RUBY

I’m so embarrassed. And annoyed. And embarrassed. What is Drew doing hanging out with Bane? I mean, I guess it’s not that hard to believe considering all the superwealthy people in this city like to stick close to each other. It’s like wealth incest.

I’m in a terrible mood as I suit up in my costume. It’s beautiful, sheer, gauzy, and flowing. It’s on the revealing side, which is not unusual for a burlesque-style show, but having seen the way Drew was looking at me—as if I was meat he’d like to sink his teeth into again—makes me even more aware that the job I have really isn’t one I can keep long term.

In the weeks I’ve been working here I’ve dropped a lot of inhibitions. It’s been good for me in some ways. But the secrecy is eating at me.

Diva’s sitting beside me, applying makeup, just like me. She sweeps a generous amount of lip gloss along her bottom lip, then dabs with powder, and follows up with liner. She repeats the process three times. Her lips always look fabulous. I’m learning all the best tricks from these women. My least favorite is the glitter, though. It gets into everything, and I mean everything. All the time.

“What do you think the chances are that you can hook me up with a number for one of those guys?”

I stop applying mascara to glance at her. “I don’t really know if you want to date any of those guys. Except maybe Bancroft, but he’s off limits.”

“I don’t want to date any of them. I want to make them fall in love with my pussy so they’ll buy me nice things. And don’t you worry, baby girl, it was clear the second that man walked in the door that he’s all about you.”

“What do you mean?” Things aren’t quite the same since he’s come back from London. It’s my fault it’s this way. I’m so conflicted. I want him, but I don’t want to feel like one of his pets—another thing he has to take care of. And when I’m near him I have a very hard time remembering that, so I’ve been avoiding him, which clearly isn’t helpful at all.

Diva snorts. “I’m surprised he didn’t throw you over his shoulder caveman style and carry you off to his bedroom as soon he walked in. How amazing is he in bed?”

“I have no idea.”

Now it’s her turn to pause in the makeup application. “I’m sorry. Can you repeat that?”

“We’re not sleeping together.”

“Well, once he sees you shake your thing, I bet that’ll change.”

“Maybe I should practice my solo routine while he’s watching a game next week.” I snort at the idea, then think about how he was looking at me tonight.

“I don’t think you’ll have to wait that long.”

“Why do you say that?”

Diva adjusts her tiara, then pulls out her glitter dust. “I told him and his friends they should come tonight.”

“You did what?”

Diva gives me one of her calm-the-fuck-down looks. “Girl, that man is going to crack like an egg when he sees you up there.”

I can’t tell her Bancroft doesn’t know about the reality of my job. I like Diva. I like all the girls I work with. They’re far more genuine than a lot of the girls I grew up with or the ones I’m forced to deal with at the hoity-toity upper-crust events and socials. Inviting them to Bancroft’s to rehearse was a big deal. I explained that it was just temporary, that he was a friend of a friend who needed a hand, blah, blah, blah. I didn’t need an elaborate story, just a plausible one.

The only thing they cared about was the incredible space we could rehearse in that didn’t smell like stale beer and horniness.

But now, as I sit here, I have to come to terms with the fact that I’ve been lying to everyone: These girls who have become my friends in the past few weeks. My best friend, the man whose condo I’ve been squatting in for more than a month and who has been nothing but generous. The man whose bed I slept in. The man I’d like to sleep with on a regular basis.

Oh God. I want him to be my boyfriend or my friend who also shares his penis with me on a regular basis—daily even. Over these past weeks I’ve begun to really like him. A lot. More than a lot, even. And now he’s going to know I’ve been lying.

If I didn’t come from a family with a buttload of money this probably wouldn’t be a big deal. But I do, so it is. More than that I’ve kept it secret because part of me is ashamed. I shouldn’t be. These are good women, who work hard.

And now Bancroft is going to see me up on that stage. And maybe Armstrong. And that inadequately endowed jerkoff, Drew. Unless Bancroft has punched him out. That would be nice.

I grab my phone and fire off a text to Bancroft:

DO NOT COME TONIGHT

It takes less a minute for me to get one back. It’s a picture of the club business card, followed by a message:

This doesn’t look like dinner theater.

I can almost hear his disapproval. Dammit. I don’t need his judgment. I have enough of my own.

Well done, Sherlock.

The next message I get from him is a frowny face. The one after that sends my stomach plummeting to the floor.

See you soon.

“Shit.”

“What’s wrong?” Diva asks, clearly oblivious to my plight. Because she’s just another person I’ve been withholding the truth from. I’m a terrible person. I’m also freaking out.

“Bancroft is coming tonight.”

“Hopefully he won’t be the only one.” She winks. “You’ll be magic out there, Ruby, you always are. You move like a dream.”

