by Laina Kenney
The man looked so familiar. Anja curtseyed as she would on stage, but her throat closed up. As soon as he released her hand she edged a little closer to Zenn. Immediately Zenn’s arm came around her and her throat loosened again.
“I am very pleased to meet such an artist,” she said. “Your work is incredible. You took such beautiful care in every detail.”
Max looked pleased.
“Thank you. The garment is double-worked kid leather, and I sewed and laced it all by hand. I’m convinced that makes a difference in the feel.”
Anja raised her eyebrows. “But, you should be charging so much more for handmade garments. You must raise your prices to reflect your skill. If you do not value your art, then no one else will see its true worth,” she admonished. She had heard the same over and over from her mentor at the New York Ballet, and it had been wonderful advice for a budding professional artist.
Max bowed a little in acknowledgement.
“Of course, I’ve considered the price,” he said. “But for now, it’s just a hobby of mine.”
“Except that sometimes he takes commissions,” Zenn added, “and drives us all crazy by working all night in the shop to try to meet the ridiculous deadlines he always agrees to.”
Anja gave Max a stern look. “You must take more care not to burn yourself out. You must not abuse the creative spirit inside you. Society needs more beauty, more art, and you cannot deliver it if you are exhausted.”
Max looked startled then smiled. “I’ve never thought of it in that way. I like the way you think.”
Zenn cleared his throat. “Well, let’s hurry and grab these two items today before the prices go up,” he said and Anja laughed.
“You’ll want to try that corset, first, feel the leather warm with your skin. The change rooms are this way,” Max said. He expertly loosened the corset and stripped the mannequin. He turned away to the right, carrying the corset and boots. Anja took Zenn’s hand and followed.
Inside the change room, she hurried with her clothes. The men were talking together outside the stall. All she could hear was the deep tone, not the words, but she didn’t want to make them wait too long. It was always the complaint of men that women took a long time to dress, and Anja knew she was bad for that in most cases. She just wanted to look her best, especially now when a gorgeous man was waiting for her.
She had to take her clothes off down to the lace panties to get the boots and corset on, and the feel of the supple leather was entrancing. She didn’t want to think about what kind of a picture she might present. She didn’t want to look until she could figure out a way to get the laces tied.
“It’s me,” Zenn said from right outside. “Open up.”
Anja gasped and covered the gaping front of the corset. She couldn’t reach the back laces by herself, but she didn’t want him in the change room with her.
“No, go away.”
Zenn tapped twice.
“Anja, open the door.” His voice was darker, deeper, and a little shiver went up her spine.
Maybe he could help with the laces, her inner voice whispered seductively. She smiled into the mirror. It wasn’t the laces she would want help with if Zenn was in the same room. Just the thought of him made her nipples peak. But they were in a public place.
The tapping came again.
She unlocked the door before she could reconsider and he pushed inside and quickly locked the door again.
Zenn’s big body seemed to take up all the available space inside the tiny room. His shoulders were so wide that she didn’t know how he could fit. She thought distantly that his parents must be a physically perfect couple.
Anja turned to present her back to him and lifted her hair. The cool air on the vulnerable back of her neck raised chill bumps on her skin.
“I cannot reach the laces,” she said, and her voice trembled.
He pulled the long laces tight and then tighter. Anja already felt breathless, but the smooth leather was such a close fit when Zenn tied off that she felt giddy. Or maybe that was just the natural effect of having him in the room.
“Breathe, Anja. You can still breathe. I didn’t pull it that hard,” he said. He spent some time petting and softly stroking the leather and her skin warmed underneath.
“Watch me in the mirror,” he said and her breathing hitched. “Watch my hands pleasuring you.”
He stood very close behind her, and the heat of his hard muscular body felt like sun-baked stone. When his hot breath fanned against her shoulder she shuddered. Having him there quickened her pulse and fired all her dormant fantasies.
She let her hair fall and watched him.
His hands stroked over and down, fondling and gently squeezing her buttocks, exposed as they were in the lace thong she wore.
“Come as many times as you want to, but don’t make a sound.”
His dark seductive tone stroked her as surely as his hands did and her body loosened. She wondered dimly if he had any idea what he did to her, but then his hands slid lower and she had to concentrate to stifle her cries.
Oh, he knew.
He fondled and stroked, and she watched his dark face above hers in the foggy mirror. In the dim light his fierce expression made him look like a demon from some old Russian folktale and Anja shivered as her body responded with another orgasm to pile richly on the first. He was too beautiful to be only a man.
He brought her to climax over and over, sweeping his long fingers under the top of the corset to tease her stiff nipples into aching points. And all the while, his other hand worked below. She was floating in a hazy world of sensation, a world where pleasure was all and Zenn was king.
Finally, he cupped his hands over her and nuzzled her neck.
“How many climaxes did you have, Anja?”
His whisper made her want to sob. He expected her to think? She had no idea how many climaxes. She shook her head against his shoulder. She couldn’t say how many she had experienced with him, but she wanted more.
