Struck By Lightning: Slow Satisfaction Part 24

Then he put his c.o.c.k back into my mouth and thrust deep, though not deep enough to choke me. "Suck," he said, and as I did, he slapped me lightly on the cheek. It barely hurt the slap was so light, but it startled me.

After that one I was prepared for him to do it again, and as he thrust in and out of my mouth, he slapped me on one cheek and then the other, several slaps to each side.

Then he thrust again hard enough to cause tears to spring into my eyes, only this time as he switched to gentle thrusts, my sobs and spasms didn't subside. I was crying for real.

He pulled free as soon as he realized I was crying and cupped my cheek tenderly, searching my face for the source of my distress. I only cried harder and as I sank to my knees he kissed me lovingly. "Good girl," he whispered.

I felt a sudden pang of relief and my breath went out of me in the rush. Just like that, the storm cloud that had rained tears dissipated and the sun came out. He kissed me again, slipping to the floor next to me. Dear James. I turned the kiss more pa.s.sionate, and by the time he paused to take a breath, I had almost put the sudden bout of tears out of my mind.

But he hadn't. "You all right?"

"Fine." I took a deep breath.

He caressed my cheek, wiping away some of the dampness with his thumb. "What was going through your mind, sweetness?"

I thought back to the moment. "Not a really coherent thought, just a feeling that... I don't know. You never hit me in the face before."

He kissed me on one cheek, then the other, looking into my eyes with concern. "They say we react instinctually to being struck in the face differently from anywhere else on the body."

"Huh. Yeah. I guess I felt a little shocked. And then I wondered if I had done something to make you angry or disappointed you somehow."

"Not at all, sweetness. There was nothing more in it than it was exciting to slap you while taking your mouth. Nothing more than how enticing and beautiful and thoroughly mine you looked." He planted another kiss on my lips.

"You know what makes me feel thoroughly yours?" I whispered as he pulled away. "How protective you're being of me now."

"I don't take your tears lightly," he said. "How are you feeling now?"

"Much better." I grinned. "So I'm beautiful while I'm blowing you. Good to know."

He smiled back at me. "I'm glad I waited to do your makeup until now, though."

"Ha! I thought the runny mascara look was in nowadays."

He stood and offered a hand to help me up. Once I was standing, he pulled something else from the suitcase, a slim, peach-colored dress, almost more like a long T-s.h.i.+rt, but a bit flared at the hem. I pulled it carefully over the wig and s.h.i.+mmied to settle it over my hips. The hem fell at mid-thigh.

"Should I go back to my room to get underwear?" I asked.

"No," he said casually, beckoning me into the bathroom. He put down the lid of the toilet and washed my face gently with a washcloth, then retrieved a zippered makeup case. I sat quietly while he worked on my eyes, my cheeks. His hands felt deft and sure on my face.

"Now, have a look." He swept his hand toward the big mirror.

I stood and looked. My eyes were huge, my cheekbones high, and my chin an elfin point. With the wig it barely looked like me, and I said so.

"That's the point," he said with a smile. He stood behind me and kissed me on top of the wig. "If only I had some appropriate rope, I'd tie you a thong to wear between your legs. Lift up your dress and show me your p.u.s.s.y."

His eyes were on my reflection, and I pinched the fabric of the dress in my fingers and lifted slowly, baring myself.

"Perhaps we'll do that another time. I'd tie a thong shape over your hips and through the middle of your legs. If I wanted to be cruel, I'd leave a knot right over your c.l.i.t, which you'd feel with every step you took. Then we'd go walking up and down the Strip."

"Until I was so wet I was leaving footprints?"

"Or maybe until your c.l.i.t was so engorged you were begging me for some other torment. Anything else. I wonder what I'd make you do to earn some relief. Expose yourself to a stranger? Service me secretly with your hand? Take another Ben Wa ball?"

"We haven't played with those in a while."

"Was that a request?"

"Maybe. Although it might not be the best idea if I have no underwear on."

"It might not be the best idea if I want to f.u.c.k you on a whim." He rubbed his erect c.o.c.k against my back. "Now, let's go, before I am tempted to succ.u.mb to my whims right here."

He got dressed, in blue jeans and a tank top, a loose, short-sleeved s.h.i.+rt over it. The jeans were somewhat baggy, meaning his erection wasn't completely obvious. He put the orange spiky wig on and it looked surprisingly natural on him. His pale skin made the red hair seem fitting and gave him an almost Irish look.

In the mirror we looked like a pair of tourists, which I guess was the point.

