Firebird (12 page)

Crap
. She was headed for a new table and realized too late the faces she knew. Blake, Kristen, Elsa, Ed. There was no time to turn, to make her way back through the crowded press of people that had already closed behind her. And the table was in her section, so she had to go wait on them. She stalked up to the group of dancers with a frown. Kristen smirked and narrowed her eyes. Elsa ignored her, and Ed seemed to not even realize who she was.

“Prosper! What are you doing here?” yelled Blake.

“I told you yesterday I was working here.”

He shrugged and gestured over his shoulder. “I saw Jackson back there.”

“What?”

“He’s here. I saw him when we came in.”

She resisted the urge to look around, to see if Jackson was really there. He would have told her if he was coming. Wouldn’t he? The dancers placed their orders, and Prosper somehow restrained herself from rolling her eyes at Kristen’s tone. She hated that she was working while they were able to relax and have fun. Every moment she fought the impulse to quit, to sling her tray across the club and take off Kristen’s head with it, storm out and curse them all to hell. And Blake must be mistaken. Jackson couldn’t be here, or she would know. If he was anywhere in her vicinity, she would know at once, feel it in every bone and muscle.

She stole a look around the room anyway. In the darkness, the pounding mass of bodies, it was impossible to tell if one very tall and very sexy blond-haired, blue-eyed choreographer was watching her from some alcove across the bar. If he was here, was it to see her? Or might he have come to find someone else to take home? She was with him just a couple of nights a week by agreement. She had no idea what he did the other five nights and no right to complain if there were five other girls, one for each day. What did she really know about him? Nothing. That he was talented, demanding, handsome, sexy. The kind of man who probably didn’t need to be alone if he didn’t want to be.

She headed back to the bar. She actually hoped he wasn’t there. She didn’t want him to see her like this, tripping across a crowded bar, getting smoke blown in her face, getting felt up, spilling untold amounts of beer on her clothes, on her dress. So much for the graceful Firebird.

She went up on her toes and bent over to yell the order to the bartender—
all those piercings
!—and slapped at the uninvited hand that groped up her dress. “Do you mind?” she yelled at the offender, a middle-aged businessman with sweat rings on his shirt.
Ugh
. What was she doing here, getting felt up by gross men while she waited for drinks to take to a table of people she hated?

When her shift was finally up, it was almost three. She wanted to climb into bed. She blew money on a cab because the night before someone had trailed her home at a distance and scared her half to death. At her building she trudged up the three flights of stairs, motivated by thoughts of a hot, cleansing shower, only to find the hot water was gone. She showered anyway, shivering, needing to wash off the smoke and alcohol. The noise of the water almost, but not quite, drowned out the loud sex taking place next door.

By the time the arguing started in the apartment on the other side, Prosper was desperate for sleep. She pulled her pillow over her head and squeezed her eyes shut.

* * *

Jackson tossed in bed, unable to stop thinking about Prosper. He hated that she worked at Halo, and he hated that he stalked her there like some kind of socially maladjusted idiot. He’d skulked at a table in the far corner of the dark nightclub as soon as he knew for sure that Prosper wasn’t working in that area. He’d nursed a couple of beers and fended off a parade of rather persistent women. All he really accomplished was a dull buzz and a fit of guilt that he wasn’t dragging her out of there and insisting she quit.

But he had no right to do that, not unless he was going to find her another place to work, another source of income. Holy fuck, why was New York so expensive? Why were dancers not paid enough to find a place to live?

You have a place she could live.

Fucking conscience. But it wasn’t fair to provide her a place to live and then throw her back on the streets in a few weeks, back where she’d started.

But in the meantime, she could be saving rent for later.

He flipped over with an angry grunt. Why did it all bother him so much? Prosper held her own against the rude patrons, but it was hard for him not to get involved. Jackson wanted to rip their arms off and make them apologize to her from under his boot on the floor. But no, he didn’t do that. He fled. He stormed out of the bar before he made a scene he would regret. Before he made such a scene that Prosper would notice him there. He didn’t want her to know he followed her around. He didn’t want her to know he had followed her home last night to be sure she arrived safely. He didn’t want her to know he thought about her almost all the time.

