And, oh, how I wish I could place my palm over her heart and feel how hard it’s beating.
Pinning her with my stare, I allow myself one small drag of my thumb over her bottom lip, and her eyes track my movements.
When I finally speak, my voice is close to a whisper. “What if I asked you to audition before telling you my conditions? Would you still agree?” I let the silence convey the significance of the moment before speaking again. “How much do you crave your freedom, Veil Vulturine?”
I drink up the parade of unspoken words flashing across her irises. It’s as if she’s trying to calculate all the ways this could possibly go wrong for her.
Eventually, she gives me the smallest of nods and stands up, a hard resolve now written clearly across her delectable face. “I’ll go change.”
Before Veil returns,I turn on the sound system and deliberate on what music I want to play for my doll’s little show.
As if this audition means a godsdamned thing.
I chuckle under my breath, knowing that whateverconditionsI decide, it will just be another ruse for me to bind her fate to mine. One more way toensnareher so implicitly that she will never find her way out.
I decide on a hauntingly melodic tempo—something to make her body twist and turn, slowly, sensually. As I settle back into the stands, Veil reappears, carefully stepping up onstage. She eyes me warily, and I flash her one of my most beatific smiles, indicating with a small wave of the hand for her to begin.
When the spotlight finally bathes her body with light, I drink her in as desperately as an alcoholic sipping on the finest of champagnes.
What a divine creature she is.
She’s pulled her brown hair into a tight bun atop her head, small flyaway curls framing her ears. The sleeves of the leotard hug her arms and torso like a second skin, the slope of her breasts just as mouth-watering as her peaked nipples.
Her tattooed legs are decadently exposed, the leotard cutting into the meat of her ass. I silently preen, knowing I’m the reason why she now has more of her for me to grab and squeeze. My gaze travels down her thighs, and I imagine my tongue laving down the length of them, all the way down to her dainty little toes—which I painted myself.
Vulnerability flashes across her face while I finish up my slow and unabashed perusal of her body. She tries to conceal it, but I catch it before it disappears. And something about it makes my mouth water.
“What do you want to see from me?” she asks, her voice rising just above the music.
I tilt my head at her question, a sick thrill bubbling up my chest. “Your flexibility.” I purposefully add a pregnant pause tomy answer as she squirms under my calculated attention. “Your grace. Impress me.”
She breaks eye contact and looks away. I can feel her nerves, even from here; they strum in the air like a plucked cord. A silent melody, regaling me of tales of Veil Vulturine and my effect on her.
It’s addictive.
Closing her eyes, she seems to center herself, her shoulders straightening, body lengthening, her arms moving away from her body while placing her hands into a delicate repose.
Then she begins.
And nothing about her performing is amusing any longer.
I swallow hard. Mesmerized. Her dancing body is a masterpiece, a work of art in a constant flow of movements. My body responds immediately, and I’m engulfed with erotic pleasure so potent that I choke on it.
It’s as if, suddenly,I’mthe one who has been ensnared.
My balls tighten with insatiable greed, and my quickly hardening cock pushes achingly against my jeans. My eyes never leave her. Glued to my seat, I track her intoxicating journey across the stage.
She curves her back, one foot pointed behind her while her arms reach far up into the air. She unfurls her body with such unimaginable grace that I can’t hold myself back any longer.
I spring up to my feet.
“Hold that pose,” I bark.
Veil’s body reacts to my voice but stays poised, her body stretched in the most ravenous curves, her extended arms making her small breasts jut outward, her peaked nipples pressing against the thin material.
I swallow down a groan, trying to keep my expression impassive, slowly circling around her, like a ruthless coach evaluating her technique.
She keeps her chin high, the only movement coming from her eyes, which are tracking me wherever I go.
