“Touch my balls,” he groaned, and she did. Experimenting with holding them, still sticky and warm from her own juices as she’d been on top of him. To judge her progress, she listened to his breathing and the sounds he was making. “Yes, that’s nice.” He groaned when she ran the edge of her nails across the skin of his sac ever so gently.

She wanted to know more. Wanted to know what pleased him. Wanted to know everything, and at the same time felt like such a novice for not knowing everything already.

“Touch yourself for me. Touch your clit. Make yourself come while I’m inside you.”

She burned, turned on and embarrassed all at once. It wasn’t like she’d never made herself come. Just never for another person, not while they were watching!

“It’s okay if you don’t want to.”

She’d be an idiot not to want to. She was naked, bent over him, f**king him for goodness’ sake! It wasn’t as if it would be inappropriate for the situation or anything.

Watching herself, she dipped her middle finger to slide around where they were joined, and dragged that lube up to her clit. They both hissed at the contact. Ripples of pleasure rolled through her body and she fell into that, shoving her embarrassment away.

“So hot. There’s nothing hotter in the world than watching you, with your fingers working your clit, your cunt sucking my c**k inside, your tits jiggling just so. Damn, you’re sexy.”

Her gaze let go of her hand and moved to meet his eyes in the mirror. They remained that way, even as orgasm stole over her and took him just moments later. Something passed between them, addictive and sweet, sticky and heady, and like an addict, she wanted more.

“I like your hair down,” he said, handing her a cup of coffee.

“Thanks. It gets in the way, so I usually have it up. I should just cut it, but old habits die hard.” She smiled, settling into the chair across from his.

“Don’t. It’s beautiful. What do you mean about old habits?”

“Dancing. It’s easier to keep out of your face if it’s long enough to be up. I’ve had long hair for as long as I can remember. For a while it was shoulder-length.” Her gaze went hooded, wary, and he wondered what that was about. “This is the longest it’s been in years though. Rennie likes to brush it at night.” She shrugged. “It’s sweet mom/daughter time.”

“So how long have you been dancing then?” He sipped his coffee and watched the precise way she held her mug, drank, placed the cup down and ran the pad of her finger over the handle before letting go.

“My mother put me in this artsy type preschool program and I took to ballet right away. I was three.”

“Artsy family. Your parents and you. Your brother too?”

She took a deep breath. “He sang. Opera. Had a voice—my god, his voice was something else. My parents were convinced he would be a superstar one day.”

“What happened?”

She paused, licking her lips. “He could have been a superstar. He was that amazing. So much talent. He had so much inside. You’d cry to hear him sing because his emotion rang so clearly, or laugh—whatever, he was evocative because he felt everything so much. Which was his problem as well as his gift. He liked drugs. He liked women. He liked fast cars and living on the edge. Being with him was exhausting sometimes. He just sucked everything he could from life, but it made him”—she licked her lips, taking a sip of her coffee, and he pretended not to see the tears she blinked back—“it made him unstable. He had problems and he attracted other people with problems. Went to rehab more than once, began to ruin his voice; you can’t smoke heroin and cigarettes and not hurt yourself.” She shook her head and sat up. “He overdosed and died alone because he’d estranged himself from everyone. We didn’t know for a week. Finally, his landlord called me. I was in the middle of a storm of my own. I didn’t see it had gotten that bad. Or maybe I didn’t want to see. Coulda, shoulda, woulda.”

“I know what it’s like to see someone you love fall away from you like that. I know that helplessness.” He took her hand. “I’m sorry. How long ago was it?”

“Five years.”

“I’m sorry. When we lost Adele—that was my niece’s name— when we lost her and nearly lost Erin, Adrian and I at least had each other to rely on while we did our best to keep Erin from sinking.”

“My parents are good people. They didn’t deserve what we brought to them. They deserve peace.”

Oh man, there was a story there. “You wanna tell me about it?”

She exhaled sharply and drained her mug. “I’ve got to get going, so I’ll spare you my sob story. I’ve got a class this morning. These girls are advanced, so they keep me on my toes.”

He let it go and hoped she’d unburden herself sometime. Whatever they did in bed, he was still her friend. Or he wanted to be. He liked the widow Sorenson a great deal.

“Let me walk you out then.” He took her hand and they walked across the street. She tossed her gear into her backseat and climbed into the front seat. How oddly normal the moment was.

“See you later, Brody. Thanks for this morning. My muscles are nice and warmed up.”

“Would that every day started off this good.” He kissed her quickly and stepped back to watch her drive away.

8

Elise looked through her front windows to catch sight of a bunch of cars out in front of Brody’s place. Crap. She didn’t want to be out there with Rennie and have him think she was watching him or something suitably creepy or stalkery.