?” he asked.

She didn’t—the logistics of getting to the other room, naked and highly aroused, were not appealing to her. But on a practical level, it would be more comfortable. Plus, she had condoms in her nightstand—from the early days with Jackson, before they were engaged, before she had gone on the pill. Before he was cheating on her.

Ugh. She pushed away all thoughts of Jackson. “Sure.” He moved off of her and helped her stand. She pulled a chenille blanket from the far end of the couch and wrapped it around herself.

“Why are you bashful?” he said. “You have the most beautiful body I’ve ever seen.”

She didn’t know what to say to this, so she simply walked to her room and let him follow.

Nadia sat on the edge of the twin bed. “I decided when I moved in not to use the master bedroom,” she explained. “This just felt more comfortable to me.”

“It’s cute,” he said, pulling her to him and kissing her. “Kind of like a dorm room.”

This made her smile since she had thought of a dorm, too, when she’d brought him through the lobby. And it was possible she had not been this nervous with a man since college.

He gently pulled the blanket from her and pressed her down on her bed. She lay back and watched him remove his shirt and pants. She knew she was spoiled with these dancers as lovers: Their bodies were so magnificent. His thighs were long and lean with visible muscles—how could she not want them wrapped around her?

She reached one arm back and pulled open the drawer of her nightstand, feeling around for the plastic of the condom wrapper. She found it and handed it to Max.

He took it wordlessly as she set her eyes on his cock for the first time. The sight of it, big and hard for her, stilled all of her anxious thoughts. She was free to act on instinct and drive, and so she leaned forward and licked the length of his cock, down to his balls, then brushed her lips over the tip before taking him in her mouth. While she sucked his cock, his hands played over her breasts.

“Nadia,” he moaned, and the sound of him saying her name like that, thick with desire, set her off.

“Fuck me,” she said, shocking herself. Where had that come from? That was not part of her typical verbal repertoire. Nonetheless, it seemed to do the trick: Max had the condom on before she could blink twice.

He knelt over her, and she lay back, looked up at his cock. She ran her hand over it lightly, and their eyes locked. His desire for her, so evident in his eyes, removed any last ounce of reserve. She spread her legs and guided him inside her.

She gasped. His cock filled her completely—any more, and it would have been too much.

“Is this okay?” he said.

“Yes,” she breathed, kissing his neck. She felt the strength of his body as he fucked her. She didn’t want him to worry about her—she was small, but not delicate.

“I’ve wanted you so much,” he said, his hands underneath her, cupping her ass, helping her body move more seamlessly with his own.

She knew she was going to come and was embarrassed that it took so little. She felt herself contract around him, the wave of pleasure through her body, and then a sense of calm. Her head cleared for a moment, as if she were coming out of a daydream.

And then Max’s movements quickened, the thrusting of his pelvis so fast and hard it carried her own body along with its rhythm. She felt he was literally riding her, and along with the thrusting, she felt his cock almost vibrating inside of her. The sensations were so extreme and exciting that, to her shock, she shuddered with another orgasm, more powerful than the first. Seconds later, he cried out, his mouth open against her cheek, his hands clutching her ass.

After a moment of stillness, he rolled off her. They were both slick with sweat.

He reached for her hand.

“You were worth the wait,” he said.

“What wait? I’ve known you for just a few days!”

“Exactly,” he said, and they laughed.

Nadia curled her body against his. She felt a sense of calm that she recognized as relief. Between the months of celibacy following her breakup with Jackson, and the limits on her dancing after the accident, she had felt completely out of touch with her body. Working with Mallory had helped a little. But the way she had felt while Max made love to her was like surfacing after being underwater for too long.

The magnitude of how miserable she had been finally hit her, and she started to cry. She rolled over, hoping to hide her tears from him, but he wouldn’t let her.

“What’s wrong?” he said, pulling her back to him.

“Nothing’s wrong. Just the opposite—I’m so relieved. I feel like you gave me my body back.”

He held her face in his hands and kissed her forehead, her nose.

“If I’ve given it back to you, then I should have a say in how you treat it,” he smiled. “Don’t throw it away on that club, Nadia. Spend time with me at the studio. You have a place there.”

She sat up, pulling her sheet over her breasts.

“You’re too hard on the burlesque thing,” she said. “As much as you’ve given me something tonight, burlesque got me out of this apartment when I just wanted to hide under the covers forever. It’s so important for me to feel like I’m moving on with my life, not trying to go back to something that doesn’t exist anymore.”

Max sighed. “I’m not saying burlesque didn’t serve a purpose. I’m saying it’s not right for you long-term.”