“How many?” He nipped her earlobe and she jumped.
“Many.”
“You lost count?”
“Yes. Too many to count,” she sighed.
Zenn smiled and nibbled her throat while his busy hands teased and tortured. Her body jerked once again and he laughed.
“Plus one, I think. The perfect number.”
He patted her bottom affectionately.
“Get dressed, honey. Time to go home.”
She gaped at him. She just wanted to slide to the floor and sleep, but she hurried to comply. He had not taken his pleasure, and apparently he wasn’t going to yet. He watched her with those avid chocolate eyes on fire with lust, and it took twice as long to get her clothes back on with his hands getting in the way more than helping. By the time she was fully dressed and presentable, she was ready for another climax. She looked down at the impressive bulge in his jeans and shivered. She was so wet right now she would be able to take that monster easily.
She didn’t even want to think about walking past Max and his staff red-faced and breathless, with her blouse sticking to her hot skin, but she needed Zenn and it was plain that he had no intention of taking her fully in the dressing room of an upscale sex shop. She almost giggled just thinking about it. And she had thought that the kitchen table was an adventurous location.
She leaned up to kiss his hard mouth and his response was deep and wild and a little desperate. His extreme reaction made her frantic to have more of him.
“Home,” she said, “and hurry.”
Chapter 8
“Once more, with the stage ending like we practiced. Stand tall but relax your shoulders,” Anja said and Zenn groaned.
He was sweating and the muscles in his thighs were twitching. They had been dancing together all morning in Anja’s studio. He was sure he had their waltz music memorized beat by beat. He had never realized what superb shape dancers must be in to keep up that high level of physical control for endless hours of rehearsal and
performance.
It took every ounce of his concentration to follow the pattern of steps and turns, never mind watching his body position in the wall of mirrors that showed every tiny slip-up. How was he supposed to feel the music, move, step, count, and watch himself all at the same time?
Over the past week Anja’s stamina and focus had amazed and delighted him, but that was during a much more pleasurable pursuit. Even last night, when she rode him to exhaustion with her hands secured behind her back and wearing nothing but her new red leather corset, he had been impressed and had praised her extravagantly. But he had really had no idea until they started putting the components of their dance together from start to finish.
She was strong and supple and very clear about her expectations. Nothing less than true exhaustion swayed her in the least from her goals. After working so closely with her, he believed Anja could run some of his old football teammates into the ground. They would either worship her or hate her, but she’d be the best damned trainer they had ever had.
The music started again and he stepped into the position, tall, straight, and ready. Anja flowed into his arms and they began to dance. Her supple body distracted him and awakened the ceaseless gnawing hunger he was coming to associate with her alone.
He pulled his thoughts together with an effort. If he didn’t pay attention, he’d never catch on to this dance, and he had a better plan in mind for the afternoon. After the rehearsal, he intended to seduce his pretty dance teacher. He had been back to Dominant Focus, and had a new toy for them to try. The thought inspired him to concentrate.
Through the final steps he was moving smoothly, counting furiously in his head and waiting for the cue for the dip and flourish at the end. They had rehearsed that small section alone earlier in the week, but had never made it as far as that in the actual waltz yet.
When the moment came, he braced and lowered her into the dip. Her free hand swirled in her signature flourish as he raised her body again, and the dark bruise on the underside of her wrist caught his attention.
He stopped and grabbed her hand. The raw purple line on her pale skin was an obscenity screaming that he was a monster.
And there was a matching dark smudge on her other wrist. He had tied her, restrained her again and again in different positions, but he had always been so careful to leave room for movement. Or he had tried to be careful. The idea that his pleasure had left marks of pain on her soft skin made him sick.
Memories of his young wife cringing away from him in fear overwhelmed his control. She had screamed that he was a demon and a monster and that he should be locked away from women. Her words had been harsh and somewhere in his heart he still felt the terrible pain of her judgment. He had never wanted to hurt her, only to bring the most pleasure she could stand.
“Anja,” he choked and pressed his lips to the bruise.
She sighed and cradled his head, hugging him.
He eased her body away from his and looked her over.
“Are there more?” he asked. His mind threw up images of Anja naked and covered in bruises. He took his hands off her and stepped back.
“More what?” she asked absently, heading for her water bottle as she did regularly. She took a deep drink.
“Are there more bruises on you?”
She laughed and he tensed.
“Of course,” she said, and tossed him a towel to wipe down.
His soul cringed. Of course he had left more marks on her. He had tried to keep himself under tight control, but she blew his restraint out of the water. He should have been more attentive to her and less concerned with trying out his pent-up fantasies of her all at once.
“I’m a dancer. It’s physical. I always have a bruise on me somewhere.”
Zenn brightened and then reality slapped him back down. She was only trying to placate him, trying to help him rationalize in his mind what could never be justified. The evidence proving his crime was darkening on her wrists even now. Anyone who saw her would know that he wasn’t taking proper care of her.
