Unveil: A Dark Ballet Retelling, page 8
In my periphery, he removes his crossbow off his back and sets it against a chair, then tugs off his gloves before resting his hands on the counter on either side of my hips. The bright lights behind me cast a shadow around my head, and that, combined with his black mask, make it hard to see the details of his intense expression. What I can see, though, has my mind swimming with heady need and my sex pulsing as he leans closer, taking up all my vision.
I suck in a breath as he reaches under my tutu without touching me and pushes it up my upper thighs to step between my bare legs. My panties are a measly piece of fabric against his rough jeans, barely shielding me from his hard length trapped behind his zipper. If the bulge against me is any indication, he’s huge. How had I never noticed that?
Oh yeah, he’s never been turned on by me before. At least not that I could tell. But there’s no denying it now.
My mouth waters, body aching for touches and sensations I’ve craved since my birthday last year with a stranger.
I bite my lip, and his gaze drops to my mouth. Have his eyes always been this dark, or is it just the lighting?
When his low voice rumbles from his broad chest, I stop caring.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.”
My voice is hoarse. “Do what?”
He cups my neck, palms both rough and smooth, and lifts my chin.
“Make you mine.”
His lips crash with mine in a possessive claim, not kissing, taking, as his tongue demands to be inside. I open on a moan, greedy to taste him. My hands grip one of his wrists, and my legs pull him into the cradle of my hips. His grip stays on my neck, keeping me exactly where he wants me while his other hand grabs my ass under the tulle, grinding me against his cock.
“I’ve missed your taste so goddamn bad.”
My brows bunch, but I resist pointing out you can’t miss something you’ve never had. Only one person has kissed me like this, and it was definitely not him.
As if he’s greedy to prove me wrong, he bites my lip hard enough to make me whimper, then soothes the sting with his tongue. I clutch the lapel of his costume and pull him closer, my hips moving with his as he thrusts how I hope he will when I finally get those jeans off.
The jacket goes first though, with him shrugging it off and revealing a black T, stretched tightly over his shoulders and biceps.
Didn’t he have a dress shirt on before?
He nips my jaw, sending an electric shiver down my spine while he murmurs, “Fuck, Luna.”
Oh right, who cares?!
I knead muscles that I’ve never explored, tracing rolling hills and valleys as they flex beneath my fingers.
God, he’s big. Bigger than I realized. Then again, I’ve never been this close to him. Or maybe the alcohol is making me forget.
If I don’t remember this, I am going to lose it.
His hand returns to grip the front of my neck as his tongue dives into my mouth again. I love the pain when his scruff scratches my chin. I love this intimacy, this desperation. All of it. He’s giving me everything I’ve needed.
I wrap my legs around him, pulling him flush to the apex of my thighs, afraid it’ll end like last time.
Don’t leave.
“I’m dying to be inside you… but I don’t have time. Not to prep you and take you the way I want you.”
“What?!” My eyes widen. “No, no, no. We have time. We have all the time in the world.”
His thumb brushes my jaw as he chuckles darkly. “Oh, you’re right about that. Just not tonight.”
I almost whine. God, how embarrassing. But then his lips quirk up, and his hand on my neck molds down my curves.
“Aw… don’t cry. There’s something else I’ve been dying to do too.”
He jerks me forward, until my ass hangs off the counter’s edge. I yelp, catching myself on his shoulders as makeup products clatter to the floor.
I blink at his neck, my vision doubling at the black design there. Huh.
“When did you get neck tatt—”
A loud rip interrupts the thought. My gaze jerks from what I swear looks like a blurry inked skull to the strip of tulle he’s tying around my wrist.
“Hands behind your back.”
“Behind my back?” I echo with a bewildered laugh as I obey. “Uh, why?”
“You’re a flighty little thing, birdie,” he says, giving me a pointed look. “Now be a good girl and let me tie up my fiancée so I can feast on her cunt.”
