She laid back beside him on the bed. “Finally decided on the playlist yet?”
Kristof nodded. “We’re doing The Lesson whether Liz likes it or not. It’s the perfect ballet for a sex and death theme. Darkness, obsession. For Chrissake, Nureyev danced it, so I don’t understand Liz’s reticence.”
“I think she’s worried about the violence against woman thing in these days of Me Too,” Serena said dryly. She selected a ready rolled joint from Kristof’s silver cigarette case and lit it, coughing immediately and grimacing. She’d never liked pot. It made her goofy, whereas the coke gave her superhuman energy. Kristof looked annoyed and snatched the joint from her.
“Don’t waste it. This is top market shit.”
Serena looked at him slyly. “Who are you getting clean pee from? I know you must be getting it from someone, one of the guys. Who owes you a favor like that, Kristof?”
His eyes glinted dangerously and Serena felt a frisson of fear shoot through her. That Kristof was mercurial was well-known but at that moment, Serena saw something else in his eyes and the word that shot into her brain was … unhinged. Shit.
“Never mind.” She reached for his cock again and this time, she did get him hard. She straddled him, gently taking his notebook from him and running her hands over his chest as she slowly impaled herself on his cock.
Kristof’s expression changed from annoyance to satisfaction as they began to fuck again and as Serena moved on top of him, he grabbed her hair and fisted it in his hands, crushing his mouth against hers then groaning, “Oona … Oona … I’m sorry, I’m sorry …”
Serena waited until after he had fallen asleep to cry.
Chapter Nine
“Again.”
Boh gritted her teeth and return to her first position. The combination was difficult, but she knew she had it down. Kristof was just being an ass. Whether he knew she was supposed to be meeting with Pilot right now, she didn’t know, but the fact that she was there alone after Vlad and Jeremy had already left made her think he did. She danced the combination twice more for him, each time step-perfect.
Kristof sighed as she finished in arabesque. “Again.”
“Not again,” Liz Secretariat walked into the room, giving Boh a smile. “Even from the corridor I could see you were perfect, Boh. Kristof, we need to talk, Boh, you can go.”
“And who the hell are you to … oh, what the hell.” Kristof gave a long-suffering sigh. “Get lost,” he snapped at Boh, who managed to give him the finger behind his back. Liz hid a smile and winked at Boh as she left.
Boh ran to the changing room, half-undressing even before she got there. Boh hurriedly showered and changed into a wrap-around dress over another clean leotard. She and Pilot were shooting test shots today, working out the movements she would perform for him.
She ran through the rainy city streets on Manhattan, her excitement about seeing him again making her breathless and almost giddy.
He was waiting for her at his studio and kissed her cheek as she came into the room. “You’re soaking wet.”
Boh shrugged but allowed him to take off her coat and wrap her in a towel. “Come and get warm. I have coffee.”
She sat, swaddled in his huge towel, sipping coffee as he ran her through some ideas. “To be honest, the steps all have to come from you … I have ideas about shapes I would like you to translate into dance, if you could?”
Boh nodded, loving to see Pilot in full creative mode. “I’d love to.” She looked at the floor of the studio. Brushed wooden boards, which hopefully had a little give. He saw her looking at them and smiled.
“I admit … I had the floor redone especially for you, as best as I could. Come test it for me.”
Boh slipped into her ballet shoes to begin with and slipped off her sweatshirt. She wore nothing but her leotard and a small skirt around her waist. She saw Pilot’s eyes drop to her nipples, cold from the weather, poking through the thin material, then look away quickly, and smiled. She longed for him to touch her and fantasized about grabbing his hand and pressing it to her chest, or between her legs, but forced herself to focus.
She walked over to where he had set up the camera and stood in front of it. “Should I just freestyle?”
“Whatever feels natural, baby.”
Baby. A shiver of pleasure tingled down her spine. She began with small but delicate moves, then bolder jetés and pirouettes.