Out we went, and caught a cab, and James directed the driver to take us to the Strip. We drove past several casinos, the Luxor looking like a pyramid from outer s.p.a.ce, New York New York with its funny, crunched version of the big city skyline, the Eiffel Tower of "Paris." We got out in front of Paris, in fact, and then walked a bit, James holding my hand. The sun had set and crowds of people were making their way up and down the wide sidewalks. James steered us around hawkers handing out flyers and coupons. I was very aware of my lack of panties. I knew no one could see, but I could feel my slick lips rubbing together as we crossed the avenue on a pedestrian bridge.

"Have you seen the fountains?" he asked.

"I haven't seen anything but the inside of the hotel, the inside of the van, and the inside of the theater."

"I meant on TV or in movies, but it doesn't matter. Here they are."

We descended from the bridge and joined a group of people all looking expectantly toward the palatial front of the Bellagio and the dark lake of water in front of it. Behind us, crowds continued to go up and down the avenue, but in the tightly packed group of spectators by the railing, everyone faced the same direction. James stood behind me, his arms around me.

Music began to play and sprays of water waved back and forth, lit from below by lights. I recognized the tune, "All That Jazz." As the music reached a crescendo, all the jets shot upward at once, and I sucked in a breath at the powerful display. A sound like thunder mixed with the music as the water fell back into the pool. James rubbed himself against my back and I felt how rigid he was.

When the song ended, most people turned to wander on, but many lingered.

"The next song will start in about ten minutes," James said. "Let's stay for one more." He led me to the edge of the ornate, concrete railing, under a tree. He leaned against the corner of the railing and I settled back against him so we could people-watch while we waited for the fountains to begin again.

A constant parade of people made their way up and down the Strip while others lingered like we were, waiting for the next show. Compared to many of the glitzy, lit-up places on the Strip, the spot we were in was relatively dim. There were many trees planted along the edge of the water, I supposed to make an oasis of darkness so that the bright lights in the fountain would look more dramatic. Crowds were still stopping to take photos at the railing, catching the lit-up Bellagio in the background on one side, or Paris on the other side of the street.

One couple had clearly come directly from a wedding chapel. They were in typical tourist wear, flip-flops and shorts, but she had a short veil in her hair and a small bouquet clutched in her hand, and he was wearing a bow tie around his neck like a collar. They were beaming with giddy, fat-cheeked smiles, and trailed by a happy, drunken entourage of well-wishers. After they took some smoochy photos with the Bellagio as a backdrop, she climbed precariously onto the concrete rail and flung the bouquet into the air. It came apart as it flew and flowers rained down on the laughing group.

"See! You're all next! YOU'RE ALL GETTING MARRIED NEXT!" she squealed, while her beau held her steady and kept her from falling into the fountain. He helped her down as the next song began to play.

James chuckled. I wasn't sure what was funny at first, until I recognized his voice. It was a Lord Lightning song.

A huge spray of water and light shot up into the air and people oohed like they did at fireworks.

James murmured in my ear, "Everyone is looking at the show." Meaning, No one is looking at us. He slid his hand up my thigh.

I swallowed and sucked in a breath as his other hand lifted my dress. I felt air on the damp part of my thighs. Was he lifting it high enough that if the bride and groom in front of us turned around, they'd see all of me? One of his fingers snaked lazily between my lips and circled my c.l.i.t. I held in a moan as my arousal leaped.

Then he slid his hands down my legs again, smoothing my dress. "How far will you let me go, Karina?" he said into my ear, as the fountains danced.

Everything between my legs was throbbing in time with the music. There were a thousand sensible reasons why we shouldn't tempt fate here. But l.u.s.t overrode sense. I turned my head to say "All the way" as I reached back and tugged on his hips.

"Are you sure?" He slid his palms over my nipples, which were hard as gla.s.s. "I would love to lift you onto my c.o.c.k right now. You're plenty wet. Your dress would hide it. But nothing would hide the look of ecstasy on your face."

I wiggled back against him, trying to be as much of a tease to him as he was to me.

But the song came to an end and he stood up straight, turning me to face him and kissing me as the final chords played, then faded.

"Can we stay through one more song?" I asked, my arms around his neck.

"I'm not sure either of us has the patience for that," he said.

"James." I ground my hips against him.

"Patience," he repeated. "I know. You want to push the envelope. You want to go further, do more than we've ever done before. The more deeply in love with you I fall, the more I do, too." He spun us in a slow circle, like we were in the center of the world's grandest ballroom.

I remembered what he'd said, about discipline and self-discipline being equally important. About control. Ferrara was the one who was going too far and getting too carried away. "You have a point."

"I want nothing more than for all of this to be over with. Ferrara, the rehearsals, the contract, I want all of it behind me so I can concentrate on you. Hmm. Maybe I will build a playroom or a dungeon after all, once I'm done having you in every other room in every twisted way my mind can imagine."

"You tease."

