by Nora Flite
Noel yanked her sweater over her head. Underneath, her black leotard clung to every dip and edge. “I meant more, when did that happen? It wasn't always like that here.”
How could she know that? I wondered. “As long as I've been here, this place has been pretty barren.”
“And how long has that been?”
“Two years, give or take,” I said.
Nodding, she started lowering herself up and down. Deliberate movements, hands on the barre to support her. I wasn't used to these pricks of desire with a student—or anyone. Such a basic exercise, I'd seen it thousands of times. It was for warming the knees, the joints, preparing the hips... Now, I was fixated on how it made the perfect globes of her ass squeeze.
“Only two years,” she said thoughtfully. “That means you're...” Noel gave me a sneaky glance. “What, early twenties?”
She was perceptive. “Twenty-two in May.”
Her mouth reminded me of a satisfied cat. “That's what I figured.” Adjusting, her body faced away from the wall. Now she dipped, arms spreading forward, pulling back like angel wings as she rolled up to arch her chest at the ceiling. “But,” she said between breaths, “I still don't get it.”
I flicked my eyes over the grooves in her spine. I could have reached out, dragged a fingertip straight down to the indents of her lower back. Jesus, I had to tighten my bicep to stop myself. “Get what? What is there to get?”
“You're so young.” It was a blunt observation. Bent at the waist, she stared up at me, holding her own ankles. “It's obvious you aren't from here, too.”
Okay, that made me grin. Of course I wasn't French, no one would confuse that. Whatever her game was, I was curious. “You're trying to ask me something, just go ahead.”
“Alright.” She was fluid, a flower reaching up to the rain. Facing me, Noel possessed a calmness that felt so natural. I didn't talk to my students—not like this. No one had bothered to make the effort, though I doubted I'd have let them get far. “Why are you here, teaching in this program?”
A twinge—on cue, in my left knee. I managed not to flinch, not from pain, but from disgust. “I don't need a reason for that.”
Her lips opened, silent. Reconsidering her retreat, Noel shook her head. “I saw you dancing. You know I did. Mr. Braeburn, you're really good.”
“And?” Fuck, the acid in my growl.
Noel didn't look away. “And I guess, I don't know. You're talented and young, I'd expect you to be... on stage somewhere.”
To not be in this trash hole, is what she means. To be where I wish I was. I thought it, didn't utter it. “I could say the same about you. What would make a ballerina of your skills come here?”
We were studying each other, floating on the rim of something that could have been very ugly. She could have said a number of things that would have pushed us apart. Could have insulted me, slapped me, said it wasn't my business. Honestly, it would have been for the best. If Noel would just do something that would make me stop being so intrigued, so riled up by her, we both could have kept along our paths.
Wasn't that ideal?
Wasn't that just... safer?
She lifted her chin, dared me with her scrunched up mouth. “I want to be here. That's enough of a reason.”
I'd been trying to decide if I was going to back off or close the distance. Slowly, like she'd run, I approached her at the barre. “Fine. Show me you want to be here.”
She hooked her heel on the top pole, reaching over her head. The way she looked up at me—eyes sultry under those coal lashes—it made my cock thicken. “Isn't this enough proof? I'm here before anyone else. I'll be the last out the door. Do you really think my dedication needs work?”
I'd seized her knee before I realized what I was doing. My gut liked to act before my brain; but right then, we had the same goal. “And what if I do?” I asked, my tone dropping an octave. Scraping my thumb down to her ankle, I glided my way back up to the outside of her knee; held her in place. “What if I think every single part of you needs work?”
Her exhale was my reward. It felt fucking amazing, her pure shock. It was the first taste of my new addiction. I'd never wanted to make a girl react like this.
Years ago, the girls would slip me into their cars or their rooms and fuck me in secret. They'd moan and sweat, trying to incite passion in me. Each of them had worked hard, struggled to be the one to make me respond.
Noel had gotten more out of me with a simple sound.
Something serrated and familiar woke around my heart. Like me, it wanted Noel.