“Imagine you’re fighting lightning,” Pilot suggested, his eyes locked on her through the camera, “or that you are lightning.”
“Maybe a little music would help.” She ran to her bag and pulled out her MP3 player. Pilot plugged it into his stereo for her and she flicked through the playlists until she found the song she wanted. Immediately “Raise Hell,” by Dorothy boomed through the studio and Pilot grinned.
“Good choice.”
Inspired by the rock music, Boh let loose and jumped and whirled for him, sometimes, grinning, sometimes with a fierce look of determination on her face. Pilot clicked away, shouting encouragement over the music, occasionally stopping to drag props into the frame, things like an old paint-spattered crate for her to pose on top of, or a heavy old rope to wind around her frame.
“Holy shit, Boh,” he said as she paused to catch her breath, “you belong in front of a camera. Some of these are good enough to be in the show and we’re just getting started.”
“I think that’s because of you, Pilot, not me,” she was slightly breathless, but laughing. She came to see some the shots and gave a little gasp. “Is that really me?”
Pilot chuckled. “It really is. See what I mean? You’re a goddess.”
They were standing close, very close, Boh’s left breast against his chest as she leaned over him to look in his camera. She looked up into his eyes and their gazes locked. For a long moment, they stared at each other, then Pilot gave a small smile.
“We could slow things down now, do some more fluid movements.”
Her heart beating fast, she willed herself to move away from him. “I’ve been working on something,” she told him, a little nervousness creeping into her voice. “No one’s seen it yet, but if you’d like to?”
“I’d be honored.”
Trembling, Boh changed the music on the stereo. “You know Olafur Arnalds?”
“The Icelandic composer? I do.”
She smiled, pleased. “He has this song, “Reminiscence” that I love and as soon as I heard it, I wanted to dance to it. It’s very rough but—”
She began to move to the music, using a combination of ballet and freestyle dancing to twist and curve her into shapes to the somber, delicate music, pouring all of her emotions into the dance, closing her eyes, letting all of her pain at her family, her love for her art, and her hidden sensuality flow through her. She heard the click of Pilot’s camera at first but when it stopped, she opened her eyes and saw him.
He was no longer taking shots, but watching her, his green eyes full of … what? She continued the dance but kept returning to his gaze, dancing for him now alone, letting her attraction to him radiate through her body, a yearning, a need.
As the music came to a close, she stepped to him, drawing her fingertips down his cheek. She heard his ragged breathing and smiled. Very slowly and deliberately, she pulled the shoulder of her leotard down and exposed her naked breast. For a moment, she thought he might pull away, then with a groan, he bent his head and his mouth closed around her nipple.
Boh swayed a little, not expecting the rush of pleasure that flooded her system. She tangled her fingers in his curls as his tongue flicked around the nipple, and his mouth sucked hungrily at her. His arms snaked around her waist and pulled her against him and she could feel his cock, thick and long against his blue jeans, and how much he wanted her.
He looked up, and she nodded at the question in his eyes. Her body was screaming for his touch. His hands went to the bun of her hair and released it so it flowed down her back.
“Boh … are y
ou sure?”
She nodded again, not trusting herself to speak in case she broke the spell. Pilot swept her up unto his arms and carried her to the couch against the far wall of the studio. She let her head drop onto his shoulder, her lips against his neck, and when he laid her down, he covered her body with his. He swept the hair away from her face, his eyes full of desire.
She kissed him, her mouth seeking his lips as her hands went under his T-shirt to stroke his stomach, the muscles hard and quivering under her touch. Pilot reached over his head and pulled his T-shirt off in one easy motion.
Boh sighed at the broad shoulders, hard pecs, and traced the small tattoo on his arm. “What is it?”
“Sorry to be prosaic,” he grinned, kissing her throat, “but it’s just the family crest.”
“No, I like it.” She was trembling now as he gently peeled her leotard down, exposing both her breasts and her belly. He bent down to kiss the soft curve of it, his tongue rimming around her navel.
