Page 18 of Tension
Vaeda steps forward, her gaze locking on mine like a tether, and the air suddenly feels heavier. “Your weight transfer istoo abrupt,” she observes, her tone cool. “You need to let the movement travel through your entire body, not just your feet. Watch.”
She steps into the center of the room, and my vision seems to narrow on her as the music fills the space around us. Her movements are smooth and deliberate, her body an effortless extension of the rhythm. There’s a sensuality to the way she moves, the way her hands and hips speak the language of the dance. I watch intently, too intently, as heat coils low in my stomach.
When we try again, it’s better, though not as seamless as hers. I can still feel her gaze on me, keen and knowing, and when I meet her eyes, there’s a flicker of a challenge, or maybe that’s what I’m hoping for. Perhaps Vaeda is envisioning herself in my arms, my hands drifting dangerously close to the swell of her ass. It leaves me feeling excited, my breath coming out in short puffs. It feels like I’m chasing my new high.
“You’re getting there,” she mutters, her tone neutral, but her words carry a hint of approval. “Keep working on it.”
We run through the sequence again and again, each repetition bringing small improvements. The music crescendos, and Yvonne and I hit the final pose, her body arching gracefully as I hold her steady. Even as I hold Yvonne, my eyes betray me, sliding once more to Vaeda. Her arms are crossed, her expression guarded, but there’s a crack in her armor, the briefest flicker of interest that’s brewing between us. It’s forbidden, probably fleeting, but utterly undeniable, like a shot directly to my vein.
“Much better,” Greyson exclaims, clapping his hands once we straighten. “Take five, and then we’ll do it again.”
As I step back, wiping the sweat from my brow, I catch Vaeda watching me. Her gaze is piercing, as though daring me to lookaway first. My chest tightens as a thousand unspoken words catch in the space between us, my high climbing with it.
Determined to prove myself to her, to everyone, I nod before turning back to Yvonne. The competition in Paris isn’t just a dream, it’s a goal, and I’ll do whatever it takes to get there. Even if it means ignoring the pull I feel every time Vaeda’s eyes meet mine.
The music starts again, the Rumba’s seductive rhythm flowing through the studio like a current. Yvonne steps into position with a confident smile, her hand slipping into mine. I steady my breathing, grounding myself in the steps we’ve practiced countless times.
This time, we aim for more emotion and chemistry. I focus on the tension between our bodies, the lean, the pull, and the subtle give in her movements as she follows my lead. Yet even as we flow through the same sequence, something feels off. My mind isn’t fully in the dance. It’s with Vaeda.
She stands by the mirrors, her arms crossed, and her laser gaze fixed on us, analyzing every movement. I can’t help but notice the way her auburn hair catches the light, strands of copper and gold glimmering with every subtle shift of her head. Her dark brown eyes are intense, their heated stare pressing against my skin.
“Stop,” she snaps suddenly, her voice cutting through the music like a blade. Yvonne and I both freeze mid-step, startled.
Vaeda steps forward, closing the distance between us with a confidence that makes my stomach tighten. “You’re still too stiff,” she says, her gaze locking on mine. “You need to feel the connection, not just mimic it.”
Then she pauses and tilts her head slightly, a challenge glinting in her eyes. “I’ll show you.”
Yvonne steps back without a word, her expression carefully neutral, and suddenly Vaeda is in front of me. She places onehand lightly on my shoulder, the other slipping into my palm. Her touch is firm yet soft, and the subtle scent of her perfume, musky and floral, wraps around me, intoxicating and impossible to ignore, and my high catapults.
“Ready?” she asks, though her tone makes it clear she expects nothing less.
I nod, my throat dry, and we step into the music.
Dancing with Vaeda is nothing like dancing with Yvonne. Vaeda’s movements are fluid, effortless, as though the music itself flows through her veins. Every shift of her weight is perfectly balanced, and when she presses into me, there’s a magnetism that leaves me breathless.
“Your frame,” she mutters, her voice low but insistent. She lifts my arm slightly, adjusting the angle of my hand on her back. Her fingertips brush against mine, sending a spark through my skin. “Better,” she murmurs, her eyes flicking up to meet mine.
I try to focus on the steps, on the tension and release of the Rumba, but it’s impossible. Her presence is overwhelming. The soft curve of her freckled nose, the way her auburn hair glows under the fluorescents, the faint sheen of sweat along her temple that catches the light. Every detail of her feels magnified, as if we are the only two who exist on Earth.
“Don’t just lead,” she directs, her voice pulling me back. “Listen. Respond.”
Her words echo in my mind as we move, and I start to let go of the choreography, letting the music guide me instead. Vaeda’s body leans into mine, her movements a perfect conversation of music and feeling. I feel the shift in her weight before it happens, the subtle push and pull that connects us.
“Now you’re getting it,” she says, her breath warm against my cheek as we turn.
But I’m not sure I am. My heart is pounding too hard, my concentration splintering under her proximity. Those adorablefreckles along her nose, the way her dark eyes seem to see straight through me. It’s too much. Every step feels charged, every glance a spark waiting to ignite, and I’m on the edge of a second overdose.
When the music crescendos, she pulls away sharply, leaving me holding nothing but the air between us. For a moment, the absence of her touch feels almost unbearable.
Vaeda steps back, her expression as unreadable as ever, though there’s a flicker of approval in her eyes, or maybe it’s curiosity.
“Not bad,” she states, her voice clipped. “But you’re still holding back. Work on that.”
I nod, swallowing hard, but my throat feels tight. As she turns away, her perfume lingers in the space between us, a haunting reminder of how easily she unraveled me.
Yvonne steps forward again, her smile a little strained, and we move back into position, but as the music starts up once more, my mind keeps slipping. Not to the competition, not to the steps, but to Vaeda. To her chocolate gaze, her warm skin, the unspoken tether that hangs between us like the echo of a forbidden melody, and to the anticipation of my next hit.
VAEDA