* * *

Monday morning he waited with Blake for Prosper. Late again. Hiding out somewhere, since she no longer fit in anywhere. His fault.

“I saw you at Halo,” said Blake when the silence became untenable. “At least I thought I did.”

“Halo?” Shit. All his skulking around was for nothing if Blake ratted him out to Prosper. He decided to play it off. “I might have dropped in. I’ve been checking out some of the local bars.”

He could tell Blake wasn’t convinced by his indifferent act. “Prosper works there, you know.”

“Does she? I don’t much care as long as she’s where I need her to be when I need her. Speaking of which”—Jackson crossed to the door to look down the hall—“was she in class?”

“Yeah. I saw Kristen talking to her afterward.”

Jackson’s jaw tightened. He’d seen Kristen “talk” to her more than once. He didn’t want to get involved. Petty dancer feuds weren’t his business, but the whole situation pissed him off. “Why don’t you call off your friends?”

Blake laughed. “As if I have the power to do that.”

“You’re with her, aren’t you? Kristen?”

“Sometimes. But there’s nothing I can do about what she does. The way she is. And Prosper took the role Kristen wanted.”

“She didn’t take it. I gave it to her. Anyway, Kristen couldn’t do the role, not the way I want it. Why don’t you tell her that?”

“Why don’t you tell her?”

The men faced off just as Prosper arrived, trying overly hard to be breezy and casual. “Sorry I’m late.”

He didn’t have to look in her eyes to know she was upset. He knew her well enough by now. He shot Blake a meaningful glare, which Blake ignored. Suddenly Jackson didn’t want Blake to touch her at all. He ran Prosper through the opening combination himself instead, refining and perfecting steps with her while Blake leaned against the wall with a scowl. Jackson was always spellbound when he partnered her. Her body was so strong. She was fully invested in the steps, and her lines were striking, perfect. She demonstrated amazing control.

So unlike the Prosper who came to him at night.
Tonight
. It was Wednesday. She would come to him tonight. He looked forward to her visits with such intensity; he lived in fear that she would cancel, that she might not to show up. He stopped, looked in her eyes as she balanced through a slow rond de jambe.

Yes, she would come.

He gestured Blake over and retreated behind the piano. He directed the pair from there, through the complicated opening
pas de deux
. The teasing, the flirting, the passion. The capture, and then the release.

Chapter Ten

Before she even arrived at Jackson’s house, Prosper was beside herself with excitement. She rang the bell and waited with her legs pressed together and her arms crossed over her chest. It was freezing. He’d offered to come to her place, but Prosper had no desire to spend any more time there than she had to.

She heard the lock turn, and there he was. Scary blue eyes, weed-whacker hair, and that smile… Jackson pulled her in the door and crushed her to his chest. She felt all the tension and anxiety of the day fade away. His rough lips covered hers. His mouth captured her moans, and sparks shot to her breasts and down into her pelvis. He reached under her dress, felt the stockings. He snapped a garter against the back of her thigh, which made her jump; then he dipped his fingers between her legs. She held on to his shoulders, made a noise as he probed her so deeply she had to rise up on her toes. Same intimate greeting every time. She lived for it.

He drew away, and his hands went to his belt. “Did you touch yourself since I saw you last?”

“No, Sir.” She shrank back as he pulled it off and clutched her hands together. “I wanted to…but I—I didn’t.”

He scrutinized her as if gauging her truthfulness. Then he doubled the belt over and pointed to a spot on the floor.

“Kneel. Bend over. Forehead on the floor.”

Her mouth fell open. She’d told the truth, and he was going to punish her anyway. “Please, I didn’t—” At a sharp crack of the belt on the floor, she scooted forward. She knelt and braced herself as he pulled up her skirt. It was so unfair!

