Page 33 of Fatal Sloth

As we reach the gym door, Marie pauses, her hand resting on the handle. With a gentle push, she opens the door, revealing the transformed space within.

"Don Sebastiano wanted you to feel more at home. This is your home, after all, and he thought you might want to continue your art," Marie explains, her words tinged with warmth.

Make me feel at home? I quip inwardly, suppressing the irony of Sebastiano's recent statements about our marriage. But I keep that to myself as Marie unveils the surprise.

To my astonishment, the gym looks different. The usual equipment has been rearranged, clearing space in front of a wall adorned with mirrors. Standing proudly in the center is a ballet barre, its polished wood gleaming invitingly under the soft glow of the room's lighting.

I approach the barre tentatively, my fingers grazing its surface gingerly. It's a gesture from Sebastiano that catches me off guard, leaving me speechless.

“It was just installed. I hope you love it,” Marie says, breaking the silence, and it's then that I realize that, in my excitement, I had forgotten she'd been standing there the whole time.

A grin spreads across my face as I take in the sight before me. "It's perfect," I reply, my excitement palpable.

Marie nods, her smile widening. "We still have a little bit before dinner. Why don't you try it out?" she suggests, motioning towards the ballet barre with a warm smile.

My heart races with excitement. “I think I will, thank you.”

“Don't thank me. All this was Don Sebastiano,” she insists before leaving the room, leaving me to revel in the new addition.

As she leaves the room, I'm left alone with the ballet barre. The thought of dancing again ignites a spark of giddiness in me. I feel like a kid on Christmas morning. Feeling eager to try it out, I hurry upstairs to change into my leotard, making sure not to disturb Sebastiano's sleep.

I'm back in the gym in record time, changed and ready to go. I hook up my phone to the Bluetooth speaker, scanning through my playlist for the perfect tunes to help motivate my warm-up. I need to shake off any lingering rustiness, so I choose songs that will help me ease back into the movements gracefully.

The familiar tune of Red Hot Chili Peppers "Under the Bridge" fills the room. I step up to the barre, standing tall with my right hand lightly resting on it. With each plié, I focus on controlled movements, smoothly bending my knees and transitioning between motions. Rising onto my toes, I feel the gentle pressure of the ballet shoes supporting my arches, a reminder that I've been out of practice.

Transitioning into a dégagé, I lift my leg off the ground with precision, then return to my starting position with grace. The satin fabric of the shoes hugs my feet snugly, offering just the right amount of resistance as I move through each tendu and dégagé. Gliding across the floor, the soft padding of the shoes absorbs the impact of each step, allowing me to find my rhythm.

As the song progresses and my muscles fully awaken, I start incorporating a few simple combinations, concentrating mainly on my technique and form. With each movement, I become fully absorbed and lose myself in the dance.

21

Sebastiano

It's dinner time, but Mia is nowhere to be found. Marie insists I check the gym, muttering about Mia's excessive workouts. She's relentless and constantly pushes herself beyond limits. I get it. Staying fit is essential, but this seems excessive, even for her.

The thud of my footsteps echoes through the corridor as I make my way toward the home gym. Working out is the only routine I follow. But today, when I approach the gym, something feels different – a subtle shift in the atmosphere that I can't quite put my finger on.

Pushing open the door, I'm met with the familiar sight of exercise equipment and weights. But something's off. Why has all the equipment been moved to one side? The faint strains of "Push" by Matchbox Twenty drift through the room, drawing me in. Curiosity piqued, I follow the music, leading me to the ballet barre, that sure in the fuck wasn't there yesterday.

And there, in the soft glow of the overhead lights, I catch a glimpse of Mia – la piccola ballerina – dancing gracefully at the barre.

Her hair's pulled back tight, a neat bun at the nape of her neck. Every move she makes is smooth and precise. I can't help but picture her bent over that barre; her body arched just right. Damn, she's tempting.

I glance at the ballet barre again. Was this her doing? I would've preferred a stripper pole, but as I watch her, I can't deny she’s good.

I've never been one to appreciate any dance that didn't involve a pole and tits in my face, but watching her move, it's like I'm under some damn spell. It's not just her physical beauty that's got me hooked; it's the raw emotion she pours into her dancing. I try to push it aside and focus on anything other than the way she moves and the way her body curves and sways with each step. But it's like fighting a losing battle as if my body has a mind of its own—my dick is rock hard watching her move. I don't even like Mia – at least, not in the way a husband should love his wife.

For a moment, I'm stuck in my tracks, unable to look away. It's the first time I've seen Mia dance, and she's got this elegant vibe going on that's hard to ignore. But then, like she's got some sixth sense, Mia turns toward me, eyes wide in surprise as she realizes she's not alone. A flush of embarrassment tints her cheeks, and her moves stumble for the first time since I walked in.

"I-I'm sorry, Sebastiano," she stammers, her voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't realize you were here."

I shake my head, still unable to look away. "No need to apologize," I mutter, my voice low.

But Mia shakes her head, a faint smile flickering at the corners of her lips. "I just... I didn't expect anyone to be here."

"Don't stop on my account. Keep going," I growl, my voice heavy with desire. Mia's cheeks flush deeper, and a sly smirk curves my lips.

With hesitant steps, Mia approaches me, her eyes searching mine for something I can't quite decipher.

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