by Linnea May
"Your lights went out?" he teases, while winking at me.
"Um, well-"
"Let’s take a bath," he interrupts, surprising me once again.
I look up at him, my eyes wide with question. He reciprocates my gaze with arched eyebrows.
"Isn't that what you said you needed after a performance?" he wonders out loud. "Put your feet in ice water and then take a hot bath?"
I nod. "Yeah, but-"
"So, that's what you'll get," he announces, swooping me up in his arms after he gets off the bed, both of us still completely naked as he carries me out of the bedroom and across the hallway to the bathroom.
Chapter XVIII
Lux
Sara sits on a little stool. She’s wrapped in the same robe I gave her after our first night together, her feet drowning in a foot soak filled with ice water, while I draw us a bath and watch her fight the cold. She impresses me, as her face clearly speaks of the willpower it takes her to expose her feet to this extreme cold for an extended period of time, yet she doesn't complain or even make a sound. She endures what she has to endure in order for her to be able to be the dancer she wants to be. I admire ambition like that.
"The bath will feel extra nice after this," she says, shivering as the cold spreads throughout her entire body.
"You do this after every performance?" I ask her, as I sit on the edge of my giant corner bathtub, a luxury I could never do without - and luckily never had to.
She shakes her head. "I do this every day, performance or not. My feet are subjected to extreme stress every day. I need to do this so they don't fail on me."
"How long do you think you can keep doing this?" I ask her. "If this much effort goes into maintaining your feet's health, I can't imagine this is a long-lasting career."
"Some dancers manage to do well until their forties or even fifties!" she interjects. "But you're right, that's not the norm."
She lowers her eyes, watching her tortured feet as she contemplates her next words.
"I guess it depends on your general health, how well you take care of yourself, how strenuous your daily training is... and on your career itself," she continues. "Soloists are paid more than members of the corps, which may allow them to be on stage less often, if they live a frugal life."
"A frugal life, huh," I remark.
She looks at me, tilting her head to the side.
"This is not a career for those who want to get rich," she lectures me. "I guess for that you better become a hacker."
I raise an eyebrow at her, and then shift to check the stage and temperature of the bath by letting my hand run through the water surface.
Why did I have to tell her? I've never shared this much about me and my past with any of the other girls. They were just more or less an acquaintance after fucking them a few times. It's partly because no one ever asked, but also because I like to keep things that should be kept private, private, especially from some random chick who is nothing more than a plaything for me.
I need to remind myself that that's all she is and ever will be. I won't fall into the same trap as my poor brother. Settling is not for me, it's everything that's ever been expected of me. Playing by the rules, settling down with a good woman, reproduce. All that shit. It's hard enough to maintain a straight career without being dragged back into the dark but enticing shadows of criminal activity.
I fucking miss it. The thrill, the success, the feeling of accomplishment once a security gate has been passed, and we have gained insights about private information that were never meant for our eyes. Nothing can compare to that.
I might have to give Max a call.
Once Sara is gone.
She looks at me with her surreal blue eyes, her black hair ruffled from our fuck, my cum still dropping from her hot pussy for all I know, the epitome of purity and innocence, tainted by my hands, my cock.
I will have her again, if not tonight, it must be tomorrow morning before she leaves.
"Shouldn't the bath be ready?" she probes into my thoughts, pulling me back to reality. My hand is burning from being immersed in hot water for quite a while, and the bathtub is about to overflow.
I hastily turn off the water and nod at her, watching as she slowly removes one foot and then the other from the ice water, her face clearly signaling the relief this retreat is giving her. She gets up, casting me a sheepish smile that is cautiously asking for help.
I come to her rescue, supporting her as she carefully places one foot in front of the other, her face grimacing in pain as she approaches the bathtub with the grace of an old lady.
"Very elegant, I know," she comments, as if she's reading my mind. "Welcome to the reality of a ballerina. It's not nearly as glamorous as most people think."
"You looked very glamorous on stage," I remark as my hand moves to untie the belt of her robe. "Especially in that one dance, where it was just you and the other three swans."
She turns to me, her eyes widened in an expression of joy.
"You noticed me?" she asks with apparent glee in her voice.
"Of course," I reply, opening the belt to expose her naked body. "You were the second from the left-"
"Second from the right," she objects.
"Not from my perspective," I insist.
"Oh, right," she says, as she realizes her mistake.
I let the robe glide down off her shoulders, and revel in the view of her beautiful body, as she steps into the hot bath. She makes the cutest hissing sounds when her frozen feet come in contact with the hot water. It must feel even warmer than it actually is, and I can only imagine the hot prickle that is traveling along her light skin as she subjects her body to another extreme.
I wait until she is resting comfortably before I join her in the tub, greeted with a shy smile, as if we've never been intimate before. I can see where she's coming from. It's not like I would usually ask a girl to join me in a bath like this, unless there's shower sex involved. There's an intimacy to what we're doing right now that is on a whole new level.
And I don't know if I like it, or not.
Chapter XIX
Sara
"I only got the part because the girl who was supposed to dance sprained her ankle during practice," I tell him, while we’re soaking in the biggest bathtub I've ever seen. We're surrounded by mountains of bubbles, and I can't get over how sexy he looks with wet hair sticking to his temple. His edgy undercut is less apparent in this state, and he looks a lot younger than he usually does when he’s wearing his trademark suit.
He looks at me, his eyebrows arched in question.
"The part in the dance of the little swans," I clarify. "My ninety seconds of fame. Someone else was supposed to dance, but I got lucky."
"Lucky, huh," he says. "They wouldn't have picked you if weren't good, even if it's just as an understudy. I thought you were brilliant."
I lower my eyes and blush. His compliment may mean little on a professional basis, but it still flatters me to no end.
"With all due respect, but what do you know?" I hear myself say.
He huffs.
"I may not be a ballet expert, but I have eyes," he says. "You're a passionate dancer, and that shows on stage. I couldn't take my eyes off you - it was how you caught my attention in the first place."
Now I'm the one looking at him with a big question mark on my face.
"In the club," he reminds me. "I saw you dancing. Very different from your performance on stage, of course. But there was something about it, it's why I wasn't surprised to hear that you're a professional dancer."
"Oh, right," I mumble, again feeling awkward by the mention of that fateful night. I wish I wouldn't have lost myself the way I did. I wish I could remember more of it. Judging by what he did tonight, our first night must have been something to remember, but I still draw a blank.
"You said that dancing is not a way to get rich," he says, drawing my attention back to him. "But it can certainly make you famous, right?"
I purse my lips an
d tilt my head to the side, contemplating his question.
"Do you think that's what made me do it?" I ask. "The prospect of becoming famous?"
He shrugs. "Maybe?"
I shake my head.
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I never had aspirations of that kind," I say. "I just want to dance. It's all I want to do. I can't help it."
"But you don't want to remain part of the corps for the rest of your life," he interjects. "You mentioned that before."
"Did I?"
Lux nods, casting me a mischievous smile, as if he's caught me doing something naughty by revealing something about myself in front of him that even I may not be consciously aware of.
"Well, soloists and prima ballerinas certainly dance the more interesting and more challenging parts," I admit. "I would love to dance a role like that someday."
"When?" he wants to know.
I furl my eyebrows at him. "What do you mean, when? You're asking as if that decision is within my power."
"Is it not?" he probes. "There must be certain things that you can do to increase the chances of that happening."
"Yes, sure," I say. "Become better. I have to be the best to be allowed to dance the best roles."
I pause, huffing as I think of another aspect that may come into play with this question. Just like in any other job, it helps to know the right people, to get along with the producers, the choreographers, and the heads of the company, the people who decide who's dancing the lead roles. It's a lot about dancing to perfection, but it's also about networking and who knows who, as it always is.
Also, I have a big disadvantage that has been pointed out to me several times. I'm short. Too short, even for a ballerina. Being too tall and too heavy would be more of a problem because it makes things unnecessarily hard for our supports, the male dancers. But being too short is also seen as a problem, especially when one is supposed to stand out among the big group of the corps. There appears to be that one perfect height, that perfect body type, that gets chosen for the best parts - and I don't have it.
"I may have to work a little harder than others," I give voice to my thoughts. "Because of my short stature. A lot of producers don't want their lead to be shorter than most of the other dancers, because they tend to get lost among the others and have a harder time to fill the spotlight."
"Is that so," Lux says. "Even when you're on your toes the entire time."
He winks at me, and I know that he's trying to tease me.
"Well, but so is everybody else," I add for consideration. "Except for the men, of course."
He nods. "Sure."
Lux beckons me to come closer to him. Regarding how close we were just a few minutes ago, we're sitting awkwardly far away from each other, making use of the giant space of the bathtub. I can feel the muscles in my body relax, one by one shutting down for the day. My tortured feet have stopped prickling, and I'm beginning to feel drowsy.
I follow his gesture and move closer, the scented foam parting as I make my way into his arms. Lux pulls me nearer to him, gently cupping my small breasts as he wraps his arms around me. Despite all the questions and the conversation we just had, this is a reminder for me what this is all about. He's hard for me, I can feel his cock pushing against my back, asking for the one thing this ex-convict wants from me the most. He's a good flirt and skilled at making a girl feel comfortable in his presence, but he's not someone to fall for.
I have to remember that. Especially now that my heart begins to flutter and my core quickly joins in, throbbing with need and desire for him.
"I can't help it," he whispers right next to my ear. "You may have to take one more. Call it a night cap."
"Do I have to move?" I coo, closing my eyes as he begins kissing my neck. "I'm really worn out."
"I promised you, I'd do the work tonight," he says in a soft voice, pausing his kisses just below my ear.
"You just enjoy this."
Chapter XX
Lux
Fuck.
How did this happen?
