Page 48 of Dance with the Devil
“Sorry, I wasn’t thinking when I just ran out.”
“I wasn’t thinking when I ran after you,” I say, cocking my head. “I’m sorry for what I said about your childhood. I didn’t mean to trigger you.”
She swallows, and I watch as her delicate throat bobs. “You were right. I’d never thought about it in that way. The instability made me crave stability.”
I shrug. “There are worse traumas to work through. I can recommend some therapists if you’d like to dig deeper one day.”
Her lips pull into a teasing smile as she crosses her arms. The gesture presses her breasts up, and all I can think about is circling my tongue around her nipples, nibbling and sucking until she’s gasping for relief.
Or—pushing her down onto a bed with my hand around her throat as my cock fucks the space between those soft, supple globes.
“You mean you don’t want to continue being my therapist?” she asks innocently.
My lips twist into something I hope resembles a smile as I take a step closer. “As much as I’d love to continue dissecting you and figuring out what makes you tick, it would be unethical,” I say, my voice dropping an octave. “But I suppose there are other ways I can help you.”
Her breath hitches as I reach a hand up to her face, tracing my fingers along her jaw. Flickering with curiosity, her eyes scan my face.
“Oh? How so?”
This delicate line we’re treading is exhausting but also fun. Watching her squirm—watching her deny what’s happening between us… it only makes me want to keep going.
Keep pushing the limits.
Keeptestingher.
“A raise, perhaps?”
That’s not the answer she expects. Her face falls as she realizes I’m serious.
“You pay me enough. But I won’t say no to another raise.”
“Good.”
“Are we going to talk about what just happened?” she asks, brows pinched.
I step back and mirror her body language by crossing my arms. “What happened?”
Her eyes flick between mine as I smirk, and then I turn around and walk down the street.
The clicking of her heels tells me that she’s following me.
We talk the entire way to the Four Seasons, and I realize with sudden clarity that I need to make herminepermanently.
I don’t know how, but I’m going to figure it out.
By the time we get back to the hotel, Francesca is exhausted, so she says good night before retreating to her room.
The click of the lock is disappointing, but I distract myself with work until my eyes are stinging.
I fall asleep and for the first night in a long time, it’s a dreamless, dead sleep.
March 8th
I can still feel the warmth of her lips on mine, the taste of her lingering like a drug I can’t get enough of. I’ve played that moment over and over in my mind, dissecting every detail—how her breath caught when I moved closer, the way her eyes searched mine, like she was waiting for me to make the first move.
I did.
And I’m terrified.
