Waking Kiss (BDSM Ballet 1)

“You should help her out,” I said. “Help her get ahead in the company. Put in a word.”

“You could put in a word better than me. You give so much money to City Ballet. Go to Yves, tell him to promote her to soloist. He’ll do anything for a price.”

I thought about it, biting my lip. “She would hate that, if I bought her a promotion. She can do it on her own. She has the talent.”

“Pfft. She has a lot to learn. She pay her dues, like everyone else.”

“Did you pay your dues? It’s been easy for you.”

“Yeah, because I’m special. For her, it’s work. For most dancers, work.”

“But you can work with her. You can practice with her.” I was getting winded, but I kept pushing. “What if you used her in that ballet you’re working on? Like, officially cast her as your partner in the spring showcase? It would be great visibility for her.”

“Ugh.” He waved a hand. “I don’t even know if I’m doing it. I don’t know.”

That was my cue to tell him that of course he had to do it, and of course everyone would be devastated if he didn’t. Instead I said, “I’ll pay you to put her in your ballet.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“I’ll pay you, what…what’s your price for a ballet sponsor? A thousand pounds?”

He made a face like I was insulting him.

“Ten thousand pounds, then. Any more and you’re just being a bitch, because you’re going to do the ballet anyway. We both know you are.”

He still pretended to balk. “I was going to ask Heather to do it.”

“Heather is jaded and plastic. Plus you look shitty together.”

“Suzanne then.”

“You’re an asshole. Thirty thousand pounds. And you can’t tell Ashleigh.”

“Can’t tell her she’s in it?”

“Can’t tell her about the money. That I paid you to cast her.”

Ruby did a few standing jumps and went up onto his hands, something he frequently did when he was thinking something over. “You know,” he said, looking at me from upside-down, “it’s only a short piece. Twenty-five thousand, okay? I buy a new car, maybe.”

“You don’t drive.”

“I can learn. How hard can it be?” He was doing inverse pushups now. Show off.

“Stop fucking around and stand up like a normal person.”

He did a back flip and came to his feet. “Li-am, how is this different from you paying Yves?”

“Because Yves wouldn’t have agreed to it.” I pumped up the pace on the treadmill. “You know, you could do it for free. Cause you’re my friend. You could not be an asshole for once.”

He snorted. “Is much more lucrative to be an asshole. Hey, I can’t dance forever. I need money for my retirement! You write me a check, and I’ll talk to her in a few weeks, when she proves she can do it.”

“She can do it. If you don’t cast her, you have to give my money back.”

“Maybe. Minus a deposit.”

Before I could come up with a retort, my phone buzzed. Well, what was twenty-five thousand? Nothing to me, and possibly a whole new future for Ashleigh. I shut off the treadmill and checked the message.

I’m not sure I’m a masochist…

I laughed to myself, angling the phone away from Ruby. I typed, How long did you manage to leave them on?

About .5 seconds. It HURT.

I sprawled on the weight bench while Rubio fired up the treadmill. We’ll experiment more at some point, I texted. I bet you could take it longer than that.

“Who you texting?” Ruby asked, working into a long, fast stride.

“None of your fucking business.”

“Ash-leeee,” he sneered in a high-pitched voice. “Li-am loves Ash-lee, Li-am loves Ash-lee,” he sing-songed in time with the rhythm of his feet.

I’ll try, Sir, she texted back a few seconds later.

My groin tightened. I dropped the phone and slung my arm over my eyes, picturing Ashleigh’s serious, pretty face, and her body just waiting for me to awaken it. I’ll try, Sir. She’d used the “Sir” just to get me hot.

I’ll try too, Ash, I thought. For as long as I have to. You deserve to be free of your fears.

I rested there on the bench and thought wildly lascivious thoughts about her. Ruby and his schoolyard chanting ceased to exist.

Chapter Eleven: Second Session

I was mentally prepared—mostly—to see Liam on New Year’s Day, which was our next appointed meeting. I was not prepared to see him New Year’s Eve at the City Ballet fundraising gala, dressed in a kickass tuxedo with a black bow tie, and his hair all sexy and tousled.

He was hot in jeans and a sweater, hotter in a suit, but he was devastating in a tux. He stood out in the crowd, so at ease as he talked and laughed with the other guests at his table. I could see the businessman in him, the capable leader. At first I thought the pretty woman on his left was his date, and I felt unreasonably jealous, but then she held hands with the guy on the other side of her and I breathed an equally unreasonable sigh of relief. Liam wasn’t my boyfriend. I didn’t want him to be. Or…let’s be honest…it wasn’t realistic for him to be my boyfriend. I still felt jealous when other women approached him—and they did, in droves.

As for myself, I stole glances at him from behind columns and stuck to the fringes of the room. I didn’t know how to relate to him in this very public, very non-sexual setting, especially since I’d been fantasizing non-stop about his deep voice and masterful dom thing, and the way he’d bruised my ass with his belt. I’d also been groping my nipples the entire past week at his instruction. I wasn’t ready to come face-to-face with him, especially when I was in my dancer-fundraiser-leotard outfit and he was in that tux.

For a while it was easy to lurk around and gawk because the lights were low. The company presented a couple hours of special ballet snippets from the season’s repertoire, none of which I was in, but then the lights came up and I was rolled out onto the floor with the other underlings to smile and hock autographed programs and pointe shoes.

I kept one eye on Liam while I smiled and interacted with the guests around me. At some point I lost him and I thought maybe he’d gone home. Yves gave a rousing and obsequious speech and Rubio spoke too, working the room like an expert. He knew how to smile and be nice when he needed to, and I saw him give more than one rich old lady an inappropriately deep kiss. Around eleven-thirty they started passing out noisemakers and hats, and the large screens on either side of the stage were tuned to a cable New Year’s Eve show that everyone was too drunk to watch. I soldiered on with my fundraising duties. The drunker people got, the more likely they were to shell out a hundred bucks for a worn-out pair of shoes.

Then someone touched my elbow and I knew without looking that it was him.

I turned as he pressed his cheek to mine. “Fancy meeting you here,” he murmured. I could tell from his teasing tone he knew I’d been hiding from him all night. I stepped back and drank in the sight of him.

“It’s good to see you, Liam. I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Yves roped me in. What are you doing?”

I glanced down at the basket on my arm. “Selling autographe

d ballet shoes.”

He poked at the pile of dingy satin and ribbon. “They’re used. That’s disgusting.”

“Not to the wealthy foot fetishists of the world. Would you like to buy a pair?”

He lowered his voice and gave me a smoky look. “Are any of yours in there?”

“Ashleigh Keaton shoes aren’t a big money maker.”

“Someday they will be.” He picked a shoe off the top and flung it down again. “Jesus. That one’s still sweaty.”

“The sweaty ones cost extra,” I said in all seriousness. “They’re fresher.” His gaze flew to mine but I couldn’t hold back the grin.

“You little fucker. I almost believed you.” He grabbed my arm. “Put that down and come with me.”

I looked around but no one was paying attention to us. He hustled me to the side of the auditorium and into the shadows near the stage door. “Where are we going?” I asked.

“I don’t know. To a closet somewhere.”

I tugged against him, gripping my basket. “I can’t leave. I’m supposed to sell shoes.”

“I’ll buy the whole fucking basket of shoes, okay? