Dance, Sugarplum

23. Mikhail

CHAPTER 23

MIKHAIL

ACT 2

We climb into the car, and for once, I’m shaking with rage instead of fear. I can’t remember the last time I was in a car and didn’t hold my breath as we pulled away, yet somehow, this isn’t better.

I should have said more. I should have done more. Carter doesn’t deserve to breathe after everything. But what was I going to do? It’s not like I could beat him to death in the theater like I would have liked. I’d wind up in jail and banned from hosting any show there. I’ve never been particularly violent. I boxed and wrestled in school, but I didn’t need blood.

Lyla is changing everything about me, taking me from a refined upper-crust gentleman and turning me into an animal who will fuck and fight in the dirt for what’s mine. My knuckles scream from how tightly I’m clenching my fists, as does my jaw. The bones and muscles are destroyed, yet I still can’t eliminate my innate reaction to stress, which is clenching those muscles.

“Fucking goddammit,” I seethe.

The words are like shards of glass splitting my jaw. Tonight, I’m too angry to hold it all in. Sometimes a man just needs to say what he feels, and maybe I’m tired of keeping myself protected, watching my words, and staying silent. I never had to do any of that before the accident. Yes, I spent my life rich and spoiled and handsome enough to get whatever else I wanted that money couldn’t buy, but I’ve had to learn how to be an entirely different man since then.

Why the fuck is Carter Livingston enough to shake any shreds of my confidence? He shouldn’t be, but he is. My mind plays different scenarios, pushing me to do something before he has time to spill more lies.

A soft hand reaches out and touches my jaw, and my eyes fall closed.

“Stop it. You’re hurting yourself.”

My body is on the edge. Even her touch hurts, but I need it too. Her hands trace my jawline, and her perfume floats in the air. She coaxes me to relax, and much to my surprise, my body responds, loosening the worst of the tension.

“What can I do?” she asks.

Images of having Carter dead come to mind, but that’s not something Lyla can deliver. I wonder if this is how she feels, too. I wonder if she hates him as much as I do or if a part of her still loves him and is bleeding for his lies.

“Tell me he’s nothing,” I challenge.

“You know he’s nothing. I hate him. I l?—”

I can’t pretend I’m not alarmed by whatever she was about to say, but that’s not what I want to hear. That’s not what’s tearing me up right now. Lyla turns to me, her eyes set on mine, her hand over my cheek.

“He isn’t half the artist you are. He doesn’t have your vision. Carter Livingston is nothing.” Her fingers move down my neck to my chest. Her words finally release me from this insecurity tearing me apart. “You’re so angry.”

I just nod.

“I’ve never had someone so angry on my behalf before,” she informs me, clearly not knowing this is far from the first time I’ve been like this as a direct result of her.

Doesn’t she know I’d be the living dead if it weren’t for her? Doesn’t she understand I’m hollowed and beyond repair. All of my feelings are because of her.

Her fingers keep moving down to the crotch of my pants, where she finds I’m already hard. Even in anger, I can’t stop myself from wanting Lyla. Her pretty face furrows in confusion—she just doesn’t understand how badly I want her. She brings me to the edge and then straight over it. Wanting this woman is the most dangerous thing I’ve ever done because not having her would truly kill me. She shreds everything I thought I knew about myself.

“Being near you makes me fucking crazy.” That’s the best way to make sense of it. It’s a simple equation: the closer I am to Lyla, the more I am a need-driven animal, and the less I am a civilized man raised in his society. She has me ready to fuck or fight at a moment's notice.

She blinks slowly, her mouth parting like this is the first time she’s ever considered such a thing, and I wonder how she could be so clueless. Everything I am is centered around her; the atoms of my being have realigned to make space for her. From the first time I saw Lyla, I knew we were meant to be together.

“You make me crazy too. I always want you when I shouldn’t. I live for your attention, Mikhail.”

Fuck , my cock pulses as she speaks. I don’t give a fuck how toxic it is. I want every breath she takes to be for me, with thoughts of me. I want to see her as crazy as she makes me. I don’t put her mind at ease and let her know my attention is always on her.

It doesn’t matter what room we are in and how many people are talking; my eyes will follow Lyla wherever she goes. I keep that information to myself because I want to keep her hungry. You work hard for the things you want most, and her working for my attention is beyond fucking delicious. It’s everything.

Her delicate fingers play with my zipper, and I only watch, not telling her what to do today. She looks down and then back up at me. He innocent look asks permission, but I keep my face devoid of expression.

Lyla bites her fat lower lip, then undoes my pants and pulls my cock into her hands. I’m expecting her to suck me off or stroke me, but she shocks me when she pulls down her sweats. The divider between us and the driver sits closed, so our audience won’t know anything is up unless we get too loud. Frankly, I want to show off how good it is to fuck her. Animals aren’t private, are they? And that’s exactly what she makes me.

She’s all warm and soft skin, where I can feel her through my open pants. Reaching behind herself, she grabs my cock and lines me up with her entrance, wasting absolutely no time in lowering onto me and fucking me to the hilt. She’s sitting in my lap, locked in place on my cock, and it couldn’t be more satisfying after that confrontation.

“Shit, you’re so good for me,” I grit, grabbing twin fistfuls of her ass cheeks as she starts to bounce up and down on me. Blond hair spills over her back, and I wrap it around my hand several times as she moves.

She’s so tight, so hot, and I’m so raw in my anger I could come right away, but I hold it in. If my pretty little slut wants to fuck, I need to let her. She starts to moan as she moves, a bit too loud if she doesn’t want the driver to hear. My hand clamps over her mouth, stifling the worst of the noise. I want to be patient and let her keep fucking me at her own pace, but I shift up, thrusting into her, and the sound she makes vibrates against my palm. Oh, my pretty ballerina likes that.

She’s still bouncing against me, but after every second or third bounce, I thrust back, hitting her G-spot and stretching her a little too deeply. I reach around, cupping her perfect little tits in my hands, and I can’t help but notice they’re fuller now that she’s healthier. Taking her nipple between two of my fingers, I work her into a frenzy, drawing her closer to an orgasm with the sensitive nipples that helped me get so far in fucking her in her sleep.

“Mikhail, tell me you’re with me. You’re not thinking of anything but this.”

My perfect ballerina whore is all I ever think about. I dream about her pussy and feel the phantom grip of her walls around me when she’s not near. She has me completely. How is she the only one who can’t see it?

“Just you,” I say, and her cunt clenches. This time, I don’t bother to muffle her shout, letting her come long and loud for our driver and anyone on the street to hear.

I follow her by a half beat, filling her tight little pussy up with my cum in thick pleasurable spurts. We sit together unmoving for a minute. My cock softens, filling her with cum, and then hardens again.

She giggles and starts to fuck me more, but we’re nearly back to the apartment. I stop her hips and hold up my finger, letting her know I’ll be more than happy to give her more when I take her inside. I pull her off my cock and slide her little panties back into place, liking how cum-soaked they’re going to be.

We ride the elevator to the penthouse. Lyla rests her head on my shoulder, letting out a satisfied sigh. I’m glad my cock was enough for her to forget what happened back in the theater, but I can’t say I’ve forgotten my concerns.

The season is off to a strong start, but that only means there’s more to lose. I never considered Carter dangerous, but something was very threatening about how he addressed Lyla, and I don’t like it. I’ll have to keep a close eye on him and everyone in the theater.