Page 9 of The Vampire’s Ballerina

Imogen trembles in my arms, her heart fluttering as she presses herself closer to me. A soft moan leaves her lips as I continue caressing her back, and I give in to everything I’ve resisted since the moment she walked into the dance studio for our first rehearsal three years ago.

Our lips finally meet. I don’t know which of us closes that minuscule gap—probably me—but it doesn’t matter. I’m alive again with her in my arms, our mouths moving together in the sacred, timeless dance of two beings who’ve decided resistance is futile.

Imogen’s arms wrap around my neck, and I sit back on my heels. Her thighs bracket my hips. My hands press into her back with unrestrained insistence. Another little noise vibrates in her throat and she rolls her hips, grinding herself against my erection.

I can’t hide the truth—my need—from her any longer. This is my point of no return.

We kiss and kiss and kiss with no regard for how long we spend wrapped around each other. Time has no meaning when she’s with me like this. The music ends, but our kiss does not. And I’m too lost in her to care that anyone could walk into the theater at any moment and find us like this—her straddling my lap and grinding against my dick, me with one hand gripping her ass while the other tangles in her hair.

She pulls away, panting, but my lips continue over her skin, traveling down her jaw to her neck, where her pulse flutters like a hummingbird’s wings.

“Peter…” Her voice is thick with need.

“Pietro.” The correction leaves my mouth without a thought.

“What?”

I swallow and freeze, reluctantly pulling away from her neck. “My name. My real name. It’s Pietro. I—I want to hear you say it.”

Her fingers play with the hair at my nape. A smile tugs at her lips, and a twinkle lights her eyes as she says, “Pietro.”

“Imogen.” I return my lips to her beautiful throat. “Mia dolce ballerina… my sweet ballerina…”

She groans and presses her body tighter against mine, and I squeeze her ass hard enough to force another roll of her hips. It’s delightful, but it’s not enough to ease the ache building inside me. I clutch at her, ready to lay her beneath me on the stage floor, when a door in the lobby slams shut, interrupting our passion-filled moment.

I snarl, but I don’t let Imogen go. Instead, I blink us to the darkened balcony, hiding us in the shadows of the highest seats in the theater. My body shields hers against the back wall. She squeaks in surprise at the unexpected teleportation, and guilt flickers through me for not warning her about blinking—what it is, how it feels—but there was no time. I silence her startled sound with another kiss, and she relaxes against me, warm and soft in my arms.

I tug at the strands of her hair until her head tilts back, and her eyes find mine. She’s breathless, from the dancing and the intensity between us, from my body pressed against hers and my hands roaming her skin. But she smiles at me. A sweet, genuine smile unlike any I’ve seen from her before. Even brighter than the ones she gave Ramón earlier

Footsteps echo through the theater before fading towards the costume storage under the stage. And I relax, knowing we’re alone again.

“Imogen, I want to have you for dinner,” I say once the footsteps are no longer detectable.

She arches a brow.

My jaw drops as I realize what I said. “I mean—I want to have dinner with you!”

Her hand flies to her mouth, eyes sparkling with laughter.

I sigh, lowering my chin to my chest. “Would you have dinner with me? Please?”

What a slip. Of all the things I could have fucked up, it had to be that. So much for easing her into things. At least she didn’t react with disgust or fear. There was no surprise in her expression either. If anything, she seemed intrigued by the suggestion.

But I can’t go there with her. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Her fingers play with the buttons of my shirt. “When?”

I sigh in relief and lift my head to meet her wonderful blue eyes. “This weekend?”

“I’m busy Saturday. Bridal party thing,” she mumbles, resting her hand on my chest.

I frown. It’s petulant and childish, but I don’t care. I want all her days to be mine. “Sunday?” I offer instead.

She nods, and I move in for another kiss, wrapping myself around her beautiful ballerina body.

I don’t know what I did to deserve this sudden gift. And I don’t know how long it will last. But I’m going to savor it while I can. I will enjoy my sweet ballerina, no matter how much it may ruin me later.

Chapter Three