Lead and Follow Read Online Free

Eventually he might feel terrible about all this. For now, his only thought was finally . Finally they weren’t stuck. They weren’t frozen in the limbo that had stolen the last half year.
    Dima tugged her hair, gently but firmly. Her neck bowed in a graceful arch. He kissed her on the forehead.
    “ Privet , little one.” He locked eyes with Paul. Steady blue eyes looked back with a hint of challenge. “And hello to you too. I don’t mind. Continue fucking her in my dressing room. I’m sure she meant it that way.”
    Lizzie’s soft gasp shot right through him. Just as hot as he’d imagined, even if it was another man giving her pleasure.
    A decade and a half together, one way or the other, and he’d be damned if he could figure her out. At that moment, he sure as hell didn’t understand himself.
    Turning away was gut-wrenching. He’d never turned his back on Lizzie when she so desperately wanted to be seen.
    Only years of training forced his body to obey. He moved past them to the wardrobe in the corner.
    The chair creaked behind him. Dima didn’t look. If Lizzie wanted his attention, she had it. If she wanted more than that, she’d need to ask for it. He’d be damned if he would guess anymore. They stood at the sharp blade of change, ready to slice through and cut him and Lizzie apart forever. He didn’t think he could survive that, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to last long in this nowhere land.
    He snatched the first set of clothes he found, to replace the sleeveless shirt he’d worn for the second half of his performance. Inside, a roiling swarm of energy buzzed. He always came off the stage popping, especially of late when he became so tense with the effort of protecting lesser partners.
    This was more than he’d ever experienced.
    The chair creaked again. Dima kicked out of his trousers.
    Lizzie gave a little sigh that squeaked upwards to a moan. “Mmm, Dima… You’re good to me, aren’t you?”
    Paul cleared his throat. “Look, I don’t know what kind of freak show you two have going, but I’m not sticking around—”
    Lizzie’s crystalline giggle overrode whatever he’d been about to say. “It’s a little difficult to lie when your dick’s inside me.” She dropped her voice to a faux whisper. “You’re even harder than you were before.”
    Dima shoved a washcloth under water. Cold, of course. Running it over his skin did nothing to cool him off. His blood still slammed a fandango.
    Was he really standing for this? Yes. More than that, some small part of him was loving it. The pure wickedness of the situation made his cock ache. While he always planned and strategized, Lizzie tossed wrenches with the best of ’em.
    Shifting to the left brought him in line with a mirror. From there he found a perfect, unobstructed view of Lizzie riding Paul. She’d lowered her forehead to his. Her hips worked over him. Big, calloused hands curled around her hips.
    Paul glanced at Dima before planting his cowboy boots wide. He fucked up into Lizzie.
    Dima jerked his gaze down to the washcloth in his hand as his nerves shot higher. That nod to privacy was ridiculous. Watching didn’t mean interrupting, not when they were in his damned dressing room. He found her face in the mirror and didn’t look away.
    The pair had pressed their cheeks together, staring at Dima’s back. They were stroking with tiny movements that appeared no less powerful for it.
    She wrapped her forearms around Paul’s neck and crossed her wrists. “Lovely, isn’t he?”
    Paul didn’t answer with words, but he grunted. His ass came up off the chair. Lizzie gasped again, this time louder.
    Thank God music from the club pumped through the air, this time a jerky, techno-flavored remix of some ’80s song. Only Dima and Paul would be lucky enough to hear her sweet noises.
    She licked her lips, visibly trying to put on a front—as if she weren’t having sex as she chatted. “It’s all those hours of dancing. Dima’s a