Look at me with all this diva confidence.
I grinned.
“What are you thinking about?” Misha had opened his eyes and was now watching me.
“I was thinking about how these morning rehearsals tend to be a check-in for the theater.”
“How is that?”
“Some ballerinas tend to substitute meals for drugs. Cocaine usually. A few times I caught blood dripping out of a ballerina’s nose right before the performance.”
“Not good at all.”
“Also the theater wants to make sure we are remaining disciplined and not getting caught up in the supposed glitz and glamour of the ballet world.”
“There is a lot of glitz. Men worship you all.”
“Hmmm. Not many worshiped me which helped me remain dedicated.”
“They will now. Too bad I’ll be shoving them out of the way.”
I smirked. “No, you won’t. I can handle them.”
“But you won’t.”
“I will. I don’t need a personal cock blocker. I know how to say no to men.”
“We will see.”
“We will.” Moving, I got on top of him and straddled his big body.
Misha was all muscle and strength. Chiseled by God. Ripples and ridges covered his stomach. There was no ounce of fat. Just slabs of tight muscle, washboard abs, and a sexy V on his pelvis.
I swooned and studied him closer.
Layers stacked his arms. I touched that huge tattoo on his chest—the holy cross formed from binary code.
You are one gorgeous man.
My thighs stretched over the width of him.
And I loved that he was all man and all mine.
Doubt trickled into my head at the wrong time.
Is he all mine? At least for now. How long could this really last?
There were all types of balletomanes in our world—which were ballet fans and enthusiasts.
Among our company, we called the rich male balletomane, stallions. These were the fans that liked us for more than our dancing. They made a sport of sleeping with us. Season after season, I watched other ballerinas be dined and spoiled by many rich guys. The next season the men would be with another ballerina.
Things got even darker in my world.
In many ballet companies, especially in Russia, former dancers complained and some even went to the news about how they were being pimped out to wealthy patrons. A lot of scandal had been rising within the past three years. Granted, the companies always argued that the allegations were nothing more than rubbish. But many were starting to believe the ballerinas.
Rich men always have to mess good things up.
While my company didn’t clearly pimp us out, after every performance, they pranced us around millionaires—all men, never a couple or single women around. The party’s guests represented oligarchs, members of the board of trustees, politicians, and other influential horny bastards. And the millionaires had to pay a lot to be invited to these special after party events.
Perhaps, my skin color protected me. I didn’t have the problems that Olesya would complain to me about. Many times she’d been invited to a private dinner with one of those guests. At the end, the man demanded sex, claiming he’d paid the theater for the deal. She always ran out of there.
One time, I’d picked her up a block away from an oligarch’s mansion. She’d been in tears. Her clothes were torn, and she refused to discuss what may have happened. That night, Valentina arrived and consoled her.
Due to all of that, I stayed away from balletomanes.
Now what? Am I staying away? No. That’s not Misha. He has nothing to do with that stuff. He’s not like those old, rich, and creepy patrons.
I gazed his way, knowing that he didn’t have to pay for any ballerina pussy. They would’ve all been happy to give it to him.
Misha is a blessing. Please let this last.
Without his attention, I would be lost. He had done what others couldn’t. What I couldn’t. He brought my grandmother to me. And he had the nerve to spoil the shit out of me. And be gorgeous too. Either I was the luckiest woman in the world, or totally bamboozled with a convincing mirage. I hoped these moments wouldn’t stop. Never did I want to look up at his balcony and not see him there. Never did I want to spend one night in an empty bed without him.
A flashback of last night played in my head.
Misha had pumped that cock into me. “Whose is it?”
“Yours.”
“That’s fucking right,” he growled. “No one else gets this.”
He wanted to own my pussy, but did he also want to own my heart? Surely, I was willing to give it to him. There could be no other man. Misha took my breath away. He became everything to me and more. I couldn’t have dreamt a better man.
His eyes appeared a little sleepy as he whispered, “What’s on your mind?”
“Us.”
He gave me a lazy smile. “Tell me more.”
“I’m enjoying this.”
“Me too.”
“I don’t want this to stop anytime soon.”