“Not from me,” he said quietly, and she turned to face him. “Max told me to be careful with you. He said that pale skin would bruise, and I didn’t think twice about it. I didn’t even check you over after. I’m so sorry.”
Anja frowned. “I liked Max but I wish he would mind his own business and stay out of my business. Wait, did you say you are sorry?”
“I am sorry.” He would never be able to express how sorry he was. He had meant to worship, not to harm.
“Are you apologizing to me, or to yourself? I wonder only because I did not ask for an apology from you. I enjoyed what we did together. It gave me more than I even knew I was seeking. I was with you every moment in every way. I am not sorry. If you are sorry—” Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat harshly.
Zenn winced. He reached out to her then let his hand drop.
“Anja,” he said but fell silent. His stomach burned and he didn’t have the words to convey the loathing he felt for himself at that moment.
Her small hands clenched into fists and she straightened to her full height. Even so, she barely reached his chin. He almost wished she would punch him. He would stand there and let her beat on him if that was what she needed. It would be little enough to make up for what he had done to the woman who had trusted him.
“Are you finished with me already?” she asked.
His racing mind hadn’t made it that far, but maybe it would be better for her if he just left. Her life would be safer without someone like him in it pushing her to do things she would never have thought of on her own.
“It’s not because of you. It’s nothing you did, I just don’t want to hurt you,” he said and the words sounded lame to him.
Anja stomped her foot.
“You are hurting me now. Can you not understand that?” Her voice was tight.
“I don’t want you to be in pain because of me.”
“I am in pain, the only kind that matters. You do not understand what it means when I say I have been a dancer for most of my life. Physical pain is nothing to me. I have danced rehearsals and done therapy through ankle injuries and torn knee ligaments. I know what real pain is. A bruise is nothing. Nothing.”
She touched his cheek and searched his face with wide eyes, trying to make him see her point of view. But all he could see was the darkness of her injury against her pale skin. Her soft hand caressed his face while the bruise accused him of carelessness. He had been offered a treasure when she gave him her trust and he had abused it.
He took her hand and kissed it.
“I’m leaving, Anja. I wish you only the best.”
As he turned and walked out the door, he was followed only by her voice in cool tones in what could only be Russian. He spared a moment to wonder what curses she was using on him, but it didn’t really matter. It couldn’t be any worse than what he was calling himself.
Chapter 9
Anja watched him go and called his broad back every name she could think of in ruthless gutter Russian.
She took a few minutes to pace and curse, getting some of the rage and anguish out of her system in an effort to keep the tears at bay. She had far too much to do in a few short days to indulge in a display of emotion which could sap her energy and leave her listless and depressed. She had much experience as a performer at leaving her emotional upsets backstage when she was dancing. She could do it. She would have plenty of time to fall apart next week when this was all over.
She didn’t have the time to throw herself on the bed and wail over the latest disaster with Zenn. She had a radio interview to prepare for and a dress rehearsal in two days, and now there would be no celebrity star for her fundraiser.
Her head came up and her eyes narrowed. Or maybe there would be.
She marched out of the rehearsal room and straight up to the front desk. As it always had in the past, her work would save her. Her heart felt like a lead weight in the tightness of her chest, but no matter w
hat she lost, as long as there was a performance approaching, she still had her purpose.
“Ellen, call the printer and have Zenn Carder’s name removed from the posters immediately, before they go to print.”
Ellen stared.
“Is he that bad a dancer? When I saw him come out of there I wondered. He looked like he’d lost his best friend, you know? But you’re so good. Surely you can teach even him to dance one simple dance. How bad can he be?”
Anja made an abrupt gesture.
“He is good as a dancer, very smooth and aware of his body’s momentum. Not so good as a partner in any other way. He will not be in the show.”
Ellen frowned and twirled her hair.
“Well, what are we going to do without a local celebrity to boost our attendance numbers? We really need to rake in the cash for Genessa’s scholarship. She won’t have time to work if she’s going to really concentrate on her studies. And rent in New York is expensive.”
Anja nodded and refrained from rolling her eyes. Ellen had never even been to New York City, but she lamented the astronomical costs as if she had lived there for years.
“And you promised to announce the name of our secret celebrity on the radio interview tonight. The station has been hyping it on air all week, building the suspense. Who else can we rope into this on such short notice?”
Anja smiled fiercely.
“I will call Alyo. I know if I ask him to, he will come and dance for us.”
Ellen gaped. “Alyo Dvenyev? After two years you’re going to pick up the phone and call the premier male dancer of the NYC Ballet? But you said you would never call him or talk to him again. You said the word never. You said when hell froze over. You said—”
“I know what I said! Now never is today and snowflakes fall in the center of hell.”
Anja grabbed the phone and dialed before she could think better of it.
Alyo was a gorgeous man, a spectacular dancer, and an excellent partner. He was famous and without doubt fit the definition of a celebrity. And the plight of a brilliant young dancer without the funds to study would touch his heart. They had been partners onstage and off as young dancers, but even that had somehow not been enough to hold her in New York City. She had always wanted more.