Her raspy breathing inched under my skin. Wide-eyed, she watched my hand—watched my lips. The smell of her perspiration hit me. It left me baffled, infused me with a wildness that rammed against my crumbling walls.
I'd never quite rebuilt them. Not since that day... that...
In my mind, I felt the pain in my leg; heard bone splintering. I tasted rusty blood and heard the glorious screams of my victim. His skin in my grip, jugular vibrating desperately. It was so warm, so frantic, so—
Noel squeaked. I'd been crushing her leg viciously.
Pulling away, I felt the pounding in my ears; shit, my veins were quaking. Noel trembled, pretty pink lips open and unsure. She either wanted to be kissed, or was preparing to shout for help.
Retreating, I wiped at the sweat at the base of my skull. What the hell was I about to do to her? Too many things were jumbled in my mind. Something had clicked, some strange puzzle that had connected my hunger for Noel to what had happened three years ago.
What I had let myself do—no. What I had been excited to do.
“Mr. Braeburn?” she said gently, pulling her leg off the mounted pole. “Are you alright? You look sick.”
“Fine. I'm fine.” I need to get away from her, get some air so I can think. “I'm going to get something to eat before class arrives. I'll... you can stay here. It's fine.”
In the mirror, I swore I saw her reach out. The hollow spot in me loved that. It wanted to let her touch me. Just pull her in and let go of my hesitance; finish whatever the fuck I was about to start with her minutes ago.
Until I knew what 'it' was—what I wanted to do to her—I couldn't risk her eager embrace.
I wasn't ready for more blood shed.
- Chapter Six -
Noel Addison
If I was positive about anything that morning, it was this:
Carter and I had almost kissed.
I was sure of it... it had been right there, so close!
But why had he run off? Maybe I did something wrong? My brain was reeling, not helping me one bit. Even if we hadn't kissed, I'd felt Carter's carnality. I wasn't blind; the outline of his erection had been a pretty big sign, too. His voice, when he'd bent in close and started to feel my leg...
I was a little embarrassed by my own reaction. The guy was becoming hotter by the second. After he'd left me in his weird rush, I'd needed a full five minutes of heavy breathing to calm down. As for my panties? Well, I was glad I was wearing thick tights.
Pacing the room, I turned the music off and waited for him to come back. I crossed the floor several times, convinced he'd pop his head back inside eventually. I was sitting in the corner, forehead in my palms, when my classmates arrived.
Still no Carter.
Shit, if I didn't make him nervous, maybe he really was feeling sick. The studio was buzzing. Bronta found me, making some comment about how I was insane for getting up so early—didn't I know how cold out it was?
I mumbled an answer, and that was when he finally returned.
Carter swooped inside. He had on new pants and a long, hooded sweater. Had he gone home to change, or did he get clothes from the studio without me noticing? I didn't know where he'd been, what he'd been doing, but he was all business now. “Everyone!” he shouted, clapping until no one made a peep. “On the barre, stretch and then we'll begin.”
He wouldn't meet my eye. It drove me bonkers. Alright, so I DID do somethi
ng. He's acting like I'm invisible.
I was doubting my decision making skills. Asking him about himself, his reasons for being here; it had been so compulsory. Carter was on my mind all night. Then I'd stumbled on him, dancing with such power—such strength! He was like a prince, natural and sophisticated. Then he'd transformed into an animal, twisting and leaping across the room.
Hunting me.
He had my heart slamming in my ribs. With him watching me, that fucking energy coming out of his stare, caressing my body as I'd stretched, I just... I wanted to know who he was.
'Does my dedication really need work,' I mocked myself. Ugh. But then, what he'd responded with—it sent quivers down my spine. He'd touched me and I'd lost it.
Carter had gotten this intense glint in his eyes. I'd seen him smirk, wanted to kiss those sinful lips. That intoxicating cloud was primal. I'd sensed a warning, too. My intuition had acted up, static electricity in my ears. He'd been holding my leg so hard the bone felt bruised. To keep standing there with him, it went against my logical, tiny voice that said 'this is too rough, get away!'
