Devoted by Marie Johnston

Author:Marie Johnston [Johnston, Marie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Marie Johnston

CHAPTER 9

Penelope

* * *

I stretch my arm out of the bathwater. Suds flow from the backs of my fingers, down my forearm, and around my biceps until they either pop or fall into the water.

Cannon traces the line of my arm and laces his fingers through mine. We’re soaking in his tub. I almost panicked when water splashed over the sides, but he just laughed and laid more towels down. We’ve been in the water for an hour, and every time the temperature cools, he pulls the drain for a few seconds, plugs it back in, then adds some hot water.

Laying my head back against his chest, I close my eyes. I’ve never been so relaxed.

Three orgasms can do that.

The first of the three was the most powerful. There was just something about climaxing together, being so interconnected that our feelings and passions flowed between us, that was so special.

It was like dancing, and he’s my perfect partner.

I can’t explain why I’m not paralyzed with fear. This should be too fast, too soon. But it feels natural. He’s someone I can be myself with. I’m allowed to tell him what scares me, what’s upsetting me, and what makes me feel happy. I’ve never been that free with anyone.

He asked me about my ballet days, and I’ve been thinking about my answer. It’s so long ago, but it’s something that connects us.

“I was a scrawny little thing, all knees and elbows.”

He chuckles, the sound rumbling against my back. “Would you believe I was the same?”

“I do have a hard time believing you were ever scrawny.” I stretch my hand up again. He found a different kind of bubble bath than the eucalyptus stuff. This bubble bath has familiar tones of cedar and citrus. “Mother thought ballet would distract me from wanting to go into acting after I saw reruns of the TV show she was on. I don’t think she realized there wasn’t a room in the house I wasn’t doing pirouettes in.”

His hands float at my sides, and his knees poke above the water. I am nestled between them.

“I think my first pair of shoes were ballet slippers,” he says. “My dad was pissed, but there was no stopping Mom. And there was no stopping me after seeing her dance.” His fingertips brush the skin of my abdomen. “She could have been principal if she’d had the patience. But when Mom set her sights on something, she took the easy route whenever possible, even if it was the hard way in the long run.”

“I’m not justifying her actions,” I say, “but there comes a time if you’re in the business long enough when you realize that skill isn’t everything.”

His chin brushes my hair when he nods. “That was a pill she couldn’t swallow. I was willing to work harder, build connections, and do the legwork—no pun intended. Not Mom. She didn’t want to have to prove herself, and it’s a shame. She was a well-rounded ballerina. When she lost herself in the steps, I felt like I saw my real mom, the woman I wished had stuck around to raise me.

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