Dance With Me (With Me in Seattle #12)

Dance With Me (With Me in Seattle #12)

Kristen Proby



This book is dedicated to anyone who is healing.





Starla

“You like that?” he growls into my ear, his eyes pinned to mine in the mirror in front of us.

We’re on the bed, Levi’s back is against the headboard, and I’m braced against his hard, muscled chest. He’s spread my legs wide open, and I’m watching with rapt fascination as his hands glide over my skin, making me long in ways I haven’t in what feels like mellennia.

“Oh, yeah,” I breathe, biting my lip when he nibbles my earlobe. “I like it.”

“What about this?”

His fingers pluck my pussy lips like guitar strings, and my hips circle in an invitation for more.

Dear God, give me more!

“Mm, seems that hit a nerve.”

“About forty million nerves.” I’m breathless. My naked breasts heave as I pant, my nipples puckered from the pinching he doled out just minutes ago.

Jesus, who knew a little pain was so fucking delicious?

“Look at that,” he murmurs, and we both watch as those talented fingers dip inside me, then come out glistening in the low glow of the sidelight. “You’re wet, sweetheart.”

“Shocker.” He grins at me in the mirror and pushes two fingers back inside me. My first reaction is to close my legs, to press against his flesh, chasing the orgasm he’s held just out of my reach.

“Not yet.” He urges my legs out again and drags his wet fingers over my hard, pulsing clit. “Soon.”

Who knew the sexy cop I just met today could make me feel so uninhibited? So reckless?

So damn wanton?

He doesn’t ask permission, he just takes and takes without apology, and it’s so damn sexy. Everyone’s always so careful with me. So timid.

Don’t upset the pop star.

But he’s taking the decisions out of my hands, and rather than feeling threatened in any way, I feel free.

Sexy.

Wanted.

“Stop thinking so hard,” he growls. “Just watch.”

“If you don’t fuck me,”—I swallow hard—“I’m going to die.”

He smiles, a full-on, wide grin as if what I just said pleases him to his core, and the next thing I know, he’s moved out from behind me. He grabs my ankle and yanks me down onto my back, then covers me in one swift motion.

“You move fast for such a big man.”

“Reflexes are part of my job.” He’s braced over me on hard, muscled arms. “What do you want, Starla?”

“You.” It’s really that simple—and that scary. For the first time in roughly five years, I want a man more than I want my next breath.

“How?”

I circle my hips, grinding against his hard, long cock and grin when he clenches his jaw and swears under his breath.

“You’re a big boy. Figure it out.”

His dark eyes are hot with lust and need as he reaches over for a condom, and flips me onto my belly.

I hear the tear of the packet, and I start to raise my ass into the air, but he plants his hand on my lower back and presses me to the mattress.

“Stay.”

“You’re damn bossy.”

He straddles my thighs and presses his front to my back. Without lowering his weight onto me, he talks directly into my ear.

“If you want me to stop, speak up now.”

“Don’t stop.”

It’s not a plea, it’s a direct order, and by the feel of Levi’s grin against my ear, he approves.

He sits up and spreads my ass cheeks apart with his thumbs, but rather than sink inside me, he slides his hard cock back and forth along my wet slit, spreading the juices around until I’m back to DEFCON 5 in the arousal department.

“Levi.”

“That’s right.” He slides inside me, seating himself comfortably despite his size, thanks to how damn turned on I am. “You’re with me.”

Trust me, I haven’t forgotten.

And when he starts to truly fuck me, not holding back in the least, pushing and stretching until all I can do is fist my hands in the pillow and scream my release with abandon, I know I’ll never have another experience like this one.

He braces an arm on the headboard above me as he continues to move, until finally, with a low groan, he finds his own release.

This is most likely where the uncomfortable awkwardness will set in. Let’s face it, I met Levi today through a friend—okay, my best friend, but still—and brought him back to my hotel suite after my sold-out concert. We didn’t waste any time with small talk.

No, he jumped right to the good stuff, God bless him.

So, I won’t be surprised if he grabs his clothes, thanks me, and heads out.

But once he’s cleaned himself up, he returns to the bed, covers us both up, and pulls me to him.

He’s warm and firm, and I admit he feels damn good. No one’s held me like this in a long time. That thought doesn’t hurt the way it used to. It’s just a small ache now, and that makes me feel guilty.

I always feel guilty.

“You don’t have to stay,” I blurt, then frown.

“You want me to leave?”

“No.” I let out a gusty sigh. “Honestly, I just don’t want you to think you have to stay. I’m giving you an out.”