Dance with Me

by Alexis Daria

  She laughed as he stopped to punch in the security code, keeping one hand under her ass. Once they were in the bedroom, he put the lights on low and gently set her on the edge of the bed.

  She turned her back to him. “Unzip me?”

  He sat beside her, skimming his hands up her bare arms. Her skin was cool. Smooth. Soft despite the strength of her dancer’s body, full of grace. He ran a finger down the elegant column of her neck, down the center of her back, tracing over the bumps of her spine. The buzz of the zipper parting fueled the tension of the moment. Goosebumps rose on her back, and when he touched his lips to her shoulder, she shivered.

  “Cold?”

  “No.” Her chest rose and fell with quick, shallow breaths. “I just want you.”

  He turned her toward him and kissed her like they had all the time in the world. Just kissed her, just his lips exploring and cherishing every centimeter of hers, just hints of tongue and the light press of teeth. When she tried to speed the intensity, pressing closer and sucking on his lower lip, he only caressed her body in soothing, languid strokes.

  When her eyes were clouded with passion and her lips wet and swollen from his attention, he pulled back.

  “You’ve never said you wanted me before.”

  She pressed her face into his neck, as if hiding her expression. “I would think it was obvious.”

  He shook his head, craning his neck to look into her face. “It was obvious that I wanted you. Not the other way around.”

  She bit her lip and toyed with his shirt buttons. He waited, heart on the line, his mind running through all her possible responses.

  Finally, she looked him square in the eye. Her eyebrows tilted like she was scared, but her voice was firm. “I want you, Dimitri. Always. It’s why I’ve always said yes.”

  His chest swelled. Every time he’d reached out to her, it had been with his heart in his throat, wondering if she would come, worried she wouldn’t. Ever since that first time.

  Come over tonight.

  Yes.

  And every time since, he’d been the one to initiate, putting the ball in her court. It was why he’d driven over when her apartment was falling apart. Not only had he been worried, because she sounded distressed, but she’d also never told him no. He’d gone there prepared to . . . not beg, but . . . well, maybe beg. To find out why, at least.

  Her “no” had scared him. It meant he was going to have to say more, do more. Reveal more. And so far, he hadn’t been willing to do that, not until he was sure she was also emotionally invested. The only thing that had kept him going through this whole stupid no-strings arrangement was that when he needed her, when he couldn’t be without her for another second, she was there. It was the worst kind of security, but better than nothing.

  Her reliable yeses kept them going in this pattern. She’d never given any indication she wanted or needed more. Maybe it was cowardly not to offer, but what if he offered and was refused? Sure, she’d moved in, but only out of desperation and a lack of other options. Not out of any obvious emotional investment. Even now, she admitted she wanted him, but he didn’t know why. And he needed to know why.

  But not tonight. Tonight was about her, about showing her she deserved to be loved. She hadn’t rejected his declaration. She just didn’t believe him. That, he could fix. And she had initiated this. That counted for something.

  He kissed her again. Deeper this time, but still slow. His hands roamed her body, sliding down her arms, up her legs, and finally thrusting into her hair. “What do you want, Tasha? Tell me, and I’ll give it to you.”

  “Get undressed.” Her hands made quick work of his buttons. “I want to touch you.”

  “I can do that.” While he shucked off his pants and boxers, she shimmied out of her dress. Clad only in a lacy black-and-red bra and thong combo, she straddled his thighs, cool fingers roaming over his chest.

  He leaned back on his hands, sucking in a breath as his cock rubbed against her leg. “Enjoying yourself?”

  “Inmensamente.” She caressed his arms, and he flexed, just because he could.

  “Can I touch you?” he asked.

  “God, yes.”

  He leaned forward, wrapping his arms around her and palming her butt. The skinny frill framing the globes of her ass teased his fingertips and drove him crazy. “You always wear the sexiest lingerie.” He breathed the words into her neck, his lips trailing along her collarbone and down, where he pressed a kiss into her cleavage. “Is it for me?”