It’s meant to make me feel better. She thinks I’m nervous. And I am, but not for the reasons she assumes.

“Come on, we need to be on stage in ten.” She pats me on the shoulder.

I message Bancroft one last time, but he doesn’t respond. My stomach is in knots. This is so bad. I need this to not be happening right now. But it is. I’m going to have to deal with it. I’m going to have to deal with a lot of things, it seems.

I finish getting ready and prepare for judgment to rain down on me. Diva has a point, though. I’m really good at this. I’ve always played pretty tame roles. My dancing has always been more classical jazz-ballet than this contemporary sexy stuff I’ve had to learn in a short period of time. While this may be a far distant cry from Broadway, it certainly has been an unforgettable experience.

We’re halfway through the first set when I spot him. He’s impossible to miss. He dwarfs the bouncers carding people at the door. All the tables are already claimed so he props himself up against the wall at the back of the room, arms crossed over his chest. He’s so pissed off. And sexy. And angry. Wow, does he ever look angry.

And his anger makes me angry. He doesn’t have a right to be mad at me for this job. He can shove his judging eyes right up his stuffy, tight ass. Wait . . . that sounds wrong.

The set ends, I have enough time for a quick costume change. My solo is different. It’s a little less in-your-face bawdy and a little more along the classical lines I was trained in. It’s still sexy though, thanks to the ridiculously skimpy, yet tasteful and arty outfit I’m currently wearing.

Bancroft is still standing in the same place when I take the stage for my solo. He can’t see me, because the stage is dark, but I can see him. He keeps looking to the right, toward the door that leads to the dressing rooms and backstage.

And then the lights come up and his gaze is suddenly trained on me. I can’t look at him. I’m so nervous. It feels like the first time I ever performed. I remember the butterflies. I remember puking after the first act, and the second. It feels a little like that now. I better not puke. I need this job.

It’s the longest four minutes and thirty-seven seconds of my life. The applause usually makes the smile I wear genuine. I’m staring out into the crowd, and I have a smile plastered on my face, but it’s forced.

Bancroft is clapping, slow and steady, but his expression is dark. I don’t know what it means. Is he going to be waiting for me when I come out? Is he going to change the code and kick me out? The second thought is fairly fatalist of me. He doesn’t really have a reason for such a strong reaction. He can be upset that I lied. He can throw his judgment around at me for my choice, but at least I haven’t caved and gone home to daddy. Yet.

Dottie stops me on the way out of the dressing room. “There’s some guy out there looking for you, says he’s your roommate and he’s here to pick you up, but he can’t wait long. I just wanted to check to make sure that wasn’t a load of bullshit and he isn’t some kind of stalker fan.”

“Tall, dark hair, bigger than the bouncers, drop-dead gorgeous?”

“That would be the one.”

“I’ll be out in five. Can he wait for me at the employee entrance?”

“If that’s where you want him. He doesn’t look happy.”

“I imagine. I won’t be long.” I don’t even bother to change out of my costume. I grab my outfits, shove them in my bag, throw on an oversized cardigan, and leave my makeup alone. I’ll deal with that when I get home, after I freak out on Bancroft for being a judgmental asshole.

He’s standing at the entrance to the club looking uncomfortable. When he sees me, his eyes move over me, but I don’t get a smile. All I get is a cold stare. “Ready to go home?”

I don’t say anything. Instead I brush past him, holding my head up high as my stomach churns. When I reach the top of the stairs I realize I have no idea where he’s parked, so I’m forced to cease my haughty strutting and wait.

Sweet lord. He looks delicious. He’s wearing a pair of dark dress pants and a dark button-down shirt. It’s open at the collar. He’s very Johnny Cash right now, even his expression is angsty. And hot. I wish I wasn’t preparing to be angry at him so I could fully appreciate it.

He barely glances at me as he turns left and I follow him down the street. He’s walking fast. I didn’t change from heels to flats. I’m pretty good in them, but it’s dark and I can’t see the miniature potholes and cracks in the sidewalk well enough to feel safe at this speed.

“Will you slow down? We’re not running a marathon.”

Bancroft whirls around and I almost slam right into him. As it is, I have to put out my hands to keep from face planting into his chest. His hands are balled into fists. His nostrils are flared. His chest is heaving. And all I want to do is rip off his clothes and ride him like a rodeo bull. Too bad that’s not likely to happen.

His left cheek tics. “You didn’t seem to have a problem with those shoes while you were onstage.”

“It’s a flat, even surface.” I gesture to the sidewalk. “This is not.”

“Would you like me to carry you?”

“I’m not dressed for a piggyback ride,” I snap.

His gaze moves darkly over me. “No, you certainly aren’t.”

With that he takes a step forward, drops almost to his knee, wraps an arm around the top of my thighs, very high on my thighs—so high his thumb is close to grazing parts of me he probably doesn’t want to right now, what with him being so angry.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting you home.” And with that he stands.

