Page 58 of Off Balance

His words shoot a cold pulse of fear through my chest. I steel myself, look into his eyes, and give him the most sincere answer I can. "I know how lucky I am to have met you. You've made me a better dancer."

"You were good when I met you," he says, which surprises me. Of course, there's more to it, though. "But only I know how to make you better. You understand that I am helping you, yes?"

His words are peppered across my throat and collarbone with kisses that feel cold and meaningless. Only weeks ago I would have begged for this kind of attention, but now it feels… disingenuous. Coercive. Dirty.

Emile's hand trails down my arm, until his fingers link through mine. Then he guides my hand to his crotch, rubbing my hand over his erection. When he removes his hand, I understand that I'm supposed to keep going. But I don't want to.

"I really should rest," I say, straining my voice to sound disappointed.

"I'll be fast, I promise."

Without waiting for me to say anything more, Emile nudges me off his lap. With one hand opening his fly, he uses the other to guide me to my knees.

And I realize that they're all right. I'm nothing but a toy to him. I probably wouldn't be here if I wasn't an easy lay, content to follow him around and do whatever he says. To never complain that everything in our relationship is one-sided. Because, deep down, I knew. I knew that the price of having this opportunity was my autonomy.

I’ve just refused to admit this is all I'm good for.

CHAPTER 16

DOM

Music.

The very first note wrenches me from my bed, and I'm across the hall in moments. I push the door open quietly, like I always do. I never actually come in here with the intention of creeping on him, but the moment I see him dancing, it's like my tongue swells up and I'm afraid nothing I say will be good enough. I won't have a good enough reason to be here, other than I can't not come when I hear the music. I can't not watch him dance. He casts a spell with the movements of his body, and the faraway look of desperation in his expression that calls to me. I want to watch him dance without the pressure of an audience, because when he thinks no one is looking is when he's the most unrestrained. It's when he's the most beautiful.

Even from across the studio, I can tell he's not his best self today. He looks exhausted. The dark circles that were under his eyes days ago have only grown darker. Tears have traced tracks down his cheeks, and his eyes are puffy and red. He looks haunted.

What I wouldn't give to take away some of his pain. Share that all too familiar pressure. And maybe then he could get some rest.

Is it my fault he’s so upset?

I don't bother to hide this time, instead I remain standing just inside the door. Still, it takes until the middle of the second pass through for him to notice me. He stops, mid spin, right as the music crescendos. His light pink tank top is transparent with sweat, chest heaving from exertion.

"Don't stop," I whisper.

He can't hear me. I'm not even sure he can see me well enough to read my lips. He stands there staring at me, not moving a muscle other than the rise and fall of his chest. We stare at each other until the music stops and the room is filled with earsplitting, overwhelming silence. I can hear my blood rushing. I can hear his heavy breaths.

"Don't stop," I repeat. My low murmur feels loud in the tense silence.

Without taking his eyes off me, Cameron wraps his arms protectively around his middle.

"Wh-What are you doing here?"

"I heard the music."

"Sorry if I disturbed you.”

“You didn’t. I’m just surprised to see you. It’s earlier than you usually—” His lips quirk and I realize my mistake. Does that mean he knows I’ve been in here to watch him?

"I was waiting for you." The admission slips out before I’ve processed the words or given my mouth permission to speak. My words hang in the air like humidity right before a rainstorm.

They're simple words, but the meaning behind them is heavy.

Because I have been waiting. I've been in limbo since the moment the lights on that stage went up and I saw him move for the first time. Every moment we've spent together since that night has only compounded the feeling that I get when I'm around him—the need to be close to him. It's not even an overtly sexual thing. Although my body certainly is on board with being as close to him as possible. I've been in a constant state of arousal for months. But it's more than that. It's a compulsion, a sixth sense that says I'm meant to be in his orbit. An invisible force pushing me towards him, despite all the reasons I should be backing away.

Except I don't back away. I take a step forward, and then another, and another. At the same time, Cameron starts towards me. We meet in the middle of the room, coming together without an ounce of hesitation. In one fell swoop, he launches into my arms. I catch him easily, supporting his thighs around my waist. Our mouths crash together with desperation, tongues and teeth clashing. My back hits the door behind me, and I flip us around, pinning him. My hips instinctively roll, pressing the growing hardness of my erection against his. Cam gasps into my mouth, and I take advantage, deepening the kiss that feels like it will either end or save my life.

"Take me to your place," Cam moans, shifting. "I want to feel you."

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