It hadn't mattered. I never got to find out if he was about to go further... or what would have happened if he had. Carter had pulled away from me and fled.
Letting him touch me—that wasn't professional. Inappropriate! Yes. It wasn't right or okay or... or... Dammit. None of this is turning me off of him. Under my tights, I could feel where he'd captured my skin.
In the middle of the room, we began the adagio phase—the slower, stricter moves. I was trying to pay attention, sinking myself into the flow to stay away from my morbid thoughts. If I'd upset Carter somehow, I didn't want to dwell on it. It was pointless until I understood what had even happened.
Pulling a knee high, I followed the loud command. Fouetté turns were challenging—you had to spin from flat foot to pointed, using your other leg to bend and whip you in a circle for momentum—but I loved doing them. My foot kicked out, making me twirl and twirl in place. One, two, three... When I danced, I could forget everything. It was my safety net, my little world of focus and solid walls. Ballet cleared the haze and left me clean.
I didn't stop spinning until I saw all the other people were staring.
Freezing, I blinked nervously. “Wow,” Bronta said, torn between admiration and envy. “You just kept going! You did so many!”
My face burned. She was being kind, but I could see the jealousy all around me; the frowns and pouts.
Even Carter was finally looking at me again.
I've been under attack before. The distaste of other dancers wasn't new, but I would never stop performing with all my heart. This was a cycle I'd learned I couldn't win. Be the best, accept the downsides of that. Still, in the moment, I was never free of the quick, hot flare of discomfort.
It was just... with Carter's ravenous stare on me?
For once, I didn't regret a thing.
****
I was drained when we finally finished up. My plan was to wait around until everyone left. Then, I could pull Carter aside and talk to him. Bronta foiled me effortlessly. “Hey!” she chirped, blocking my vision of the tall instructor. He'd been in the corner, gathering up his things. “That was amazing today! You were great!”
“Thanks,” I said, unable to hide my bashful smile. Bronta's good mood was infectious. “Though I think I made some people angry.”
“Who cares?” Shrugging high, she hooked her arm in mine and pulled me towards the exit. “Let's get something to eat. It's still early enough to do something fun, and I don't have anything else on my schedule!”
Over her ear, Carter was showing the back of his head. “Yeah,” I said, letting her guide me out of the studio. “I could use some fun.”
In the late afternoon, Paris was a grim Christmas card. Everyone was bundled up in thick jackets, noses burned like ripe tomatoes. January had decided to be brutal, refusing snow and handing over only greys and blacks. It made me miss New York where, even though the holiday was gone, the city would still twinkle with colored lights for a few weeks.
Bronta tugged us into a cafe, so small I would have missed it. There was a chalkboard on the curb, the writing looking like ancient runes to me. I had trouble speaking French, reading cramped letters was impossible.
A young man spotted us, asking us a question I didn't catch. Bronta held up two fingers and said, “deux.” Too late, I gleaned he wanted to know how many of us there were coming inside.
He left us by the window, the tiny table and chairs not an issue in the nearly empty room. Though clumsy, I managed to order myself a coffee. Bronta gave me a wary look when the waiter left us. “That's it? A coffee?”
“I'm not exactly starving,” I sighed. I should have ordered more, but my stomach was so knotted I worried nothing could fit.
Bronta hunched forward. “I shouldn't have to ask this, but you're not... you know.” Her hand waved in a quick circle. “Uh. Starving yourself, or something?”
“No!” I blurted, my neck burning. “I've never—don't worry about that, jeez. Okay?”
“Come on, how can I not worry?” She wrinkled her nose. “It's stupid to act like that isn't the new normal these days.”
I was already shaking my head. “Then just take my word for it. I'm not the type who'd go that far.” Assuming the topic was done with, I blinked at Bronta's deep frown. “What? Why that look?”
On the table, her nails tapped loudly. “It's just... you do seem like the type of girl who'd go that far.”
My jaw was hanging open. “I—excuse me? Bronta, you barely know me! How can you even guess a thing like that?”