Now if I wasn’t a trained dancer with incredibly strong abs I would probably flop right over, because this is clearly his plan: to carry me away like a caveman. Just like Diva said he wanted to. I wonder if she’s psychic.

“Are you kidding me with this?” I snap, irate. I’m perilously close to dropping my bag. I consider hitting him with it, but if he drops me it’s a long way down. I can’t afford a sprained ankle. And bruises are hard to cover with makeup. I let it slide down my shoulder and bump him on the butt. If I relaxed and let him pull this Cro-Magnon BS on me, my face might actually hit his butt, but then I’d be giving him what he wants, which is . . . well I don’t know exactly, other than to get me in his truck. And probably get righteous with me.

I stay upright, putting lots of pressure on his shoulder with the heel of my hand to maintain this unnatural position. We pass half a dozen couples on the way to the car. Bancroft is extra pleasant with them, asking them how their evening is going, wishing them a nice night, commenting on the weather. And the entire time his thumb is disturbingly close to my girl parts, which don’t seem to recognize that this situation is likely not going to lead to fun things.

Less than a minute later Bancroft is carrying me through a parking lot. It’s dodgy, as is the rest of this neighborhood, but the lot has an attendant. He stares at us as we pass by. Bancroft lifts his hand in a wave and I just roll my eyes.

I’m a little disturbed by the fact that not one person we’ve passed has asked if I’m okay. Just because Bancroft is hot and well-dressed doesn’t mean he’s not kidnapping me. I suppose if I was putting up more of a fight it might help.

He sets me down beside his truck. It beeps and the lights flash, he reaches around me to open the door. I’m facing him so it hits me in the butt.

I cross my arms over my chest. “That was completely unnecessary.”

“I disagree. Would you like to get in the truck now, Ruby?”

“Not particularly, no.”

Bancroft gives me a tight smile.

“Will you please get in before a group of thugs swarm us and tries to steal you?”

“No one is going to steal me.”

He steps in rather close. “If I was a thug, I would steal you.”

Well now, that’s a little disconcerting. “Why would anyone want to steal me?”

“Will you please just get in the truck?”

I hate it when people answer questions with more questions. Evasiveness is annoying. As if I have a right to complain about evasiveness. “Well, if you’d give me some space maybe I could.”

He wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me up tight against him. I huff and then maybe I gasp just a little. I swear I can feel hardness against my stomach, and it’s not his belt.

He sets me down quickly though, takes my bag and holds the door open, waiting until I’m in before he closes it—harder than necessary.

His jaw is working and his brow is furrowed as he rounds the hood. He slides into the driver’s seat and starts the engine without saying a word. I’m so irritated right now. He pulls onto the street. Still silent. I’m the first to break. “You have no right to judge me.”

“I’m not judging you.”

I scoff.

He comes to a stop at a red light. The tension is so thick it’s like wading through Jell-O. He turns his head slowly so he’s looking at me. I glare back. “Why would I judge you?”

“Oh come on, Bancroft. Look at me.” I shrug out of my cardigan and gesture to my outfit. My skimpy, gauzy outfit. I’ve never actually felt sexier than I do when I’m dancing in this, but that’s beside the point.

“Oh, I’m looking.” The light turns green and he shifts into gear. I never learned how to drive stick—not the car kind anyway.

I huff and fume some more.

“You want to know what I think?”

“I’m sure you’re going to tell me regardless of what I say.”

“You’re the one who’s judging you.”

I bite the inside of my lip, trying to come up with some kind of sassy, snappy retort. But I don’t have one. Because he’s right. I am judging myself. I’m so worried about what the other people in my life are going to think about this temporary career move—which would be viewed as a complete and utter downgrade from what I’ve been attempting to accomplish in the theater industry—that I’ve labeled myself a failure, and I’m expecting everyone else to do the same. Even though it’s actually quite far from the truth.

“Of course I’m judging myself. This isn’t the direction I thought my career would go. But that doesn’t explain why you’re so angry with me.”

“You want to know why?” Bancroft sounds incredulous.

I throw my hands up in the air. It’s dramatic. “Yes. Why?”

“You lied to me.”

“I stretched the truth.”

Bancroft expels a long, slow breath. He’s gripping the steering wheel tightly. “That is a far cry from dinner theater, Ruby.”

“What did you want me to say? I got a job dancing half naked on a stage in a burlesque-style show?”

“Yes, Ruby. That’s exactly what I want. The truth.”

“I don’t see why it matters so much to you. I’m just your pet sitter.”

Bancroft’s jaw tics. I’m pretty sure I can hear his teeth grinding. He mutters something under his breath.

“I’m sorry. What was that?”