She made fists next to her face when the first blow fell. She was terrified that soon she’d have to use them to shield herself, to push herself up from the floor and run away. Two, three, four, each harder than the last. She didn’t know what was more painful, the bite of the leather on her flesh or the fact that she was being punished for no reason at all. She supposed there was a reason—he wanted her to take it. But each new blow had her doubting her ability to please him, doubting her ability to take the pain. His belt fell hard against her ass, impact that grew and bloomed into a raw, burning sensation. She whined against the floor, taking deep breaths to steady herself. The strokes fell on top of one another, building to an impossible level of stinging torment. She shifted away from him, collapsing on her side, automatic self-preservation. His displeased grunt barely registered through the panic in her brain, the fire in her ass cheeks. He tapped her hip with the belt.

“Up.”

His voice was low and stern, a provocative rumble that made her shudder. She righted herself, put her ass back in the air, and braced for more pain. He was trying to hurt her, and that thought both aroused and scared her. Five, six, seven, eight! She tensed between blows, waiting for the next one in dread. She wanted to pull away each time, shrink away from the cruel torment, but she didn’t want to fail him. How many would he give her? Her ass throbbed, and she cried out into the carpet at each fresh explosion of pain. When she was a tense, quivering mess and was sure she couldn’t endure one more, she heard the belt drop on the floor.

He knelt beside her and ran his hand up her back.

“Okay,” he said in that voice that really did make everything seem okay, even when everything really wasn’t. His rough, warm hand caressed her cheek and then clamped over her mouth. He knelt behind her and leaned over her back, enveloping contact that calmed and excited her at the same time. He left her a moment to push his pants off and put on a condom. Her breath rasped heavy and frantic, like an animal pursued. Maybe that’s what she was.

He put his hand back over her mouth as he returned and drove inside. She reached back for him, needing the contact. Needing to know he wouldn’t let her go.

“I’ve got you,” he said against her ear, his soothing voice a bizarre contrast to his violent thrusts. “Keep your hands right there on the floor.” He fucked her roughly, and his firm hand over her mouth aroused her as much as the cock between her legs. She felt forced and possessed in a primal way. With each thrust he contacted her sore ass, her aching cheeks. She began to pant. The hot pleasure at her core spread, growing and unfolding. She wanted to touch herself. She needed release.

“Do you want to come, Prosper?”

She moaned behind his hand. How could she possibly form words? She tried to focus, she tried to think, but her entire world was the throb and jolt of his cock filling her. Yes, she wanted to come,
yes
! She nodded, arching her back.

He reached beneath her and pinched her clit, then massaged it with his fingers. She shivered under him, overwhelmed by the sensation of tingly pressure in her pussy that spread through her entire pelvis. His rough fingers conjured hot pleasure so it seemed to slide all around her body, making her wiggle and arch for more. He slapped her sensitive nub once, twice, then stroked it with a dexterity that made the whine in her throat rise to a cry and made her hips buck wildly.

“Yes, I know,” he said. “I know it feels good.” The pounding never stopped. It drove her; it held her. It pummeled her into a frighteningly submissive space. At the same time his fingertips played over her clit, made her writhe and squirm and, finally, cry out in an attenuated wail against his palm.

“Come for me, girl. I want to feel it.”

The intensity reached a peak she could hardly bear, and she let go. Everything swirled together in one great jumble of hectic pleasure: his thick cock, the slap of his hips against her sore ass, the immovability of his hand over her mouth, the tortured cry she released behind its grasp. The force he’d created inside her, all over her, broke wide in a shimmering orgasm that possessed every part of her: lips, breasts, nipples, knees, even her toes, which curled with the intensity of the release. She felt a warm, shuddering ebb of tension that left her limp and satiated.

Then he gathered her close as his hand left her mouth and twisted in her hair. He thrust in her right to the hilt, clutching her so tightly he squeezed the air right out of her. She gasped and gave her body up to his power, to his hard, animalistic fucking, to the scratch of his chest hair on her back, the taut muscles of his abdomen pressing her down. His cock was the fulcrum that held her and defined her, and she wanted nothing more at that moment than to be defined by him. She felt owned, possessed, each shallow breath drawn only as far into her lungs as he allowed. When he finally grew still, when his shudders subsided, only then did his arm loosen enough to let her take a deep breath. His fist in her hair unfurled, his fingers weaving themselves through her locks down to her nape. He squeezed the back of her neck, and she sighed from the pleasure of it.