Page 77 of Dance of Devils
An orgasm.
A real, actual, “holy-what-the-fuck” orgasm.
I’ve been fuckingbuzzingever since.
I tried to recreate the feeling when I got back to Pearl last night. It’s not like the back seat of an Accord parked on a random side street in Little Italy is the ideal setting for some self-love. But I was still feeling the aftershocks of his fingers in me, and Ineededmore of the delicious sensation.
I couldn’t quite get there, but it was better than most other times I’ve tried.
Val even called me out on my elevated mood today, which terrified me because he’s a fucking bloodhound when it comes to anything sexual. Mercifully, I managed to dodge his questions until Madame Kuzmina’s grueling rehearsal started.
But now that’s over, and I find myself showering before meeting with Kir, and that same sensation spreads through me like a drug. My body tingles under the shower spray, every drop of water and drip of soap like his touch, teasing over my skin.
I run my hands over my body, feeling a warm ache when I cup my breasts and roll my soapy fingers over my tight nipples. I push a hand lower, teasing my fingertips over my stomach, glancing out into the changing room to makesureI’m alone before I push lower.
I groan quietly, my breath catching when my fingers push through my pussy lips and roll across my clit. Heat pools inside me, but it’s frustrating, because while I can feel the initial stirrings of the sensation he gave me, it won’t get any stronger no matter how hard I try.
Eventually, I step out of the shower and towel off, feeling annoyed.
No shame: I straight up preen in the mirror, fixing my hair, adding a touch of makeup, making sure my legs are completely smooth from my quick shave in the shower.
At my locker, I chew on my lip as I pull out the bag he gifted me. I’ve pretty much been hiding it in here because what thehellwould I tell my friends?
Tonight, though, I wear some of the things that cameinthe bag. I grin as I pull on one of the obscenely expensive Nikolay Grishko warmup sets and some equally pricey Luckyloo legwarmers for no other reason than they look cute.
An anxious, eager sensation pools inside me as I check my reflection, bite back a grin, and practicallyskipout of the dressing room.
I'm no love-struck teenager. I know whatever this thing is between us isn’t the beginning of anything real. C’mon. The man is twenty years older than me, the head of one of the biggest criminal organizations in the world, and hot enough that there’s nowayhe’s looking for anything more than fun.
But if that’s all he’s looking for, why can’t it be all thatI’mlooking for too?
I mean, the man gave me my first real, actual, mind-blowing orgasm last night. And I quite enjoyedit. I would like it to happen again, frequently. If “this” ends up being just hormones, mutual attraction, and orgasms?
Sign me the fuckup.
It’s not like I’ve gone and fallen for the man.
Kir usually shows up after I arrive. So when I get to the studio, I go to the barre and start stretching out some of the ubiquitous knots from earlier today.
…Until the air in the room shifts, and my pulse skips.
He doesn’t even have to say anything to announce his presence. You can literally justfeelthe power that radiates off him.
I turn, trying my best to hide the huge grin on my face. I don’t succeed, and end up giving him this weird, awkward half-grin that makes me cringe even as I can’t stop doing it.
Slowly, my brows knit.
Kir’s not in his usual-these-days gym pants and sinfully tight t-shirt. He’s back in a suit, no tie, the top few buttons of his dress shirt open.
He also looks even colder than usual, if that's possible.
“So,” I begin, trying to hide the grin on my face and the annoying sparkly look in my eyes. “I was thinking we could pick up where we left off yesterday?—”
InstantlyI realize what I’ve just said, and my face explodes with heat.
“Not…I…I mean…” I stammer, feeling my cheeks blushing furiously before I find my voice again. “I meant with the variation,” I say quickly. ”Not…you know…the other thing.”
Kir says nothing. He just stands in the doorway, eying me.