My eyes widen, and I straighten, eager to help him do exactly what he promised. This side of him is positively delicious, and he knows I love it. It’s in his smirk as he huddles over me, pressing to my chest, while he ties the tulle around my wrists. Desire pulses in my lower belly. Bondage and my virginity in one night? I’m a lucky, lucky girl.
He tests the tight knot once then slides something off my finger as he backs up. The ring glints in the mirror lights. My focus zeroes in on the unfamiliar, glossy grooves lining his palm, but the anger in his clenched jaw draws my attention before he pockets it.
“What’re you doing?”
“That one didn’t fit you.” He leans me back against the mirror, a devilish smile lifting his mask. “But don’t worry, baby. I’ll give you the ring you really want.”
His hands slide over my breasts and squeeze, making me moan, and I forget everything else as his fingers curl under my sweetheart neckline.
“Mmm, I love your tits.”
He pulls my bodice down until my nipples pop free, forcing my small breasts to rise obscenely to my chin. I gasp as he dips in, licks, blows, and sucks on one, making it pebble while he tweaks the other with his fingers, then switches. The connection zings to my clit.
“Zy!”
He jolts, pinching my nipple and biting into my other breast hard, making me inhale sharply.
“That’s not my name,” he growls.
“What?” I ask, confused.
He nips again, making me yelp. Then his lips skate up my chest and neck with open-mouthed kisses, tongue, and teeth, ending with his hands cupping my breasts and his lips over my pulse at my neck.
“I am your fiancé, Luna Bordeaux.”
I hum, “My fiancé.”
For the first time tonight, I love the sound of that.
“Only mine,” he says low, erupting goosebumps down my neck and chest.
“Only yours,” I pant, lust clouding my mind.
“Perfect,” he murmurs, then nods to the standing mirror across from us. My tutu is pushed up to my hips now, and I have the perfect view of my legs splayed out for him as his hand drifts down to cup my sex. “Now watch me taste this sweet cunt for the first time.”
My heart stops and my mind is a foggy cloud of lust as I obey him. He hooks a finger under fabric that’s slick with my arousal and pulls it aside, tightening the elastic around my upper thigh. His long finger teases my clit before gliding through my arousal to barely enter me.
“Please,” I moan.
“Tell me you want me to taste you. Tell me you want your fiancé to taste you.”
“Please…” My eyes are locked on the version of me begging in the mirror, needy and willing to do anything for him, despite this sham of an engagement. “Fiancé. I need you to taste me.”
His voice lowers an octave. “Anything for you, my bride.”
He kneels for me and curses. My gaze snaps away from the man in the mirror to the one looking at my sex like he’s starved for me all this time.
He grips my thigh over my tattoo with one hand, and the other spreads me to swipe his tongue through my arousal.
I cry out as he swirls the bundle of nerves at the top. His eyes lift to mine, and I suddenly ache to see the rest of him behind the black mask, but my wrists are still tied behind my back.
He pushes tulle higher around my hips, giving me a better view as his tongue laves into my core, up and down through my arousal and around my clit.
“Mirror,” he murmurs, and I drag my gaze back to our reflection.
My body heaves, a rosy flush blooms from my breasts up to my cheeks as I bite my lip and ride his tongue. I look wanton and desperate, rebellious in the best ways.
He moans into my core as he feasts on me, and his growing hardness tents his jeans. That reaction? It’s for me. He grips both thighs to spread me now, putting his whole body into making me feel good. And it feels amazing, but now all I want is him in my mouth.
I lick my lips and swallow so I can gather my courage to tell him so, but my throat’s gone dry.
Strange. I’m mentally salivating for this man, but my body hasn’t gotten the memo.
His tongue dips into my core, swirling around the entrance, and I moan as sensation rips through me. I try to keep my eyes open to watch him devour me, but I’m barely hanging on by a thread as it is. I slip against the mirror, and catch myself by digging my heels into his upper back.
He chuckles against my core, making me shiver. “Patience, my little bird.”