“Christ, you’re beautiful,” he murmured as slowly, his fingers worked around to the fastening on her skirt.”
Then they both froze as someone banged on the studio door. “Pilot!”
“Fuck.” Pilot rolled off Boh and tugged his shirt on. He handed Boheme her sweatshirt. “I’m sorry, baby. I’ll get rid of her.”
He darted to the door and pulled it open. Boh was shell-shocked, but she slid into her sweatshirt and pretended to be tying her ballet shoe ribbons.
“Eugenie … what the hell are you doing here?” Pilot sounded pissed—and exhausted.
A pin-thin blonde woman pushed past him. “You were supposed to call me back, Pilot. I left messages. What—” She stopped when she saw Boh. Boh stared back at the other woman, keeping her face bland.
“Hello,” she said politely. The blonde woman—Eugenie—stared back at her.
“And who the hell is this?”
“Not,” Pilot said with a voice like ice, “that it’s any of your business, but this is Boh. She’s posing for me for my exhibition. Boh is a principal with the NYSMBC. I know you’ve heard of them—didn’t you fuck Wally after their last benefit?”
Boh winced but Eugenie ignored the jibe. She walked to inspect Boh more closely. Boh stood her ground but she could smell liquor on the other woman’s breath, see the faint dusting of coke on her upper lip.
Eugenie looked her up and down. “You are the principal?”
“Yes.” Boh kept her tone even, neither friendly nor rude.
Eugenie smirked. “Are you even American?”
“Okay, that’s it.” Pilot grabbed Eugenie by her upper arm and steered her towards the door. Eugenie cackled. “She tells you she’s the principal, Pilot, but I suspect she’s just the help …”
Pilot, his face creased in anger, pushed her out of the door and slammed it. He turned to Boh, who was standing, shocked. Had that just happened? Had that scrawny bitch really called her the help? Boh had suffered enough racism in her life that she had come to expect it, but so out of the blue like that?
“Boh, I’m so sorry, I—”
“Who the fuck was that?” She looked at him with disbelieving eyes.
Pilot’s shoulders slumped. “My ex-wife.”
“You were married to that?” Boh realized her voice was getting higher, but the shock of almost sleeping with him, then being interrupted by that …
Pilot nodded and she noticed how tired he looked, how distressed. Her face softened and she went to him, wrapping her arms around him. “It’s okay.”
He buried his face in her shoulder. “It’s not,” his voice was muffled, “but it’s my reality.” He looked up, and Boh was shocked by the pain in his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Boh.”
“It’s not your fault.” She placed her palm against his cheek. He leaned into her touch and she stroked her thumb over his face. “What did she do to you?” Her voice was a whisper.
Pilot shook his head. “I really don’t want to talk about it, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind.” She gave him a small smile. “We’re not at the sharing histories part yet.”
Plot smiled at her. “And, although there’s nothing more I’d like than to make love to you, Boh … we’re not there yet either. I’m sorry about earlier.”
She wasn’t stung; she knew he was right. “I know. Call that … second base.”
He chuckled. “I want to do this right,” he told her, his eyes serious. “Let’s work together, and date. Have fun before it gets too … everything is so fast these days. What about anticipation? What about slow burn?” He pressed his lips to hers. “And there’s so much to consider if we decide to give it a go. But, for now, what I’d like, what I so desperately need, Boh, is fun.”
She chuckled. “Then you’ve got it, handsome.” She sighed. “But I think I should go, now.”
He smiled. “Please stay. We can order pizza, watch old movies, talk about the pictures we took.”
Boh weighed how she was feeling. Her emotions were still roiling around inside her, her desire for Pilot overwhelming, but the mood had been ruined by his vicious ex-wife. Did she really want her first time with him to be sullied by that?
No.
