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I’m seconds away from panicking, unsure of what to do.
Apologize, run, or go to my knees and relieve the deep need I see throbbing the head of his cock, dripping precum onto the floor. I swallow, temptation flooding my entire body with prickling heat.
Suddenly, a towel sweeps in around his waist, stealing the sight of one of the most deliciously distracting things I’ve ever seen.
Looking up, I fumble for words as he reaches up to remove his mask. Looking up along that chiseled chest. Those sharp collarbones.
Right into the smoke gray eyes of Evan DeSante.
12
HELLENA
“Itold you to meet me at the car.”
“You’re…”
“Pissed?”
“No, I mean, but you’re…”
“Too exhausted for this conversation?”
I finally compose myself enough to glare back at his sarcastic remarks. I’m about to try again when his shoulders droop a tiny bit.
“I am a performer. Yes.” His voice is velvet. Calm. But his body is locked up, poised like an animal about to run. I wasn’t supposed to see this. I wasn’t supposed to know.
“That was more than just a performance.” I was moved, swept up in the passion of his movement, his body. It was enthralling. “Fuck, it was euphoric, magical…”
Almost as good as sex. I can’t quite get those words out, though. That would be admitting too much to him.
The tiniest bit of shock crosses his expression as my eyes follow a thin, trickling line of sweat down between his unbelievably etched pecs. He's still flushed, his muscles swollen from the dance routine. I swallow hard, trying to keep my eyes to myself.
He’s a fucking Greek god. He's a renaissance sculpture.
And he’s still very clearly visible through the towel tented below his waist.
It makes my mouth instantly dry. I’m horrifyingly nervous, but also breathless. I can’t think enough to say anything else, but looking at him, there’s this moment where neither of us knows what to do. I wish he would just…
Suddenly, it feels like another one of his tests, only this time, he’s testing himself, too. His control over himself and his control over me.
How will I react? He's waiting to gauge my response.
And I have no idea if what I decide to say next will send him into a fit of rage, or… honestly, I don't know what the alternative is. I have no idea how to navigate the situation. Except that I can't stop thinking about the way his body moved, the way he came so painfully close to making love to his dance partner and how it makes me…
Hot.
Jealous.
No. I am not jealous of anyone sleeping with or almost sleeping with Evan DeSante. He can do whatever he wants to do.
But that’s what I realize is bothering me more than anything. Why didn’t he?
The rest of the crew indulged in all out sex, if the sounds coming from the theater behind me are any indication of the encore. Moans and cries of climaxing muddle my mind again, distracting me.
In that haze, I fail to notice Evan stepping closer, closing the distance between us and staring down at me. Heat rolls off him in waves that have my nipples knifing the front of my dress. Thank goodness it’s so soft.
“I don’t sleep with any of my performers. Or my clients.” His tone shifts, a hint of defensiveness.