“Is that what you really think? That’s you’re just my pet sitter?”

“Aren’t I?” My stomach is churning. This is a dangerous conversation to have. I know I’m not just his pet sitter. That this thing between has turned into something else, but I’m so hung up on my fear of being financially dependent on him that I’ve ignored the real issue. I’m already emotionally dependent on him, which may be even worse.

He skirts the question with more of his own. “You live in my house. I gave you access to all of my things, codes, personal information. I put trust in you and you broke it. And why? Because you think I won’t approve of your choice of employment?”

“Well do you? Approve?”

“If you’re my pet sitter why would my approval matter?” He fires back.

“Stop answering questions with more questions,” I shout.

He licks his lips, eyes fixed firmly on the road. “I don’t like the neighborhood you’re working in. I don’t like that you have to take the subway home at the end of the night.”

I keep my eyes on the dash. “Sometimes I Uber when it’s really late.”

“Does someone walk out with you every night? Do they make sure you’re safe? Or are you on your own?” His tone is hard, angry.

I’m evasive with my answer. “It’s not that bad of a neighborhood . . .”

“It’s not a great one either.” His jaw tics with his frustration.

“My last apartment wasn’t exactly in an upscale neighborhood either, and no one ever tried to abduct me.”

He motions to my outfit. “Were you dressed like this?”

“Usually I change before I leave. Tonight’s an exception.”

Bancroft makes a right and pulls into the underground lot. I’ve never been down here before since the only other time I’ve been in his vehicle was when we moved me into his apartment. I hope this isn’t some kind of omen.

He stops at the valet, but tells the attendant he’ll park himself and backs skillfully into a spot. He lets me get out of the car on my own. “Not going to throw me over your shoulder this time?”

He looks me over. Beyond being angry, his gaze is hot. It makes my skin tingle, which is annoying.

“Would you like me to?”

“No.”

I follow him to the lobby. He angles his body in such a way that I’m partially eclipsed by his broadness as we pass the security guards.

“Worried someone’s going to judge you for being seen with me?” I mutter.

He gives me an icy glare, slides his keycard over the elevator sensor that takes us to the penthouse floor and ushers me inside. It’s dedicated, so very few people use it. The elevator ride to his condo is full of more silence and tension.

I’m relieved that we don’t run into anyone in the hallway. Particularly Ms. Blackwood. I’ve seen her a few times coming and going and she’s always polite, but in that way rich people are when really they think they’re better than you. Which is exactly the reason I’ve kept this job a secret, because I’ve grown up in an environment where that’s the rule, not the exception.

Bancroft lets the door close with a heavy slam. He throws his keys on the counter and kicks off his shoes, then starts down the hall.

“Where’re you going?” I call after him.

“To my room.”

I plant a fist on my hip. “That’s it?”

He unbuttons the cuffs of his shirt. “I’d like to get changed.”

“You came all the way to my work to glare at me and be pissy and drive me home, just to go to bed?”

He strides back down the hall toward me, eyes flashing. Jesus. Why is he so hot when he’s pissed off? “No. I came to your work so I could see for myself exactly how involved your lie was. I came to your work because I’m worried about the location and your safety. I came to your work because I wanted to see you perform. Now I would like to get changed and I think you should, too.”

“What if I don’t want to?” I’m being a combative brat right now. I think it’s because I’m scared; of this conversation, that I’ve ruined any possibility of this being more.

“I don’t think I can have this conversation with you while you’re dressed like . . . like—” he flails his hands around, gesturing at my outfit.

I jut my chest out. I’m rocking some insane cleavage. This outfit doesn’t leave much to the imagination. His eyes drop and have a hard time coming back up to my face.

“Like what?” I bark.

“Like this!” he snaps back.

“And what am I dressed like?” I know the answer to this question, but I want to hear him say it. I want a reason to go off on him because he’s a damn hypocrite if he can go out on a date with someone like Brittany who wears skimpy, slutty clothes on purpose, and get his balls all twisted because my costume is revealing. I mean, there is a lot of skin showing and half my butt is on display some of the time, but it’s not like I have a full coverage option for this gig. And it’s not as if I’d wear it off the stage.

Bancroft’s face is red. His eyes close and stay that way for a while before they open again. “Everyone was looking at you!”

I don’t get why he never seems to answer a question directly. I throw my hands up. “They’re supposed to! I’m performing.”

“But why do you have to wear this? Why do you have to look so . . . so—” He takes a step closer, hands clenched at his sides.

I lift my chin in defiance, challenging him to say what I know he wants to. “So what?”

“So fucking hot!” It’s more growl than words.

And not the words I expect. At all. I expected him to say slutty, or like a streetwalker, or a lady of the night. “I’m supposed to look hot. It’s how I make money right now. Is this another reason why you’re so angry? Because I’m too provocative?”