  “No.” When he lifted his head, she grinned and struck a pose, throwing her arms out and pushing her tits up. “It’s for me.”

  He groaned and filled his hands with her breasts. “That’s even sexier.”

  “Just wait until I take it off.” With a saucy wink, she settled back on his lap.

  Eyes on his, she undulated her spine, rolling her shoulders and reaching up to slide one skinny bra strap down. When she pulled her arm free, she waved it seductively in the air before bringing it to her other shoulder. She pinched the other strap between thumb and index finger, and when he thought she’d pull it down, she instead leaned forward and shook her tits at him.

  The surprise of it made him blink, but it was her sexy little smile that had his cock straining between them. Groaning, he dug his fingers into her hips. She had the tease part of striptease mastered. “You’re killing me, Kroshka.”

  She didn’t answer. Arching her back, she writhed on his lap, trusting him to keep her anchored. Flipping her hair, she somehow got her other arm free. Now she cupped her breasts in her own hands, kneading them as she pursed her lips and blew him a kiss.

  “Ah, fuck.” Wrapping one arm around her hips to keep her steady, he reached between them and took hold of his dick, giving it a few pumps of his hand before squeezing the base. “You’re so hot. So fucking hot.”

  “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.” She rolled her hips, bringing her warm cleft closer to his cock. She’d always been playful in the bedroom, but now, he could see she’d still been reserved. This Natasha, who taunted and teased, flirted and played, was the real her. She wasn’t holding back anymore.

  If he hadn’t already been in love with her, he would have fallen then and there.

  When she held her bra with one hand and reached behind herself to unhook it with the other, he pulled the fabric of her panties aside, sliding his fingers through her folds.

  She hissed on an intake of breath, even as she kept the striptease going, writhing sinuously on his lap. “Yes, Macho, yes. Touch me.”

  “Anything you want.” Her beautiful face, transformed by passion, drew his attention even as her breasts were bared centimeter by centimeter. Then her fingers flexed, plumping her soft flesh, and his eyes were glued to her movements. Bit by bit, her bra shivered down, closer to revealing her nipples. He parted his lips, ready to swoop in and capture one, when she whipped off the bra and covered herself with her arm. He groaned in disappointment.

  “You’re such a fucking tease.”

  She laughed out loud and dropped her arm, baring herself to him. “That’s the point.”

  “Speaking of points.” He closed his lips around one of her dark nipples, rolling it with his tongue, and rubbed his thumb over her clit.

  She clung to his shoulders, sighing. He tumbled them both onto the bed, worshipping her body with his hands and mouth. She tried to rush, pulling at him and whimpering, but he resisted.

  “Shh. Ne speshi, Tasha. Slow down.” Tonight, he would take his time, and by the end of it, she would know how special she was.

  She whimpered and pulled at her shoulders. “Dimitri . . .” Her voice held a note of pleading.

  “Tell me what you want.”

  She panted and twisted her hands in the bedsheets. “Why do you keep asking me?”

  “Because this is all for you.” He kissed a line up the inside of her leg, adoring the strength of her in the tension of her skin. “You’re a goddess. You deserve to be cherished, and give
n all you desire.”

  She pressed a hand to her cheek and looked away. Amazing that sweet words embarrassed her more than anything else they did together in this bed.

  “I’m just a regular woman, Dimitri. Not a goddess.”

  “To me, you are. It’s about time I started treating you how you deserve.”

  “Don’t be too good to me, or I’ll get used to it.” Her voice was soft, and shy. Wistful.

  “I want you to get used to it. Now, tell me what you want.”

  She swallowed, and it took her a few moments to speak. “Hold me close.”

  “I can do that.” Crawling up over her body, he settled next to her and wrapped her in his arms. “Like this?”

  “Sí.” She snuggled against him, tucking her head under his chin. “Today was kind of an emotional roller coaster.”

  He nodded, rubbing his face in her hair, inhaling the scent of figs. For him, too.

