Fierce Dancer (Sierra Pride Book 5) (2 page)

“You trust him?” Emma asked. Not waiting for an answer, she said, “Of course you do. Then yeah, it’s fine.”

“He’s a bit of a pill, but he’s dependable.”

Not a glowing recommendation, but Emma couldn’t afford to be picky.

After thanking Nathaniel for the ride, Emma walked toward her building. Maybe she should put another ad in the paper for a roommate. There hadn’t been much interest after her last one, although she had a voicemail waiting on her phone from an unfamiliar number.

The complex was nice—nicer than her last place. She’d moved after the Dan break-up; she didn’t want him to know where she lived. The problem was, now she could barely afford her rent. She needed either a better job, or a roommate.

All she was good for was stripping at this point, so it would have to be a roommate.

A man stepped out of the shadows, and she squeaked. Fumbling for her pepper spray, she held it in front of her. If it was Dan, she’d give him a good dose.

“Emma?” His voice didn’t sound like Dan’s—it was darker and held an edge of danger, a sexy kind of danger.

As he got closer, she saw white-blond hair with purposeful dark roots, gelled in a way that reminded her of Spike from
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
. Hot. And he was most certainly not Dan, with those gorgeous cheekbones and piercing blue eyes.

“Shit,” she said, gasping. “I thought you were someone else.”

Nathaniel’s friend, it had to be. Maybe this guy would work out. He didn’t look crazy.

He stopped as if afraid of spooking her. “Who did you think I was? Are you in danger?”

Great, she was advertising her baggage already. She’d never get a good roommate like this. “Nope, nothing you have to worry about. An ex-boyfriend came by work today, so I’m a little jittery is all.”

The thing was, now that he’d come out of the shadows, she didn’t feel jittery at all. Her heartbeat was faster than normal, but that was from the kind look in his blue eyes, and the way his leather jacket stretched like a second skin over those broad shoulders.

He turned to the side, as if taking in the scent of the air around them. “You are Emma, right?”

If this guy was going to be her roommate, she didn’t know how she’d keep her hands to herself. Her thoughts raced. What had Nathaniel been thinking? And oh god,
thank you
Nathaniel. And
please don’t be gay, please don’t be gay
.

Not only would she have to watch her hands around this guy, but she’d have to get over his beauty fast if she didn’t want to turn into a total fool every time she saw him in the living room.

She realized he was staring at her. She mentally rewound the conversation, feeling stupid. “Yeah. Emma. I’m Emma.”

He gave her a predatory smile. Hallelujah. He was most definitely
not
gay.

“I was hoping we could talk,” he said.

“Of course. I didn’t have a chance to clean up much, but come on in.”

three

For someone as skittish as she seemed to be, Quentin thought it was weird she’d be inviting him up. “Do you often let strangers into your apartment at night?” he asked.

“God, no,” she said. “But I was expecting you. What’s your name?”

Expecting him without knowing his name? Who was this woman?

She was still waiting for Quentin to introduce himself. The name Craig was on the tip of his tongue, but he looked at this woman with her slender limbs, straight red hair, and eyes so green they looked like a pine forest, and thoughts of lying about Craig-Kyle-Chris-Cory died away. “I’m Quentin,” he said. “Quentin Armstrong.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Quentin.” She shook his hand, her touch soft and hesitant. Maybe she wasn’t as self-assured as she looked. “Come on in.”

He followed her into an orderly but sparsely-decorated apartment. He admired the prints on the walls, each one monochromatic except for a faint splash of color in one corner or another.

“So, you want to see the place?” she asked.

He wanted to talk about Hera, but maybe this was a nerves thing for Emma. “Sure.”

“Great,” she said, her voice chirpy. “So this is the living room, obviously. Over there is the kitchen. Each bedroom has its own bathroom, which, you gotta admit, is a huge perk. They’re back this way.”

One door was open, and he glanced in.

“That’s my room,” she said.

“I can’t look? I thought you were giving me the tour.”

She was staring at him, watching his mouth. Holy shit, she was attracted to him. Well, this was a game he was comfortable with. He stared down at her plump lips, imagining what it would be like to take the bottom one between his teeth and nip it gently.

She stared back at him, and when he glanced down, he could see her nipples taut through her purple t-shirt. Her breasts looked small. Perfect. What color was her bra? He hoped it was lacy.

“Can I see your room?” he asked.

Her hands fluttered at her sides. “Oh, um, sure.”

He followed her to where she paused in the doorway. He could smell her arousal, and damn she smelled better than any woman he’d ever met, by far. It wasn’t perfume or laundry detergent—it was something so
her
he would never be able to adequately describe it. His cock was instantly straining against his zipper. He inhaled again. She smelled like rain in the desert, and like the vanilla and butterscotch scent of a Ponderosa Pine.

It was impossible to resist her, with the scent of her arousal invading his senses and the way she kept looking at him, like he was a present to be unwrapped. This was insane—he’d met her only minutes before. Still, he bent down and pressed a kiss against her lips.

She gasped, opening her mouth to him, and he dipped his tongue in, tasting her.

Whatever he’d done with women before—and he’d done a
lot
with women before—it was nothing like what he was doing now. Everything that came before this felt like it had happened long ago, and everything that came before this seemed to have brought him to this one, singular place—holding Emma. Being held by Emma.

Gathering her closer in his arms, he deepened the kiss. His hands were already sliding beneath her shirt. “I want to see you and feel you,” he murmured.

She stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. “Aren’t you worried you’re misreading the situation?”

He inhaled sharply. She smelled so fucking good. “Not really. But…am I?”

She smiled and extricated herself from his embrace. “Maybe we should get something cool to drink.”

Women rarely pulled away. Shit. He’d have to up his game. But although she hadn’t said
hell yes, let’s do this
, she also hadn’t said
see ya
, either. Quentin had a chance at least.

He followed her taut ass back to the living room and waited while she went into the kitchen.

“I have beer and…beer,” she called.

“First option,” he said with a grin. “Definitely.”

She strutted back into the living room with two beers. Her brow furrowed while she pushed aside some magazines on the coffee table until she found a bottle opener.

“Thanks,” he said after she handed him his beer.

She curled up in one corner of the couch, so he took the other corner.

“So what brings you to Reno?” she asked.

“Work,” he said. “You?”

“Same. What do you do?”

“I drive people around. Sometimes I find people.” He grinned. He’d found her, all right. He wasn’t misreading shit—she wanted him just as bad as he wanted her. The waitress in the diner, the one he’d been thinking about earlier that day—he couldn’t even remember her face, much less her body. No other woman compared to this sexy redhead, and he could tell Emma had a sweet side, too. Her smile was outwardly confident, but there was a shyness and a kindness there, just beneath the surface.

She stretched out on the long couch, and her bronze-painted toenails were only six inches from his thigh. He took one of her feet in his hand and looked at her to see what she would do.

“You have a foot fetish?” she asked, but she didn’t pull away.

“Nope. Just want to touch you. Is that okay?”

She took a sip of her beer, so he did the same. She seemed to make a decision, and her green eyes sparkled with mischief. “Yeah, that’s okay. But you should be fair, and touch yourself, too.”

His cock hardened, and he gave her a reproachful look. “You’re a bit naughty, aren’t you?”

“Maybe a little.” She swigged more of her beer. “I need another one. You?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

When she returned from the kitchen, she opened her beer on the coffee table, but the foam started erupting out the top.

“Shit,” she said, looking around in panic.

Quentin looked for a towel or something to mop up the foam that was spilling over the side of the bottle, but he couldn’t find anything. Laughing, Emma leaned down and took the bottle in her mouth, like she was giving it head.

He grinned, and she gave him a sexy look.

“Yeah, you
are
naughty,” he said.

When she sat back down on the couch, she was much closer to him than before. He leaned over and tilted her chin toward him with a finger. He stared into her green eyes, and he realized, with a pang, that he only wanted to look at her like this, at Emma. He didn’t need quick fucks with random women, he didn’t need one-night stands. He needed this woman, here, and from the way her lips parted slightly and her eyes closed halfway, he could tell she wanted him, too.