“Yes. No. You lied. This. You. You’re driving me insane. I want—” Bancroft’s breath leaves him on a hard pant.

I have no idea what’s going on. Two minutes ago he was pissed because I lied and now he’s mad because I’m hot. “You want what?” We’re almost nose-to-nose, me pushed up on my tiptoes, Bancroft leaning down so his shoulders are hunched.

His hands flex at his sides. “You. Fuck. I want.”

“Is that supposed to makes sense?” Sweet Christ is he saying what I think he is?

His voice drops to a gravelly whisper. “I want you.”

He admitted it. Out loud. Thank God. He doesn’t make a move to take me, though, so I push what I hope is his very last button. “Well, what are you going to do about it?”

“You can’t make anything easy, can you?” His hand shoots out, fingers sliding into my hair, twisting into the strands. His grip tightens as he tilts my head back and then his mouth is on mine.

It’s nothing like the time he accidentally kissed me at the engagement party. If that kiss was a fizzled-out candle, this one is an entire store of firecrackers going off at once.

Weeks of pent-up tension explode as his tongue pushes past my lips and he groans into my mouth. I latch on to his hair, because there’s no way we’re stopping this now that it’s started.

In the back of my head, reason tells me this is a seriously bad idea. I still live here. He’s angry at me for lying to him. I’m angry at myself for caring what everyone thinks, and for getting myself into this kind of situation. We need to have a discussion. One with words and some logic. But logic has gone out the window. Jumped the twenty-plus stories in a free fall.

Sweet button of lust in my panties, this man can do amazing things with his tongue. I bet his talents extend far beyond mouth skills, and I’m pretty sure I’m about to find out if this is true.

Bancroft slides his hand under my skirt. He doesn’t actually have to do much work to accomplish that since it’s so damn short. He grabs my glitter-panty-covered right ass cheek and pulls me against him. Like the last time I ended up with his tongue in my mouth, I can feel his ample hard-on against my stomach. I can’t wait to get my hands on it. Better yet, I can’t wait to ride it. Screw worrying about arguments and conversations. Forget worrying about having a place to live.

I have a free hand, so I mimic him and grab his ass like he is mine. His grip tightens, and he shifts his hips, seeking friction. I can totally relate to that need.

He breaks the kiss long enough to say, “I want you in my bed.”

I groan around his tongue, which is already in my mouth again.

“If you’d just stayed in my bed that first night I came home we could’ve done this a whole lot sooner.”

“I slept in there every night you were gone.”

He holds on to my hair and disengages from my mouth. “You what?”

Oh shit. Maybe I shouldn’t be admitting this. “I um . . . I slept in your bed.” It comes out as more of a question than a statement.

“What else did you do in my bed, besides sleeping?” His lips hover just above mine. I can’t get to them though, because he’s still gripping my hair. Not hard, just firmly.

“I played hide and seek with Franny,” I whisper, because it’s true.

“Anything else?”

“Like what?” I bite my lip.

His nose brushes my cheek, his lips at my ear. “Did you get off in my bed?”

“Yes,” I moan.

“Fuck.” He bites my earlobe and I gasp. His hand drifts down my side. “How?”

I suck in a breath when his fingers graze the edge of my panties and he follows the fabric to the inside of my thigh.

“I want you to tell me how,” he murmurs.

“How I got off?” I ask for clarification because I’m a little distracted by his fingers right now.

“Did you finger-fuck yourself while you thought about me?” His tongue sweeps along the side of my neck.

I make a groaning sound, it’s supposed to be yes, but I don’t think it comes out as a word.

He cups me through my panties. “Did you?”

I nod as much as I can since he’s still fisting my hair with his free hand.

“How often?”

“Every night,” I admit.

He slips his hand down the front of my panties. His fingers glide over my clit and then he slides a single finger inside. “Like this?”

I nod vigorously and grab onto his shoulders when my knees threaten to give out. “But harder and more.”

“More fingers?” His lips move across my cheek again and he backs up until his eyes are on mine.

This man is combustibly hot. “Yes.”

He adds another finger, pumping slowly. God his fingers are long, and thick. A lot longer and thicker than my own. His lips touch mine as he asks, “How’s this?”

“Faster, please, and harder.”

His smile is absolutely sinister. “Listen to those manners.” But he does what I ask, pumping harder and faster.

I cry out, grabbing onto his shirt to keep upright. “Bane.” The word comes out tortured.

“I can’t wait to hear what that sounds like when you’re coming all over my fingers.”

“Fuck. Shit. Oh my God, I want your cock.” So much for those manners.

Bane chuckles. “There’s that naughty mouth I love so much.”

He kisses me hard and keeps moving his fingers, picking up speed until I’m trembling as the orgasm rolls through me. And then his hands are gone and I find myself pinned to the wall by Bancroft’s hips. He starts grinding and, of course, I do the same.