  She raised her chin toward him. “Kiss me?”

  “Of course.” He pressed his lips to hers, sweeping her tongue into a dance. Slow, slow, quick-quick, slow. His cock pulsed against her firm belly, but the sweetness of her mouth and the little noises she made as she squirmed against him were all he needed.

  He broke the kiss to whisper against her lips, “What do you want, Tasha?”

  In answer, she took his hand and brought it between her legs. He stroked her in a slow, steady rhythm until she was gasping and quivering with need.

  Again, he asked, “What do you want?”

  And when she answered, “Your mouth,” he shifted down and tongued her clit until she was sobbing.

  When he asked her again, she surprised him.

  “Be with me.”

  It was all he wanted, too. Heart aching, he slipped on one of the condoms he kept in the nightstand, and covered her with his body. Now, more than ever, he wanted to tell her he loved her. He wanted to say it again and hear her response, begging her to accept him and love him back.

  But tonight was about her. He knew he loved her. She didn’t. So, he had to show her.

  Pushing between her thighs, he pressed against her entrance. She was open so, so soft.

  “What do you want?” This was the last time he’d ask.

  Her eyelids fluttered, and she met his gaze. “You.”

  “Moe serdtse prinadlezhit tebe.” He hadn’t meant to say it, hadn’t meant to say anything as he slid inside her, but the words slipped out. They came from the truest part of him, and he wouldn’t take them back.

  She whispered his name, and something shifted in him and settled into place. His heart pounded, and the word flitting through his thoughts was home.

  Home. The scent of figs and ginger. High, surprised laughter, and the snap of temper in Spanish. Warmth in his bed, tangling with long legs and arms.

  He hitched her uninjured leg over his hip and rolled onto his side, taking her with him, keeping himself lodged within her. With his eyes on hers, their heavy breaths mingling, he set the pace. Slow and steady, deep and close. Their eyes locked, and he read her pleasure there, and something else. Something in the way she clung to him, in her voice when she’d said, “You.” They’d been like this so many times before, yet this time was unlike any other.

  Open. She was open, hiding nothing. Her heart was in her eyes. Maybe it always had been.

  She held onto him, pumping her hips to the rhythm he set. Every time they danced, every time they fucked, she followed his lead. Whatever he wanted, she gave, without question or hesitation.

  Maybe that was the sign. Maybe he’d been blind to it all along, taking her silence and reservation for disinterest, when really, she was protecting her own heart.

  Did it matter that she’d never made the first move? That she never asked for more?

  Why should she have? It should have been on him to willingly give it. That first day, in the rehearsal room, he should have fallen at her feet and offered her everything he was, everything he had to give.

  He’d been too scared to take the risk. Too uncertain of her. But this was a woman who’d never known deep love. Of course she hid her heart.

  And still, she’d given him what he asked. Every time. He’d just never asked for more, because he was the one holding back.

  Where else was he doing that?

  Gritting his teeth, he increased the pace of his thrusts. “I’m sorry, Kroshka.”

  Her eyes crossed and she dug her nails into his shoulder. “For what?”

  “I should’ve been better.” He slipped his hand around her leg to rub her clit. “You deserved better.”

  She let out a high moan. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I’ll make it up to you. I promise. From now on.” He captured her mouth as he pumped into her with shallow thrusts, keeping the focus on her clit.

  Her body clenched, then spasmed. Against his lips, she cried out. He held on to her, even as her pussy squeezed his dick, even as she shook and trembled. He held her, kissed her, touched her, and then it was too much.

  Too much, and exactly perfect.

  His own body tightened. His skin prickled in goosebumps as pleasure zinged through him. He pressed his face into her hair and pounded his hips, setting off his own orgasm.

  When it was done, he was gasping. Natasha held him, rubbing his sweat-slickened back.

  “What did you say?” Her voice was quiet. “Earlier.”

  He didn’t lift his head, letting her hair hide his face. Like a damn coward.

  “You deserve better.”

  “No. Before that. In Russian.”