“Am I misreading the situation now?” he asked.

Giggling, she pulled back and yanked her shirt over her head.

Her tits were encased in a lacy, peach bra. He traced the scalloped edge along the top with one finger, and she shivered.

“I’m going to make love to you,” he said. “And I might fuck you after. How do you feel about that?”

In answer, she kissed him again, hard, before pulling back and saying, “I feel great about that.”

“Bedroom?” he asked.

Her voice was a breathy whisper. “Yeah.”

They stopped in her bedroom doorway. He pressed her against the frame, lifting her hands above her head and capturing them. Bending slightly, he licked along the edge of her bra, dipping his tongue between the fabric and her skin, tasting her. Sweet, salty.

She moaned, writhing against him, pushing herself up against his cock. The friction intensified and he was going mad, unable to think clearly, only knowing he needed to get as close to her as possible.

After pulling off her jeans, he dipped a hand into her panties. Fuck, they even matched her bra. He pulled back to look at her, holding fast to her arms above her head. Her eyes were half-closed, her pale skin pink with desire.

She broke free of his hold, and he was too surprised to force her back into position. She pushed his leather jacket from his shoulders and took off his shirt. Then she yanked his pants down, flashing him a wicked smile when she saw he was going commando. He hardly bothered with underwear since it was always getting lost when he shifted.

He allowed her to push him onto the bed. It smelled divine, just like her.

“Usually I’m on top,” he said.

“Not with me, baby.”

Still in her bra and underwear, she climbed on top of him and rocked against his erection. He groaned, grabbing at her breasts, tweaking her nipples through the lace. With one quick move, she was leaning to the drawer on her nightstand. She came back with a condom, which she stretched over his cock.

“Are you ready?” he asked. “Because I can give you head—”

“Shh.” She pulled her panties to the side and then she inched over his cock, encasing him. Her eyes fluttered shut.

He touched her cheek, the pale blush of her skin, as she moved over him with a grace that surprised him. “Oh, right, you’re a dancer,” he said. “I can tell.”

Opening her eyes, she gave him a flirtatious grin. “Maybe sometime I’ll dance for you.”

He’d never been into ballet, but Emma just might convert him.

She was dancing for him now, even if she didn’t see it that way. She moved in rhythm to a song that nobody could hear except the two of them.

Her breaths were getting faster, and she tucked a hand against her mound, her fingers moving.

Finally, he understood. Whatever her experiences before, she was used to guys not taking care of her, guys who took their own pleasure and didn’t reciprocate.

“You don’t trust me,” he said. “Let me.”

She stopped moving and stared at him doubtfully.

“If it doesn’t work, I’ll get you off after, I promise.” With that, he sat up and pulled her against him, onto his lap. Her legs were still wrapped around him, those long dancer’s legs, and her tits were so close to his mouth, in that intoxicating lace, that he had to take a few deep breaths so he wouldn’t blow everything right there.

Scooting forward on the bed, he kept her in his lap and pushed deeper inside, all the way in so that the base of his cock rubbed against her. She threw her head back and ground against him.

“Is that going to work?” he asked, giving a couple of quick, experimental thrusts. “Talk to me.”

“It’s…it’s perfect,” she gasped.

He took her to the edge that way, waiting until she started to tense up, and then slowing down again. The third time he did this, she nearly sobbed against him. “Please!”

He captured her mouth with his, twining tongues, tasting her pleasure and desperation. This time when she tensed up, he thrust harder and faster. “Please,” she gasped, “please.”

Everything built inside him. Making sure he was still pushing against her clit as he thrust into her, he went faster. Suddenly, she pulsed around him, crying out. Her fingers dug into his shoulders and he kissed her harder while he pumped. The way she squeezed him pulled everything out and he groaned her name as he emptied.

The two collapsed, with her on top of him, still holding him inside her.

He had nothing to say. It had been singularly the most meaningful and pleasurable experience of his entire life. If she let him stay another half hour or so, he was going to try to do it again.

*

He woke next to Emma when it was still dark. She was curled against him, her lips swollen with his kisses, her hair mussed from the various positions they’d tried over the past few hours.