Yanking his shirt over his head, I run my hands over his chest. It’s an amazing chest. So solid. So defined.

“Like what you see?” he asks.

“So much.”

“Me, too.” He grabs the hem of my dress—if we can even really call it that. Mostly it’s scraps of material sewn together—and pulls it over my head. My bra and panties are white and glittery, as is pretty damn typical in burlesque.

Bancroft drops to his knees, face level with my crotch. He looks up and flicks the little jewel at my navel. “I fucking love this.” Then he skims lower to my hips and drags my glitter panties down my legs. “Fuckin’ yes.”

Apparently Bancroft approves of my grooming techniques. I’m still pulsing from the orgasm I just had.

He lifts his head enough to meet my gaze, his tongue sweeping across his bottom lip. “You know what I’m going to do now?”

The anticipation is exhilarating. I have a feeling I know, but I want to hear him say it so I can find out exactly how impolite he can be. Based on his behavior so far, I’m thinking he can be a dirty boy. I shake my head. I might also bite my lip and arch my back so my pretty parts are closer to his lips.

“No?” Bancroft runs his palms heavily down the outside of my thighs. “You don’t know?”

I give my head another shake. “Why don’t you tell me?”

The grin that curves the right side of his mouth makes me squeeze my legs together. It distracts Bancroft, drawing his gaze down—to the part of my body that will happily take his attention.

He rubs his nose over my pelvis, the softest brush. His eyes lift to mine again. “I’m going to tongue fuck your pretty pussy until you come all over my face.” He pauses for a second. “Would you like that?”

“Yes, please.”

“So fucking polite.” He hooks a thumb behind the back of my leg and lifts it, resting it over his shoulder. And then he starts licking. There is nothing soft and sweet about the way Bancroft eats me. Each stroke is fast and aggressive, and—oh God—is he growling? Oh, yeah, that’s definitely a growl. If this is what foreplay is like with him, I can’t wait to get to the sex part.

I grab onto his hair, because it seems like a good place to hold. Even with the way he has me spread open for him and pinned against the wall, I need a solid anchor. My dancer background gives me better balance than most, but it’s a lot to ask for me to stay upright like this while he tongue fucks an orgasm out of me, especially since my knees are already watery from the first one.

They start to buckle, which isn’t much of a surprise with the way he’s hoovering my clit. I make a bunch of random noises with his name thrown in there on a groan. And then I’m coming. Again. It’s a knock-me-out, steal-my-soul kind of orgasm.

When the white lights of heaven fade out and I can breathe and see again, I realize I’m on the floor, staring up at the hall light—which is blinding me.

And Bancroft is still going. He’s a pussy-licking machine. It sends me into overdrive. I can’t stop the sensations from overriding every logical thought. Not that there were many left anyway. I think I’m in love with this man’s tongue. If he’s as talented with his cock as he is with this part of his body, I may actually start a new religion. The Church of Bane Cock.

I laugh, slightly deliriously, and then gasp as the graze of teeth sends me tumbling over the edge with orgasm number three. I didn’t even know it was possible to have this many consecutively.

My eyes roll up and my vision disappears into a haze of black and white and stars as I arch, pushing myself against his mouth. When I finally regain some muscle control I crack a lid and realize I’m in the middle of a doorway. Craning my neck, I discover I’m looking at the legs of Bancroft’s bed. There are a few items of clothing under it. One of them might be a pair of my underpants. Or some socks. His cleaner obviously doesn’t do the best job.

The rough scrape of his stubble against my clit draws my attention back to Bancroft. His hair is a mess. Because my hands have been in it. His lips are swollen, because he’s been sucking on my clit. We’ve managed to make it from one end of the hall to the other, our end point rather convenient; it’s like a round of curling cunnilingus.

His grin is full of dirty promises. “At least we made it to the bedroom.”

He gets up on his hands and knees, slides one arm under my back and lifts me off the floor. In two fluid steps he crosses to the bed and tosses me on the mattress. I bounce once before he’s on top of me, settling between my thighs, which have parted for him like magic. His mouth is on mine again as he swivels his hips. Oh God. I can feel him right there, rubbing on me. This is going to be the best sex of my life. I can tell already. The presex orgasms are a fairly good indicator of that.

He breaks the kiss, his lips moving down my neck, teeth nipping, tongue sweeping. “I can’t wait to fuck you,” he murmurs in my ear.

“I should suck you first, don’t you think?” I suggest.

He stops with the kissing and lifts his head so he can meet my gaze. My cheeks are probably pink.

“Say that again.”

I want to say no, but with the way he’s looking at me, it’s difficult not to follow through. “I should suck you.” I draw out the word suck, making it sound liquid.