I don’t know where this nickname came from, but I’m digging the way his accent drips over it like syrup. He grips my leg like he owns me, hand slipping under the lace garter that holds my phone to palm my tattoo. His own skull tattoo cover his hand and letters cover his knuckles—
I frown.
Zy doesn’t have hand tattoos…
He nips my clit. “Give me those pretty eyes.”
I moan, “Oh God.”
“Not God. Fiancé.”
“Fiancé,” I echo instantly.
His chuckle rewards me with a teasing vibration against my clit, making my muscles tighten and my toes curl. That feeling I’ve craved since I almost captured it a year ago builds again. I can almost pretend this is a continuation of that feverish night, like time never passed, and I’m already right on the verge of coming as I grind against his mouth, chasing it.
But I’m exhausted. I’m usually keyed up after a performance, but I’m afraid the last few nights have caught up with me. My strength has almost completely drained from me.
Outside, the crowd cheers the countdown to midnight, the switch from Nox’s birthday to mine. I’m missing it, but I don’t care. I’m ringing in my twenty-second year with a damn bang.
He circles my clit, and a soft moan escapes me on a heavy breath.
My vision’s fading at the edges, and my orgasm fades with it despite how hard I’m fighting to keep it.
Wait. Is that normal?
I blink, trying to focus, but my head’s too heavy, my eyelids like sandpaper. I slump against the mirror. My legs lay limply over his shoulders, no longer pulling him in. His mask shifts over his narrowing eyes.
“Luna?” His voice is even slower and deeper than before.
My body shudders weakly. Almost like an afterthought.
“I’m… I feel…”
“Fuck, Luna.” He shoots up, snapping my panties back in place, pulling my bodice over my breasts.
“Wait! No! Come… Come back! Please,” I whine. “I want you.”
He takes my feather mask off and sets it aside before cupping my cheeks.
“Your hands… they’re rough and soft at the same time,” I mutter.
Ignoring me, his eyes scan my face. “What the fuck did they do to you?”
Worry narrows his dark brows and concern swirls in his eyes—one hazel-brown with forest green specks swirling around the center, the other its stunning opposite. Were they always that many colors? I feel like I’ve seen ones like that before… once.
I gasp.
“It’s you.”
He ignores my revelation that he’s the same guy who disappeared on my birthday and squeezes my cheeks, holding my head up.
“Focus, baby. You said you didn’t drink that drink I gave you. What else have you had?”
What’s the big deal?
My voice croaks as I form the words past the Sahara Desert in my mouth. “Shots backstage…”
“No, Luna. Here, in Masque.”
“Oh… ” I try to think. “There was Bart’s shot.”
His eyes narrow as he mouths the last two words, then curses, “Fuck!”
Still holding me upright, he jerks his phone out and puts it on speaker.
“Dash. Question.”
Why is he talking about punctuation?
“Yeah?”
“How much did Rufus have left again?”
There’s a pause that lasts an eternity. Or maybe a second. I don’t know. I’m hot and want my fiancé back.
Using my limp legs, I try to tug him closer, but I think I’m falling because his arm bands around my waist.
“Best I can guess is they used half a pill. Maybe crushed Molly or some kind of party drug into her drink? Not a lot, but enough.”
“Symptoms?” The stranger from last year watches me closely.
The other voice curses. They kinda sound alike. Even their drawl is the same.
“Ten!”
The countdown outside makes me smile. “It’s almost my birthday!”
“Can’t know for sure, but these things usually cause drowsiness, arousal, dry mouth, euphoria, mood swings.”
I giggle. “Sounds like me.”
A tinny growl crackles over the phone. “With as little as they used, it’ll run through her system fast. But they probably dosed her with enough to make her compliant.”
“Son of a bitch.”
Death enters the stranger’s eyes. Not at me. Past me, or about me maybe? He brings me into his chest, arm locked around my waist as he asks, “Is Hatton ready?”
“Three!” The crowd continues.
“Hatton? Wait. I think I know a Hatton.”
