Page 84 of Vicious Impulses (The Capo and Ballerina)
I splay my hand against his broad, muscular shoulder and ride the rhythm of his strokes with him. I’ve surrendered and given up any fight as my hips move with his. My eyes meet his as his swollen hard cock fills me up.
Caelian might not be the husband I thought I’d have. He might not be a man I can trust. We may never truly be each other’s person. But I can’t deny the draw between us. The fraught chemistry that charges the air in moments like this as he takes me and claims me.
And I give in… because that’s the only thing you can do when a man like Caelian Ziccardi marks you as his.
I shut out any other thought of what’ll come after and focus on the pleasure.
It rises up until it’s unbearable and then explodes from the inside out. The veracity at which my orgasm blows through me is stronger than any storm. My body’s spinning in a tingling wave of pleasure as I come. I melt into the snow, lost to the moment.
Caelian follows me. One hand claws at the snow while the other crushes my thigh in bruising fashion. His muscles and veins strain against his skin as he works his hips and drills deep into me before he comes with a deafening roar.
I’m enthralled by the sight—Caelian letting go, tapping into the most primal side of himself, as he spills into me. His warm release feels like a special reward after the snow that had numbed me. He pulls out, his cock still pulsating, and I sit up to suck him clean.
His fingers fist in my hair, his breathing chaotic and out of sync. When I’ve swiped my tongue up and down the length of him and delighted in his tangy taste, he wrenches me up and plants a kiss on my mouth.
We stay huddled for a second longer like this, snow floating around us.
We’ve lost all concept of where we are and how freezing cold it is. Finally, he’s rising to his feet and pulling me up along with him. His arm slides around my waist so that I’m pinned to his side as we set off toward the house.
“You’ve been punished,bella,” he says. “Do I have to give you more… or are you finally going to tell me the truth?”
My body pings with the aftereffects of my orgasm. My mind’s no less affected. It’s clouded and slow to work. Two terrible things to be when someone’s requesting the truth out of you.
I sigh, aware I can’t deny him any longer. “Alright, Caelian. I’ll tell you. Everything.”
TWENTY-SIX
Nevaeh
Caelian sitsme down wearing a solemn expression on his face. No words are needed for me to pick up on what he’s expecting. We’ve come inside, taken hot showers, and warmed up in a fresh change of clothes.
Now that that’s out of the way, he expects the truth I’ve promised him.
I let go of the air I’ve been holding in my lungs. “You have to swear you won’t get angry.”
He lifts his square chin, regarding me with a judicious stare. The shade of gray in his eyes is almost as dark as the night’s sky.
“Caelian,” I moan softly. “Please swear you won’t get mad.”
“Tell me, Nevi. Tell me the truth, and I will do my best.”
Probably about as good as it’s going to get all things considered. I rest my hands in my lap. My fingers have curled into two balls of anxiety. It’s the only way I can keep from picking at my nail beds or nibbling on the nails themselves. Both bad habits of mine when I’m stressed and unsure what to do.
Ignazio used to swat at my hands whenever I’d do it during practice. He claimed ballerinas were supposed to have delicate hands. Our feet and toes might be battered and bruised, but our hands were visible—they were to remain in ideal condition.
But I never listened.
It was difficult to when my entire life depended on the whim of one man and his satisfaction with my family. If my father had been useful enough, or if we’d earned the right to breathe another day.
“Caelian, my father’s still alive,” I say in what sounds like a small voice even to my ears. What I’m about to say are words I’ve never spoken aloud. “I’ve been instructed to claim he’s dead, because it would prevent anyone questioning his whereabouts. What I told you about his use to Nero and the Vorones is true—my father’s been a valuable asset to him for a long time. My whole life.”
He grunts, giving no other discernible reaction.
“But what I said about me being protected is also true. I wasn’t sold into the flesh market because of my father’s use to Nero,” I rush to add. “I was allowed to train at the Dresden Dance Company because my father was one of his most vital employees.”
“But…” he supplies.
“But,” I say, sighing. “I was also trained in other ways. All of the dancers are. We’re to be Nero’s eyes and ears. His covert means of spying on the rich and powerful businessmen in the city. They take us to dinners and purchase us for the night, thinking the service being provided is for their pleasure.”