His grin is just as lascivious as my words. “With that pretty, naughty mouth?” He sweeps his thumb along my bottom lip before he slips it just inside.

So of course I suck, because clearly that’s what he wants me to do. And it mimics what I’m about to do. I get to see his cock again. Up close and personal this time. I’m pretty damn excited about that.

I give him a little bite.

His expression goes dark. “I hope you’re not planning on doing that when it’s my cock in that sweet mouth.”

I swirl my tongue around the tip of his thumb. “Pretty sure I’m going to have to unhinge my jaw to get my lips around that beast.”

His grin is almost a smirk. “You don’t think you can handle it?”

“Let’s bring it up here and see if it fits.”

Bancroft pushes up on his arms, his smile deliciously dark. I raise a brow and lick my lips.

He mutters something unintelligible and shoves his pants over his hips, kicking them off.

I glance down at his body and notice he’s still wearing his socks. They’re black and pulled halfway up his shins. “You need to take those off first.”

“What?”

“Your socks. They need to go.”

He gives me a look. “You’ve already had three orgasms and you’re worried about my socks?”

He tries to straddle me, but I put a hand up to stop him. “I’m not putting your cock in my mouth until those socks come off. I’ll do it myself if it’s too difficult for you.”

Before I have a chance to react he flips me over onto my stomach and gives my ass a slap. “I’ve been waiting for a reason to do that.”

I cry out, but it’s not in pain, it’s surprise. And then I feel the sting of his teeth on the opposite cheek before I’m flipped over again. “And that, as well.”

He straddles me so his knees are on either side of my chest. I chance a peek down, the socks have disappeared. I grin and then check Bancroft out. Now, I’ve never given a blow job like this, but I’m thinking if it works, it’ll be pretty damn hot.

He’s hovering over me. His cock fisted in his hand. Sweet lord. This man makes me want to give the most amazing blow job of my life. Now here’s the problem: Bancroft is very well endowed. I’m kind of serious about having to unhinge my jaw. So this angle might actually be preferable because I don’t think it allows for deeper penetration. But I’m just guessing. Fingers crossed I’m right about this.

He angles his erection down, so that the tip is close to my chin. Flecks of glitter decorate the head. Which isn’t a surprise. My glitter panties and bra leave a magical trail everywhere.

He keeps pushing down until the tip of his cock hits my bottom lip, as if he’s knocking on the door to my mouth, looking to get in there. Then he rubs it across like it’s lip gloss. Or dick gloss, as it were. I smile, but manage to suppress a giggle.

His expression is intense, his lips parting along with mine as he shifts his hips forward and the head slides inside. So far, so good.

He groans when I press my tongue forward to circle the tip. “I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve thought about this.”

I hum my acknowledgment. I can’t actually form words with his cock in my mouth, and while this certainly is something I’ve thought about, too, I have my doubts it’s to the same degree as he did. I definitely fantasized about the pussy eating, and the sex we’re going to have as soon as I’m done sucking on his lollipop.

I keep my eyes on his face as he bites his lip and pushes in a little further. “How much you think you can take?”

That’s a great question. One I don’t have an answer to since I’ve never tried to get something this big in my mouth at one time. “Let’s find out,” I say around the head. It’s a little garbled, but he seems to understand.

He eases in another inch and I run my hands up the outside of his incredibly muscular thighs. They’re like tree trunks. I move around the back so I can grab his ass. His naked ass. It’s so firm. I lift my head as he pushes in farther still, another inch.

He swears when I squeeze his ass and pull him even deeper. The hand that isn’t wrapped around his cock slides into my hair. He isn’t trying to get me to choke on him, instead he cups the back of my head, helping to hold it up, which is nice of him, since I’d be doing a lot of craning otherwise. I start with some suction, which gets another dirty curse out of him.

“You’re fucking gorgeous with my cock in your mouth, you know that?”

His praise makes me want to see exactly how deep I can take him. I open wider, take more until his thumb touches my lip and the head hits the back of my throat. I hold on to his hips and ease him back, then do it again, taking him deeper on the next wet, suctioned stroke. I do it maybe two or three more times before he let’s go of my hair.

“That’s enough.” He wraps his hand around his cock and pulls out of my mouth, covering the head.

For the first time ever, I actually want to keep going. “I was just getting started.” I might even be whining.

He brushes my bottom lip with his thumb. “Another time I’d love to finish in that incredible mouth of yours.”

He releases his cock and reaches down. Hooking his hands under my arms, he pulls me up so I’m not face-to-cock with him anymore. He’s still straddling my hips as he leans down and kisses me, tongue sweeping my mouth. I wiggle around, trying to get my legs out from between his without causing any potential damage to his delicious dick.