“Two!”
“Shh, baby, I’m listening.”
I pout. “Don’t shhhhh me. I’m twenty-two now.”
“One!”
“Yeah. Good to go, hoss.”
“Hoss?” I huff. “You guys have such weird names.”
“Be there in five. Y’all take your cars back. Throw them off track.”
He hangs up and then looks at me, grimacing. His thumb rubs my numbing cheek. “Just remember that I wanted to do this the right way. I would’ve done this the right way. But I’ve been given no choice.”
“Happy birthday, Luna!”
Something slams against the door. I jump. Oh God, someone’s trying to break it down.
He exhales. “It’s showtime, birdie.”
“Get your fucking hands off my daughter, Fury!”
“Wait… ” My eyes snap open. “You’re—”
“Your husband,” Orion Fury says proudly. His apologetic frown lifts into a smile as he rips off his black mask. “And it’s time you come home with me, pretty bride.”
She opens her mouth, but I quickly cover her scream.
“Shh, shh, you’ll be safe soon. Just don’t fight me.”
Naturally, she doesn’t listen, her clear lake eyes blazing as she sinks her teeth into my scarred palm.
“Fuck!” I snatch it back.
“Orion Fury?!” she shouts, adrenaline overpowering the drug in her system. “You asshole!”
The door behind me rattles with every staccato bang.
“I think you mean hubby,” I chuckle, trying to play off the fact I need to grab her sweet little ass and get out of here before her father breaks that door down.
In true Luna Bordeaux fashion, “compliant” isn’t in her blood. She’s the Phantom of the French Quarter’s daughter, a fighter through and through. Her limber body lands a few painful strikes against my ribs, slowing me down.
She’s been mine since the night our fathers made that bet before we were born, but this fury in her right now—my fucking namesake—is the hottest confirmation I could ask for.
One particularly sharp knee lands above my dick, making me double over around her right as the door breaks open. Sol fills the frame, his finger stabbing the air at me. His owl mask hangs crooked, and even the scarred half of his face twists with rage.
“You’re a dead man, Fury!”
In a burst, Sol lunges toward us. Goddamn, even thirty years my senior, he’s still fast.
I snatch up my crossbow, spin, and fire in a smooth motion. The bow clacks as the cable’s tension releases the dart that sinks deep into his thigh. He’d already crossed half the room, but the dart stops him in his tracks.
“Sorry, daddy-in-law. Not today,” I tsk, slinging the crossbow over my head and onto my back. “I’ve got a wedding to plan.”
He stumbles backward into the door frame, wide-eyed as he tries to steady himself. Luna’s tired, pained cry falls from her lips.
“What the fuck?” Nox growls, his voice somehow lower than his dad’s. “Did he shoot you?!”
“Sol!” his wife, Scarlett, yells, nearly making me double take between her and her daughter.
But Luna’s at my side, her kicks weakening.
“Hold onto me best you can.” I scoop her up bridal style, cursing myself for tying the restraints behind her back. It kept her from pulling off my mask or hitting me, but now she’s helpless.
“What?” she asks faintly, her blown pupils now hidden behind long lashes. But she curls into me anyway.
I shift her higher in my arms, getting a better hold of her, accidentally shaking loose a white feather from her bodice. Her breath kisses my neck, making me shiver even though her feverish cheek burns my skin.
The way she’s huddled into me, her intoxicating Carolina jasmine and honey scent flooding my senses, dusts up everything I’ve had to bury so that I could stay in the shadows and keep her safe. And now, after years of desperately needing her, giving in only once… I’m finally holding my fiancée.
But this reaction isn’t because she wants me back. It’s because she’s been drugged.
Fear that I haven’t felt in a long time exploded in me the second I saw the spark leave her eyes, my Luna drifting away. I’m furious that those Wilde bastards drugged her, and even more furious I didn’t catch it sooner. But she’d said she’d felt fine, had acted normal outside the dressing room, and I’d asked about the drink—just the wrong one.