A stinging shock shoots through my body as I realize I'm not alone. She's curled up next to me, her back turned to me, only her black hair peeking up above the sheets. Sara and I not only spent the night together, we spent it together in the same bed.
How could I let this happen? How could I even fall asleep with her lying next to me?
This is how it fucking starts! Those damn girls. They lure their way into your bed, continuing their way crawling into your heart, taking over everything you are until you forget the person you're meant to be.
Just like my damn brother, I seem to be about to lose my mind over a girl. I fucking hate this.
At least we're not in my bedroom, but in the playroom. I was smart enough to bring her here, naked and freshly bathed, her eyes dazed with drowsiness as she sighed against my skin. Suffocated moans escaped her pouty lips as I fucked her from behind, driving her tired head into the sheets, while ramming my hard length over and over again into her petite body. Despite her fatigue, she didn't just let things happen, but claimed her release by toying with her clit while I took what I wanted from her. She didn't ask for permission, and she didn't announce it, but I could feel her muscles tensing around my cock when she found her last release for the night, and it was impossible not to follow her over the edge.
By the time our orgasms had died down, she was almost asleep, curling up snuggly in my arms as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Her relaxed breathing soothed me into a dreamless sleep, even though I had no plans of staying with her through the night.
That's how it happened.
It's okay. It was super late, I was exhausted from fucking her, dazed by the hot bath and her contagious fatigue.
It was a one-time occurrence, that's for sure.
I hurry to get out of bed before she wakes up and turns around, mesmerizing me with those damn blue eyes, inviting me for some damn morning cuddles. Oh no, that's not going to happen.
I get out of the room as quickly and quietly as possible, heading straight for my bedroom to put some clothes on before I make my way to the kitchen. She's not hungover today, so there's no apparent need to make breakfast, except for the fact that I'm starving. I need some bacon and eggs, and coffee.
This is mainly for me. I'm no damn butler. But she can have a bite once she wakes up. I'm not a total asshole, after all.
"You don't sleep much do you?" I hear her voice from behind, startling me so much that I almost let the pan drop.
I turn around to find her standing at the kitchen counter, wearing nothing but the same robe of mine that she's worn every time she’s been here that I'm inclined to call it her robe. Her hair is not nearly as rumpled as it was the last time she woke up at my place, and I notice that she's washed her face and even put on some light make-up. That's good. She shouldn't get too comfortable around me.
Besides, she looks fucking alluring this way. If it was up to me, she'd have her breakfast naked. As that thought crosses my mind, a naughty idea starts to take shape inside my head.
"You just sleep too much," I retort. "Hungry?"
She nods. "Starving."
"Well, only good girls get to eat," I announce, curious to see her reaction. There are many way for her to respond to this, but only one that would satisfy me.
Confusion, as it is painted on her face right now, is only acceptable if it turns into acceptance once she understands what I want from her.
I turn off the stove and walk over to her, taking her doll-like face between my hands and tilting her head back, so she's looking up at me.
"Get rid of the robe," I tell her. "I want you naked."
"I'm hungry," she insists, sounding a bit too infantile for my taste. "I just want to eat-"
"And you will," I promise her. "But I want you to be naked while you do."
Her eyes flicker as she ponders the implications of my words. I can see her instincts fighting back, picturing and analyzing all the different outcomes he
r reply could have. I knew she wouldn't be the kind of girl who drops to her knees as soon as I tell her to. She's defiant and new to this, but she's also curious to see how her body reacts to pleasing me by following my commands.
"Alright," she says, one of her eyebrows lifting in a condescending expression. "If that makes you happy."
"It does."
I don't like her tone, but am pleased to see her obeying, as she lets the robe slide down and off her shoulders, her flexible body winding in elegant motions, while she keeps her eyes fixated on mine.
I want to touch her, but do the exact opposite by taking a step back away from her. Surprise flickers in her blue eyes, and that's exactly what I wanted to see. I hate being predictable.
"Sit," I tell her, pointing over to the high chairs at the kitchen counter. "You'll get your food."
She regards me with one last confused look, but then she follows my order and takes a seat on one of the high chairs, awkwardly shifting around as I bring her a plate with bacon and eggs, and set it down next to a cup of steaming coffee.
"Thank you," she pipes, casting me a nervous smile.
"Thank you," I retort, reaching for her left nipple to tease her with a quick pinch. She yelps when I take it between two fingers, only twisting it for a split second, but enough to make her jump with pain.
She's panting when I turn around to get a plate for myself.
"Always good to keep the heart rate up," I say, without looking back at her.
"You're a monster," she utters behind me.
Chapter XXI
Sara
The last curtain for the season falls as we fly off the stage, arms extended, salty sweat dripping down our exhausted bodies, our feet crying in pain, still confined in the tight cage that pointe shoes can become after a while.
"Done!" Isabella announces next to me, holding her hand up for me to high-five her.
I follow her gesture, smiling, and still breathing heavily from exhaustion. The season is over, which means I won't have any big performances for the next few months, but it doesn't mean that I will be on break, at least not the entire time.