Breaking the kiss, he sits back, running his fingertips over my breasts, circling my nipples before he drags them down my sides. We’re getting to the good part, not that all the other parts haven’t been good, but this is what I’ve been waiting for, fantasizing about even, since the first night he accidentally kissed me.

He draws a circle around my navel, then travels a straight path down to the crest of my pelvis. If he would just get in between my legs it would make this a hell of a lot easier. Easing farther back on the bed, he smooths his hands along the outside of my thighs, until he reaches my knees. Hooking his fingers underneath them, he encourages me to bend them, then follows the contour of my calves until he reaches my ankles. “How flexible are you?”

“Um, pretty flexible, why?”

He raises my legs, keeping them pressed together as he rests the soles of my feet against his chest. “I’m just trying to decide what position I want to fuck you in.”

Oh good Lord. This man and his mouth. These weeks of flirty banter and mostly civilized behavior seem to be evaporating in the face of orgasms and naked promise.

“Do I have a say in how I’m positioned?” I mean for it to be all snark, but I fail, because it comes out all soft and breathy instead.

“If you want one, sure.” Bancroft runs his hands over my shins. When he reaches my knees he reverses the movement, his wide palms wrapping around my ankles again. His gaze lifts to meet mine. “Open for me.”

Despite it being an order and not a request, I’m still inclined to oblige him. I mean, he tongue fucked me across the floor. I’ve already come like my clit is the central location for fireworks on the Fourth of July. If he would like to put that magnificent cock of his to good use by pounding another orgasm out of my pretty little pussy I am all for it.

Sometimes it’s good to play it coy. Show a little hesitation and uncertainty. I do neither of those things.

I can literally hear Bancroft’s teeth grinding together as his gaze drops. I don’t know exactly what it is about my grooming habits or the composition of my particular vagina that makes the deep, thick groan come out of him, but whatever it is I’m so, so happy about it right now.

I’m completely on display for him. Bare for him. Vulnerable. But it doesn’t create any of the self-consciousness I expect, because the expression on his face is pure, unfiltered desire.

He curves forward, spreading my legs farther apart, hands still wrapped around my ankles. I’m not sure what his plan is until he licks me again, one long slow stroke of his tongue, a fast swirl and a long, hard suck on my clit.

I cry out and arch, but he’s still holding my damn ankles, so I can’t get away from the intensity of his mouth. He keeps me spread, his mouth on me, getting me close again.

Before I fall over the edge and into the blissful abyss he releases one of my ankles, but only one, and looks up from between my legs. Then he fists his cock. “I’m going to fuck you now, Ruby. Are you ready for that?”

“Oh God. Yes. Please. That would be so amazing.” I would love it if I could be a little less eager about the whole thing, but he’s left me hanging, and all I can think about is how fantastic it’s going to feel when he’s filling me.

His smirk tells me he knows exactly what’s going on in my head. Or maybe it’s my breathy tone and the way I’m attempting to lift my hips off the bed, even though he’s still holding my damn ankle.

When he rubs the head of his cock over my clit I jerk and moan. Finally letting go of my ankle, he slips his arm under my knee, pulling it up as he stretches out on top of me.

I can feel him, thick and hard against my pelvis. I try to readjust our position, but I’m not having much luck. “I thought you said you were going to fuck me now.” I’m a little snappy.

He might be more smug than necessary. “I’m getting to that. This is an exercise in patience, Ruby.”

“I’ve waited a lot of weeks for this.”

“So you can wait a little longer.” He eases his hips back and the thick shaft slides over my clit, the head following. He reaches across to the nightstand, fumbling around for a second before he finds the condoms. He’s quick about tearing one free and rolling it on. And then he’s pushing inside and I’m moaning and he’s groaning.

The first few strokes are slow as I adjust. But those are the only ones that fall into the slow and gentle category, because after that, Bancroft’s civility ceases to exist. He drills into me, hips slapping against mine, fast and hard. I come. And then come again as he growls dirty things in my ear. Telling me how amazing my pussy is. How it’s his now, and no one else can have it but him.

I like it a lot.

After he comes he collapses on top of me—not completely, he braces his weight on his straining, twitching forearms. I don’t think I’ve ever been so sated in my life.

I’m so sweaty. I’m pretty sure there’s glitter all over Bancroft’s sheets. And Bancroft. I can’t actually find it in me to care or do anything about it. Not that there’s anything I can reasonably do anyway.

One thing I’ve noticed with the glitter is that no matter how many times I wash things, it’s still hangs around after the fact, shiny reminders of my temporary job.

“Does this mean you’re not angry anymore?” I ask when he tucks me into his side.

“For now.”

“You have plans to be angry with me later?”

“I’m putting it on hold until morning.”

“Same.” I snuggle into him, getting comfortable. We can deal with all the unsaid things later. Right now I’m going to bask. And then sleep. And then maybe more sex.