The Wild Mustang & The Dancing Fairy: A Gorgeous Villain Prequel Novella by Saffron Kent (ereader for textbooks .txt) 📗

the tiny hills that his biceps make under his light-colored t-shirt. “Well, he can wait another ten minutes. I don’t care.”

A smirk appears on his lips, all split and still pretty. “Ten minutes, huh. Living on the edge, are we?”

I stand on the stepstool to get my hands on the first aid kit on the storage shelf by the door. “Yeah. He’ll be fine.”

“I don’t think ten minutes is enough.”

When I get it, I step down and turn to him. “Oh, it’s enough. Trust me.”

He hums, almost thoughtfully, still looking at my face. “I mean, sure. I could take care of you in ten minutes.”

“Take care of me?”

Licking his lips, he nods. “Yeah. Twice.”

“Twice what?”

“Fair warning though,” he goes on, ignoring my confusion. “I’ll want to do it one more time just because I think I’ll be fucking addicted to your taste. I’m already fucking addicted to your scent. Jasmine, is it? But you’ll be trembling, and you’ll tell me to stop so I’ll decide to have mercy on you. Just this once.”

Taste.

What…

My eyes go wide when I understand, when I get what he means.

And when I do get it, his features grow sharp, dangerous… seductive. “But then it’ll be my turn, Fae. And trust me when I say that ten minutes is not going to cut it.”

“It’s n-not?”

He shakes his head slowly. “I’m not so easy to take care of. When you’re done taking care of me, you’ll be going home with scraped up knees and swollen, dripping lips. Your brother will take one look at you and call the cops on me for doing bad things to his sister’s pretty mouth in a storage closet. Not that I mind. But yeah, your math is slightly off there. I don’t think ten minutes is enough.”

The first aid kit’s digging into my ribs by the time he finishes.

And I think I already have bruised knees and a swollen mouth, just because of the picture he’s painted with his dirty words. I think my brother would know it anyway, that I was with him in a storage closet.

“It’s geranium. And sugar. M-my scent.”

“Geranium.”

I nodded. “Yes, it’s rare. It says on the bottle. I like rare body oils.”

“I bet.”

I hug the first aid kit to my chest even more tightly. “I…”

I don’t know what to say except, I’ll do it.

Oh my God, that’s what I want to say, isn’t it?

I want to tell him that I’ll take care of him for as long as he wants.

I’m a ballerina. I’m not afraid of a little pain in my knees and bleeding skin.

I’ll take care of him just like I dance for him in the woods when he puts on the music in his Mustang and sits on the hood to watch me.

Like he’s the king of the world and I’m his slave girl.

Like he’s my villain and I’m his ballerina.

But then he moves away from the shelf and approaches me, taking away all my thoughts.

He glances down at the first aid kit and my blinking, blushing face. “Do it.”

My heart stops beating. “What?”

“You want to take care of my split lip, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Do it then.”

Then without me having to say it, he drags the stepstool over with his foot for me to stand on. So it’ll be easier for me to reach his injury. And all the while I take care of his bruise, my knees feel sore and my mouth feels swollen.

But I guess most of all, I want to tell my brothers how he helps me with my routine.

They all know my love for ballet and my ambition to go to Juilliard once I graduate from high school. It’s my dream to dance for the New York City Ballet Company one day and all four of them have always been supportive of it.

So I know they’ll definitely approve of the fact that Reed helps me practice.

Sure, it takes a little convincing on my part to get him to agree because when I first proposed the idea, his exact words were, “I’m not fucking twirling.”

“Hey! That’s extremely offensive,” I told him from the stage. “Ballet isn’t just twirling. There’s like a hundred different things, techniques, that you do –”

“Well, you can call it whatever the fuck you want. I’m still not fucking twirling.”

I stood there, staring down at him in his seat in his favorite third row, all sprawled-out thighs and large chest, masculine and stubborn.

And gorgeous.

In that moment, I hated how gorgeous he was.

“I can’t believe that you won’t help me. I can’t.” I threw my hands up in the air. “And for what? Because ballet threatens your masculinity? That’s it, isn’t it? You think twirling will make you less of a guy. You think twirling is feminine. Meanwhile, you don’t even care that chivalry is dying. That you’ve killed it. You’ve killed chivalry, Roman. Today. Right here, in this auditorium. And this is a crime scene. Crime. Scene. Murder. So –”

I went quiet when he stood up and started to walk toward me.

Before I knew it, he’d crossed all the rows and, putting his palms on the edge of the low-rising stage, lifted and swung himself onto the stage in one smooth motion. Just like that.

Without breaking a sweat or even taking a breath, he approached me and I asked, “What are you doing?”

“Showing you how chivalrous I can be.”

“What?”

“Usually I don’t mind being the bad guy, but I don’t like to be accused of crimes I haven’t committed. So if you want me to twirl, I’ll fucking twirl and save you from distress and be your knight in fucking armor.”

“Knight in shining armor,” I said as soon as he finished.

He narrowed his eyes at me dangerously. “What?”

“You said knight in fucking armor. But it’s knight in shining armor.” I peered up at him through my eyelashes. “So you’re my knight in shining armor.”

“And if you want to be rescued, Fae, you need to start talking really soon and tell me what the fuck you want me to do