“I haven’t even successfully performed yet.”

“Yes, you did. You were magnificent tonight.”

She sighed. “I didn’t take my clothes off.”

“You shouldn’t have to. It’s beneath you.”

“No—it’s not. You have to stop thinking like that. That is the art form. I believe in art forms as they are defined—for ballet, it’s dancing
en pointe
, which I can no longer do. For burlesque, it’s a striptease. I’m not going to dance ballet half-assed, and I’m not doing burlesque half-assed, either. And I want you to stop asking me to.”

“Why are you so hell-bent on this? It’s not like you have a full schedule of club dates set. When’s your next performance?”

“A few weeks. I’m performing at Martha Pike’s birthday party.”

“Her birthday party,” Max repeated.

“Yes. Justin and Martha throw big, elaborate parties. Mallory told me the guest list is always the most interesting mix of celebrities, artists, socialites. . . .”

“Yes. I’ve heard.”

“It will be good exposure for me.”

“
Exposure
being the operative word.”

“Please just back off on this, Max. It’s not your business.”

He sighed. “I care about you. I can’t just sit back and let you make a huge mistake.”

“It’s not a mistake. And even if it is, it’s my mistake to make.”

“If we’re going to be together, then we have to be able to discuss this.”

“Are we going to . . . be together?” Nadia said.

“I’m starting to suspect we might,” he said, pulling her against him. It felt so good to be in his arms, it was tempting to just give in, to let him hold her and love her and tell her their relationship was the most important thing. But she’d believed in that sort of thing once before, and where had it gotten her?

“Then you’re going to have to learn to accept the fact that I’m done with ballet, and I’ve moved on to burlesque.”

He kissed the top of her head. “I don’t know if I can do that,” he said.

“Then we’re going to have a problem.”

M
allory and Justin Baxter were among the last few left at Nolita House, a bar and restaurant around the corner from The Painted Lady. Alec was deep in conversation with one of his old cronies from his days as a staff writer at the magazine
Gruff
, leaving Mallory to make a run to the bar for one last round. Justin joined her to pay the tab.

“You don’t have to do that,” she said.

“I want to,” he said. “Martha and I are so happy with everything you and Alec have accomplished so far with the club. If things continue at this rate, we might actually make a profit by the end of our second year.”

“Well, I appreciate that, but remember we’re riding on the buzz of being new,” Mallory said. “We need to make sure we continue the momentum. That’s why I’m putting so much energy into the LVBF, and I’m trying to make sure the girls feel that passion to win. Plus, the prize money could go back into your pockets and maybe help you feel even better about keeping the train rolling.”

“Don’t worry about that, Mallory. What I’m trying to tell you is that we do feel good about it. And I know you’re focused on the LVBF, but when that’s done, you should think about your wedding. I know that’s where Alec wants to invest
his
time.”

She looked at him suspiciously. Was he being reproachful? Had Alec said something to him about her not exactly being Martha Stewart–esque about the wedding planning?

“Jeez, I just got engaged a few days ago, and I have a flurry of events on deck—not least of which is your party for Martha.”

“Oh, I know,” he said with a smile, and she realized he was just making conversation, not judging her. “And speaking of Martha—she wanted me to make sure you knew that if you had any trouble booking the venue for the wedding, she’d be happy to call in some favors. You know how places get booked so far in advance.”

“Oh, that’s really sweet. But I’m not in a rush. . . . I’m sure we’ll find something for next year. But I really appreciate it. Martha’s the best.”

A pained look crossed Justin’s face.

“What is it?” Mallory asked. “Is something wrong with Martha?”

He shook his head. “No,” he said. “It’s me. Can I tell you something that’s strictly between us?” he asked. Mallory glanced at Alec across the room. He caught her eye and smiled at her, holding up his index finger to indicate one more minute. She nodded to let him know she was fine.

“Um, sure,” she said, not at all certain she wanted to hear whatever it was Justin was going to share with her. But she wanted to be supportive. He’d been a good friend to her and Alec. He and Martha both had.

“I met a woman. And I crossed a line I shouldn’t have crossed,” he said.

Mallory nodded, not sure what she was supposed to say. So she said the first thing that came to mind.

“But don’t you and Martha have an . . . open relationship?” she asked. She’d heard the stories—from very reliable sources—about the Baxters’ sexcapades. She couldn’t imagine what constituted “crossing a line” in their world. But then again, there had been a time when people had assumed she and Alec had an open relationship, but in the end the only thing “open” about their extracurricular activities were the wounds they created.

“Compared to most couples, yes. But we have what you’d call our own rules. And I’m violating them and I can’t seem to stop.”