Chapter 5

Five

Rose

He didn't show up that night.

Nor the next. Nor the four that followed.

Now I was riddled with doubt, wondering if I'd misjudged the situation. Or if I'd dreamed of the blistering attraction between us. Wasn't the man anxious to repeat what happened in his office? I was nearly crawling out of my skin from the memory. He'd taken such care and consideration with me, giving me an orgasm to shake the rafters.

I wanted it again.

The first three performances with Moore's usual box sitting empty were positively awful. I flubbed lines and missed cues. It was so bad that the director, after berating me for twenty minutes, threatened to recast my part. So I forced myself to concentrate and put the issue of Alfred Moore Emerson III aside, at least when I was on stage.

Today was a matinee performance, with cheaper ticket prices popular with students and Bohemians, which kept the high society types away. I tried to gather my enthusiasm. At least I could focus on my performance and not on the empty box, seeing as how Moore wouldn't be here.

Where was that blasted man?

By the time I left my dressing room, the piano player was well into the overture. I arrived backstage as the curtain went up and waited for my cue. The moment I stepped onto the stage my skin began to prickle. Something was different. There was an electric charge in the air, one I felt in my bones.

I quickly recited my opening lines, then looked up toward the box—and my breath caught. A large figure sat deep in the shadows, far away from the edge. But I knew.

I knew.

I bounced on my toes as giddiness bubbled up inside me. He'd returned. Moore hadn't been able to stay away, just as I predicted.

Over the next hour, I put all my effort into my role, as if I performed just for him. The audience laughed and cheered me on, but I was really trying to impress one person. I wanted his eyes on me at all times.

Finally, the curtain fell for intermission.

"You're quite the spark out there today," Flora, one of my co-stars, said as we left the stage. "I haven't seen you this animated in days."

I hid a grin. "Thank you."

"Any sign of your admirer?" Flora bumped my arm. "You know, the wealthy one."

I'd confessed a bit about Moore to Flora, when she asked me about my dark mood the other night. "Maybe."

"I knew it! Is he up in one of the boxes?"

"I think so. I'm going to find out during my break." I had a stretch of twenty minutes where I wasn't onstage in the second half—and I knew precisely how I planned to spend it.

Flora chuckled as she opened the door to her dressing room. "Just don't miss your cue, honey. The director will kill you."

I gave her a salute, then went into my dressing room. I freshened up, changed my costume, then waited for the show to restart. After my scene concluded, I could barely breathe as I edged into the wings. Anticipation twisted in my belly, pulling and tightening like vines, and I hurried toward the staircase leading up to the loge. An usher was posted at the bottom of the stairs and his eyebrows lifted dramatically at the sight of me. I put a finger to my lips and he nodded, pulling aside the curtain and allowing me to climb the steps.

Moore was here . In the middle of the day, instead of working. I didn't know why he'd come downtown this afternoon, but it didn't matter. I wasn't about to let this opportunity pass.

Nothing could've prevented me from seeking him out.

The corridor behind the boxes remained empty. Fancier theaters had salons behind the boxes, but we didn't. This meant I needed to be careful and stay out of the public view. I hunched over and slipped through the curtain to enter Moore's box. I could see the back of his head and shoulders directly in front of me.

He turned at the rustle of skirts, and his eyebrows shot up when he saw me. Staying low, I darted toward the front of his chair, moving between his legs, low and safely hidden in the darkness of the box.

Moore whispered, "What are you?—?"

"Quiet." I peeked up at him. "I only have twenty minutes." I slid my palms over his knees, higher toward his crotch.

He shifted in his seat like he was trying to get away from me. "Rose," he warned softly under his breath, his eyes darting around at the other boxes. "Don't."

I let my fingers dance on his inner thighs. "You came to see me."

He fixed his gaze on the stage, lips barely moving as he said, "I came to see the show."

"Liar." I could see the bulge in his trousers, the heavy weight of him growing larger with each passing second. "You missed me."

"Don't do this."

"Why? No one can see me. And if you keep your eyes on the stage, no one will suspect a thing." I rested my cheek on his leg. "Wouldn't you like to come in my mouth?"

Grimacing as if in pain, he closed his eyes. "It's indecent."

"That's precisely what makes it fun."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because I missed you, too." I nuzzled his erection through the wool with my nose. "Please, Mr. Emerson?"

" Shit ," he hissed. "Hurry, Rose. You are needed on stage in sixteen minutes."

Sixteen. Not fifteen or twenty. This man really did pay attention.

With not a moment to lose, I reached for the waistband of his trousers and unfastened the placket. The outline of his hard cock pressed against the fine linen undergarment he wore. The tiny buttons weren't easy, but I made short work of them and revealed the prize underneath.

"Oh, there you are, you gorgeous thing," I whispered as I took out his erection. He was warm and thick in my grip, veins running along the side of the shaft.

I must've studied him too long because he warned under his breath, "Rose."

I placed tiny kisses along the shaft, inhaling the smell of the sandalwood soap off his skin. No doubt the soap was expensive, because men like Moore didn't skimp on luxuries.

I knew men liked when a woman used her tongue, so I made sure to lick Moore all over. I bathed his shaft in my saliva, loving the salty taste of his skin, before I finally slipped the crown into my mouth and sucked on the tip. I felt a shudder go through his big body. Poor man. He needed this so badly.

Determined to finish him quickly, I moved my head up and down, stimulating him with my tongue and lips. I maintained firm pressure, but didn't take him deep enough to make me gag. I couldn't risk my eyes watering and ruining my stage makeup.

I could hear him panting, quiet bursts of air that sounded like they were pulled from his lungs. His thigh muscles clenched beneath my hands, but he didn't move. He let me work at my own pace from the floor at his feet, surrounded by theater-goers. It was one of the riskiest and most thrilling acts I'd ever experienced, but I was loving it. I could hear my fellow actors on stage, reciting their lines, unaware of the very naughty act I was performing up here. My heart slammed against my ribs, the excitement of it a high I hadn't imagined.

I pulled off for a brief second and looked up at him. The skin of his face was taut, his skin flush with pleasure. Such a handsome man. "Can they tell?" I gave him a long lick. "Do they know you're having your cock sucked by one of the actresses?"

He slammed his eyelids shut and grimaced. I fingered the heavy ridge of his crown, enjoying how his member twitched under my touch. "Come in my mouth. I want you to watch me onstage, knowing a part of you is inside me."

"Christ." The one word sounded strangled as he grabbed the base of his shaft and aimed the tip at my lips. "Now, kitten."

I opened wide and took him as deep as I dared. Then I began sucking hard, unwilling to stop until he exploded and gave me his spend. After a minute I felt him tense and his breathing stopped, then ropes of salty fluid splashed onto my tongue and into my mouth. I kept going, determined to take it all, and he kept coming silently, the subtle shudders wracking his frame the only sign of his release.

I held his spend in my mouth when I pulled off. I looked up at him, needing him to see. I waited until he regained a bit of his equilibrium and focused on my face once again.

Finally, he clutched my hand and stared at me with a mix of awe and affection. I said nothing. His brows knitted and he gently brushed the fingers of his free hand along my jaw. "Are you well?" he whispered.

Never breaking our locked stares, I swallowed. Then I licked my lips. "So very well."

"Were you . . .?" He appeared gobsmacked, but this was quickly replaced by arrogant male satisfaction. He rubbed his thumb over my lips. "Did you enjoy my taste?"

"Very much." I needed to hurry back to the stage, but not before I said one more thing. Pulling him forward, I put my lips near his ear. "Thank you for the treat."