"Always. Or at least until we get back to the room." He smirked. "Come on."

As we walked away, hand in hand, a young man in a military uniform at the railing dropped to one knee next to us and held a velvet box up toward the shocked woman beside him. Camera flashes lit up their faces as she grabbed him and kissed him. I guess that meant yes.

Fourteen.

Your Soothing Hand Rehearsal started for real the next day. Before we left the room in the morning, as we were finis.h.i.+ng our room service breakfast, James said to me, "I want to ask you something. About how you relate to the other dancers. Because you have the role of princ.i.p.al, that already sets you apart from them somewhat."

"Is that a problem?"

"I'm getting to the question. I don't think we should pretend anymore."

"Pretend what?"

"That you're just another dancer."

My heart jumped suddenly into double-time. "You mean, tell them about us?" I hadn't thought James would be so ready to acknowledge me.

He nodded. "Even if you could keep up the facade, I don't think I can. I'll be too tempted to put my arm around you, look lovingly at you, and kiss you when the opportunity arises." James was trying hard to maintain his usual cool exterior, but he couldn't keep himself from a smoldering smile. Which was his point. "I'll try, if you think it'll make things too difficult for you with the others, but I don't think I'll succeed."

"What if they turn catty like Ferrara and hiss at me?"

"On the contrary, I think they'll be highly amused to see me letting my hair down. I expect we might both have to accept some good-natured ribbing, though, Karina."

"Why, because I'm the new dancer? Or because these people are your extended family?"

"There is that word 'or' again. Can you think of a reason it wouldn't be both those things?"

"Ha-ha, no. But I'm right, aren't I? These folks are your real family."

"You may be right about that." His eyelashes looked long as he dropped his gaze to the empty plate in front of him.

"I know I am. I've never seen you more comfortable around people. They clearly have a lot of history with you, and a lot of affection for you."

"Performing together builds a certain kind of bond," he said, as if it needed explaining.

"So does sharing a secret," I pointed out. He nodded as if he agreed with that, too.

When we got to the theater I realized my a.n.a.logy of the troupe and crew being his extended family was even more apt when I met his "brothers," the musicians in his band. In contrast to James's groomed appearance, they were a disreputable-looking lot, sitting at a front table and talking cheerfully like they owned the place.

James would be splitting his time between rehearsing with us and rehearsing with them. They were still writing some of the music, though from the signs of jet lag on their faces, it would be another day or two before they were up to the task. For the next several days, as Alicia taught us the steps, it was mostly to her counting out the beats, anyway. I worked a lot with Ben and Pascual, who each learned all of James's parts as well as an ensemble role. When I was up close with them, of course, I could tell they weren't James, but they were really excellent mimics. During one lunch break, Pascual entertained the group by imitating Roland, only to be one-upped by Ben, who did an impression of Annika. I literally laughed so hard I rolled on the floor. (It helped that I was already sitting on the stage at the time.) We settled into a comfortable routine of rehearsal. There was no sign of Ferrara or Phil for more than a week, and I was beginning to think maybe we weren't going to hear from them again. James often had dinner delivered to his suite in the evenings, and invited various people to join him on different nights. That night it was Alicia and Ramon, and the four of us shared a bottle of wine and talked.

At one point James excused himself to take a phone call, so I asked Alicia, "How long have you been working with James?"

She glanced around instinctively, then relaxed as she realized all three of us were in that exclusive club that could call him by name.

"Almost ten years." She counted backward on her fingers. "Yeah. Ten years. Time flies when you're having fun!"

"Did he always do such elaborate stage shows?"

"Oh, not always thematic operas like this one, but he usually had a dance component to his live performances. He was much more raw in the beginning."

I had no idea what he had been like ten years before, though Becky kept telling me to watch the old videos. "Raw?"

"Well, you know how he is. He's physically expressive when he wants to be, but he was more or less untrained as a dancer. Self-taught. But Sabine whipped him into shape quickly."

"Did she?"

"Oh yes. Polished off all the rough edges, the asymmetries. I'd say it took two years of fairly diligent work to really give him the chops he has now, though." Alicia took a sip of her wine. "You look fascinated."

"I am fascinated! Not every rock star has legit moves."

"Not every rock star works as hard as he does."

Ramon lifted his winegla.s.s. "Amen to that. Now, seriously, how does a workaholic like that retire?" He looked at me for an answer.

I shrugged. "I think he'll find other things to do. He said the music industry is too depressing. Too many crooks and liars."

"He's right about that," Alicia said with a sigh. "I keep hoping he'll go more seriously into conceptual dance."

Ramon snorted into his winegla.s.s. "He keeps hoping you'll go more seriously into conceptual dance. You could be the next Moses Pendleton, Alicia. You know he'll bankroll it if you say the word."