Page 57 of In Shadows We Dance

I let the curtain fall back into place and press my hands to my face, trying to erase the confusion and longing I shouldn’t be feeling. The fear, the confusion, the excitement, the pull toward him—it’s all too much. I need to move, to escape my own mind.

I need to do something,anything, to make it stop. But I’m trapped here, inside my bedroom. A cage I fled to because I was too scared to go to the dance studio, in case he was there … waiting for me.

No. You were scared to go to the dance studio because you wanted him to be there waiting for you.

I duck down and pull my dance notebook from beneath my nightstand, flipping it open. If I can’t dance, I can plan a routine.

But I can’t focus.

I throw the notebook down. A shower. Maybe that will help.

The apartment is silent as I step out of my room. My parents went to bed hours ago, and the only sound is my bare feet against the linoleum floor. Flicking on the light, I step into the bathroom, strip out of my clothes, and step into the shower, hoping the hot water will wash away some of the tension.

My fingers trail over my neck, reliving the memory of his mouth there, the way it felt when he sucked at my skin.

Why me? Why did he pick me out of everyone else? What is it about me that draws him in? I’m nobody. Boring. Not worth the attention.

I hate that I want to know the answers.

Back in my room, I change into pajamas, and sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor. My thoughts circle back to the auditorium, to the way his hands explored my body, his lips on mine.

What would I do if he showed up now?

The question startles me, but I can’t shake it. My gaze moves to the window again, my heart pounding at the possibility. The idea of him watching me, stepping out of the shadows and into my room, sends a wave of heat through me.

I shouldn’t want it.

I fall back against the bed, pressing my palms to my face. But the images won’t stop. His eyes on me, his voice dark and low, the way his hands moved over me, touched me.

My thighs press together, trying to ease the ache forming between my legs. I hate the way my body reacts, the way desire tangles with fear, each feeding off the other.

It’s wrong.

It’sallwrong, but I can’t stop it.

What if he’s out there, right now, watching me the way I’m imagining him doing?

The thought sends a chill down my spine, but there’s a thrill to it too and before I can stop myself, my hand dips beneath the waistband of my pants, and I close my eyes, letting the fantasy take hold.

I imagine him stepping out of the darkness, his gaze locked onto mine with that infuriating confidence. My breath catches as I picture him leaning down, his hands rough but sure, pulling my pants down my legs.

What would it be like if he were really here?

Mynipples harden, and I imagine my fingers are his, stroking small circles around it before catching it between thumb and finger and pinching. My hips arch, and I give in, the fingers of my other hand finding my clit.

I shouldn’t be doing this—I shouldn’t be letting him have this kind of power over me. But it’s too late. The longing is already there, a dark need that I can’t shake.

I imagine him watching me, his voice whispering the things he wants to do, telling me how to touch myself, to show him parts of my body no one has seen, and in the darkness of my room I’m sure I hear the soft click of a camera.

My hips rock up, my breath coming in soft panting cries.

What would it be like if he really touched me? If he claimed me the way his eyes promise he will. Would his friends be there? Or would he want to keep me for himself like he claims?

The thought is both terrifying and exhilarating, and it sends me over the edge.

I let out a soft gasp, my fingers moving faster as the tension builds, coiling tighter and tighter until it snaps. When I come, it’s both a relief and a shameful reminder of how deeply he’s gotten under my skin.

Pleasure and shame mix together, a heady cocktail that leaves my heart pounding, my skin flushed. My fingers slow, my body shaking as I come down from the high, and pleasure slowly gives way to exhaustion.

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