  Oh. That. He hesitated, but why not tell her? Time to start doing better.

  “My heart belongs, uh, to you.”

  She was quiet for a moment. Her hands still slid lazily up and down his back. Then she scooted down and pressed her lips to his chest, right above where his heart pounded from exertion and pleasure.

  He closed his eyes. How the hell had he ever found it in him to let this woman go?

  One thing was for sure. He wasn’t walking away from her ever again.

  35

  They took a quick shower, but before they got back in the bed, Dimitri cleared his throat.

  “I want to show you something.”

  Natasha’s gaze flicked down to his crotch. They were both still naked. “I’ve already seen it.”

  “Not that. Something I’ve never shown anybody else before.”

  She snorted out a laugh. “Okay, because we both know a lot of people have already seen your dick.”

  He glared at her. “You’re a mean woman.”

  Her smug smirk challenged him and turned him on. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

  She wasn’t, but nerves made his voice gruff. “Do you want to see it or not?”

  “You haven’t told me what it is!”

  Embarrassed and out of patience, he grabbed her boot and put it on her. “Come on.” He took her hand and pulled her out of the room, ignoring her giggles.

  He was about to show her his most prized possession, the compendium of his life’s work, and she was laughing about his sexual history. Better that she laugh about it. When he thought of where they could be now if he’d had the guts to pursue her earlier, he was hit with a sense of loss and regret so profound, it was like a punch to the chest.

  He brought her to his office. The sight of his desk chair reminded him of coming home and finding her twirling around in it, choreographing even with an injured ankle. Both times he’d come across her in the studio, she’d seemed peaceful. At ease. Her shoulders weren’t tense, her brow unclouded by worry. When she danced, or more specifically, when she designed dances, the weight of the world fell away. She loved what she did.

  It was why he’d dragged her in here now. She would understand. And after the night they’d had, he was done hiding from her.

  Maybe his nerves were obvious, because she’d stopped laughing. Beautiful and distracting, she hovered near the door, arms crossed under her breasts. He pr
obably should have grabbed robes for them first.

  “What do you want to show me, Macho?”

  Her voice was soft, comforting. She gave him a small smile, which bolstered his confidence.

  He went to the desk and pulled out the binder. “This.”

  She wandered over as he set it down, but didn’t open it. Her gaze dropped to the bold letters on the cover.

  “Idea Book,” she said, reading aloud. Her curious gaze met his. “What’s this?”

  He took a breath and placed a hand flat on the cover of the binder. “Detailed notes for every dance show I’ve ever conceived, since I was a teenager. I want to tell stories through dance, using choreography, music, costumes, whatever, to express universal emotions.”

  Her eyes widened, and she touched the edge of the cover with her fingertips. “Dimitri, this is . . . full. Practically bursting.”

  “Twenty years’ worth of concepts.” He smiled ruefully. “Only one ever made it to the stage, and it . . .”

  She covered his hand with hers and shifted closer, until their bodies were touching. “Will you show me?”

  Oh, he hadn’t even opened it yet. “Yeah. Sure. Let’s sit over here.”

  He picked up the book and carried it over to the narrow sofa at one end of the room. It pulled out into a bed, so the office could double as a guest room. Natasha grabbed the throw blanket off the back and spread it out so they could sit their bare asses on it. Dimitri balanced the book on his knees and Natasha crowded in to look.

  “Don’t laugh,” he warned her.

  “I wouldn’t laugh about this.”

  “You were laughing at me a minute ago.”

  “Because I was teasing you. I wouldn’t tease you about this.” She nudged him with her hip. “Abrelo. I’m dying of anticipation over here.”

  Now or never. He opened the cover, revealing pages he knew by heart. Each sheet lived in a plastic sleeve, connected to the three-ring binder. Flipping one by one, she stopped him four pages in.

  “Esperate.” She tapped a finger on a sketch of a dancer. “Did you draw these?”

  He scratched the back of his head. “Yeah.”

  “Macho, these are great.”