50. Power’s Price

CHAPTER 50

Power’s Price

WREN

The music fades, leaving only the sound of her breathing—uneven, shallow, trembling in the silence. She’s still in my arms, her chest rising and falling against mine, her lips parted as though she’s caught between words and actions.

Her skin is damp, the dress clinging to her like a second layer, and her eyes—God, those fucking eyes—are locked on me, wide and dark, full of the war still raging inside her. I could devour her right now. Every inch of her is mine, whether she’s ready to admit it or not.

I brush a strand of hair from her face, watching the way her lips tremble beneath my thumb.

“Do you feel it now, Ballerina?” My voice is quiet, measured, but thick with the tension between us. “Do you see how easily you lose yourself in me?”

She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t need to. Her gaze lowers, her breath catching, and I feel the shift, the surrender, tentative but undeniable. It’s there in the way she leans into me, her weight pressing just enough to let me know she isn’t running anymore.

“Say it.” I slide my hand to her jaw, tilting her head back so she has no choice but to look at me. “Tell me what you feel.”

“I don’t know.” Her voice is a whisper.

“Yes, you do.” My thumb sweeps over her bottom lip. “Say it.”

Her eyes close for a moment, her chest heaving. When she speaks, it’s soft, hesitant, but it’s there. “I feel … you . Everywhere.”

The words release something inside me, a thread I didn’t know was taut until it snapped. I capture her mouth with mine, leaving no room for her to retreat. Her hands press against my chest, but she isn’t pushing me away, she’s holding on, matching the hunger in my kiss with her own .

When I finally pull back, her cheeks are flushed, and she’s looking up at me like she’s waiting for something. My eyes track over her face, then I slowly reach out and rest my hands on her shoulders and press lightly. Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t argue, and her knees meet the floor with a soft thud.

Her lips are parted, her breaths coming quicker now, but she doesn’t try to rise.

I cup her face, tilting her head back. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.”

Her breath stutters when my other hand pops the button on my jeans. Conflict flares in her eyes. I step closer.

“Don’t think. Just feel.”

Her hands are shaking when they move, unzipping my pants with a slowness that tests my patience. But I let her take her time. I want to watch every second. Her fingers brush against my dick, and I suck in a breath.

“Look at me.” My voice is a rough growl. Her gaze lifts to mine, and the sight of her on her knees, her lips just inches away, is almost enough to undo me.

Almost .

I reach down and wrap my fingers around my dick and pull it free, then position my other hand on the back of her head.

“Don’t overthink it. Just do it.”

The first touch of her mouth is tentative, her lips brushing against me in a way that’s almost shy. But when she feels my reaction—the low groan, the way my jaw clenches—something shifts. She grows bolder, her tongue darting out to taste me.

“Fuck.” My grip tightens in her hair as she takes me between her lips. My free hand curls into a fist at my side, the restraint it takes not to push her harder, faster, burning through me. But I let her set the pace. For now.

Her hands move to my thighs, steadying herself as she takes more of me, her gaze rising up to meet mine. My control is slipping, fraying at the edges, but I hold on. Barely .

“Clever girl.” The words are rough, ragged. “Just like that. You’re doing so fucking well.”

Her rhythm falters slightly at the praise, and it makes me curious if she has a praise kink. Does she like it when I tell her she’s clever, when she’s good, when she pleases me? I file it away for future reference.

“Take it all, Ballerina. Show me how much you want it.”

She obeys, her movements more confident now. The tension in her body has shifted, the hesitance melting away, replaced by something else. Something hungry.

My hand tightens in her hair, and I tilt her head back slightly, forcing her to look at me as she takes me deeper.

“Look at you. So fucking beautiful like this. So perfect.”

Her eyes lock on mine, and for a moment, it feels like the world narrows to just this—the heat of her mouth, the intensity of her gaze, the way she’s giving herself to me without reservation. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted, and it’s not enough. It will never be enough.

The coil of heat low in my stomach tightens, and I know I’m close. My hand moves to her jaw, my thumb brushing over her cheek, before I change my grip and force her to stillness. Her brows pull together, frowning as I ease free from her mouth.

“Use your hand.” My voice is raspy. As I speak, I guide her hand to my dick, wrapping her fingers around it and move it up and down, showing her how firm, how fast I want her to move.

When I finally let go, her name falls from my lips like a prayer, and she doesn’t pull away, doesn’t flinch. My cum hits her throat, her chest, covers her hand, and I loosen my grip in her hair.

“Good girl.” I reach for my camera, my hand shaking, chest heaving, and take a photograph of her. “You’re mine, Ballerina. Every part of you.”

She doesn’t respond, but the look in her eyes tells me everything I need to know.

And it’s fucking glorious.