But she also didn’t want to say goodbye. She touched his face. “I’d liked that.” She was rewarded by the boyish grin she loved. They settled on the couch when their food arrived, then watched movies and talked late into the night. They fell asleep on the couch, arms wrapped around each other. As Boh gave into unconsciousness, she smiled as she felt Pilot’s lips against hers and wished she could fall asleep this way for the rest of her life.
Chapter Ten
Kristof was celebrating. After Boh had left, he and Liz had finally sat down to discuss his show. “The Lesson,” he said firmly, and raised his hands before she could argue with him. “Non-negotiable. You know my reasons—it’s the ultimate sex and death ballet.”
Liz sighed. “And the most controversial.” She contemplated for a moment then turned back to him. “All right. I’ll agree on condition we include, in the other two parts, ballets with a softer side to them. Romeo and Juliet, and La Sylphide.”
Kristof nodded. “Fine. La Sylphide first, then Romeo, then The Lesson as the finale.” He remembered a promise. “Boh and Vlad for La Sylphide, Serena and Jeremy for Romeo, then Boh and Elliott for The Lesson. That’s who I want, Liz.”
“You’re promoting Serena to principal?”
“Hell, no. Soloist, but I need a different face for Romeo.”
Liz studied him. “Boh’s ready?”
“More than, despite what I tell her. Never hurts to keep them guessing.” Kristof sighed, absentmindedly rubbing his nose. Liz never missed a thing.
“You’ll remember to submit your urine sample for testing?”
Kristof gave her a supercilious smile. “Every Friday lunchtime, like clockwork. Don’t worry, Liz. I know what I have to do to keep my job.”
Now, as he took a cab home to his apartment in Lenox Hill, Kristof smiled to himself. Whether or not he took drugs wouldn’t matter after the showcase. His work would be seen, once again, as ground-breaking, visceral, dramatic, and with Boh as the focus, the first Indian American principal … the sky was the limit.
He opened the door of the apartment and kicked a pile of mail into the corner. He didn’t even glance at it, knowing what the brown envelopes meant. He’d wait until the ones with the red ‘Urgent’ mark arrived. He had better things to worry about.
Now that he’d gotten the green light, he wanted to move things along. He’d set up rehearsals, and the dancers would have to suck up the long hours. They needed to be beyond perfect.
He smiled and sat down at his desk, grabbing fresh paper and pencils. Before the end of the week he would have it, the outline, ready to work with the dancers on the choreography.
For once, Kristof didn’t snort his way into oblivion. He needed his mind sharp. As he wrote and drew steps and costumes, he pictured his Boh as the Pupil in The Lesson,
cowed and terrified as the Teacher approached her with his knife.
Boh woke and smiled as she saw Pilot asleep next to her. She watched him, his long dark eyelashes on his cheeks, his beard longer now. She gently traced the dark violet circles under his eyes, and he opened them, their brilliant green always startling to her.
“Good morning.”
He smiled and pressed his lips to hers. “Good morning, beautiful. Sorry about the morning breath.”
“Me too.” But they kissed anyway. “I like waking up with you, Pilot.”
He grinned and as they sat up and stretched, he drew her close and hugged her tightly. “Would you believe me if I said I slept better last night on this old lumpy couch than I have done in years, maybe a decade?”
“Same. Would it be cheesy to say that it was the best night of my life?” Boh smoothed his dark curls away from his face. “Okay, that was cheesy, but it’s still true. You make me feel so safe, Pilot, so … cared for.”
He smiled. “So … loved?”
Her heart skipped a beat. “What?”
He chuckled. “I’m not saying anything too over-the-top but we have something remarkable here between us, I think. I’ve never felt this …” He cast around for the right word, then looked back at her. “This is right, you know? My gut tells me, everything tells me, we were meant to meet.”
“I feel it,” she said simply, “I feel that too.” She leaned her forehead against his. “And … thank you. Thank you for last night for before … her and after. Most men would have taken what they wanted from me regardless of my feelings.”
The Virgin’s Dance_Older Man Younger Woman Romance Page 5