“I wouldn't have,” she mumbled. “Not until today.” She saw my eyebrows shoot up to my hairline. “I'm sorry! Don't be mad, please? In class, the way you moved... you just looked so good.” Her bottom lip vanished in her teeth. “Ugh, this sounds awful. I just thought—seeing how awesome you were—that sort of talent probably came with a lot of... well...” Bronta lifted her palms up in defeat. “Baggage? Intensity? The kind of person who has to work that hard and get those results, they usually go too far to reach it.”
The bubbling frustration waned. Bronta was surprised when I took her hands, placing them gently under mine on the table. “Calm down, I'm not mad at you. It's not true—what you think about me, I mean. I've never had an eating disorder or anything.”
She tipped her head down, contrite. “Seriously, sorry I even said it. It's shitty of me to assume something like that. I guess I just felt like—well.” Laughing self-consciously, she patted my hands before sliding her own into her lap. “Okay, honesty again. I was jealous and figured you had to be doing something extreme.”
“Nothing that extreme.”
“Then what's your secret?” The tan girl slid back, reclining comfortably.
I cupped the side of my neck. “Hard work, I'm afraid.”
She stuck out her tongue and crossed her eyes. “Ugh. The worst secret ever.” We both giggled, the relief erasing some of the tightness in my body.
When my coffee came, I held it so the steam washed over me. “If you want to come practice with me, you can.”
“That's why you left so early, isn't it?” Poking her salad, she rolled the cucumbers to the side. “I heard you leave. It was still dark out, did you just go right to the studio?”
“I jogged a little,” I said, stirring my drink. Thinking about this morning made me shift in my chair. “Got to the studio around five.”
“Dear lord!” Scoffing, she pointed her fork at me. “You might actually be crazy. I officially declare I won't be trying out this 'hard work' of yours. I'm surprised the door was even unlocked!”
Familiar heat tickled up my back. I kept looking into my coffee, stirring it rapidly. “Uh, yeah. It was open.”
Only the sound of Bronta chewing passed between us. Then, she waited a few heart beats—more than a few, mine was pounding. “Wait. So he was there, then.” Again, that heavy pause. “Holy shit. I—holy shit!
You two were there by yourselves?”
Through my lashes, I peeked up and found her stunned expression. If I'd wanted to lie about it, the moment was gone. Her dramatic gasp said it all. “Okay, yes. Cart—Mr. Braeburn was there with me.”
“Carter!” she laughed. “First name basis already, hm?”
“No no no.” Every time I said 'no' Bronta just looked happier. “Stop acting like this is so scandalous!”
“It is scandalous! God, it's juicy!” Beaming, she pushed her salad to the side. Propping her elbows on the table, she set her chin in her hands. “Tell me more about your private lesson with Carter.”
I couldn't keep my feet from twitching. “Nothing happened,” I whispered.
“I never said anything happened.” Her thin eyebrows scrunched down. “But now I can't think anything else. Tell me how it was, what did you two do?”
“Seriously nothing!” I cried, torn between embarrassment over the topic, and shame that maybe—just maybe—nothing really had happened. I wanted to pretend there had been a moment between us. If there had been, though, it made his reaction all the more painful. If there hadn't... then what was I so flustered about?
Under the table, Bronta poked me with her sneaker. “Hey, look at me.” It took a minute, but I did. Her pretty green eyes were wide with concern. “Noel, I'm only teasing. You don't have to tell me if anything happened or not.”
Faced with her sudden empathy, my defense crumbled. “Something did happen.”
Her lips formed a nervous shape. Her genuine concern unnerved me. “Okay, I was kidding before. I didn't really think you and him would, uh, well.”
“I didn't. We didn't. Not really.” I glanced around, leery. We were still very alone, the waiter keeping to himself and intentionally ignoring us. “Bronta, I think he almost kissed me.”
“Almost?”
Tap tap tap, my toes were moving. “We got into a tiny argument, and then the next thing I knew, he was feeling my leg up and just...” Helpless to explain, I looked at her. “How much experience do you have with guys?”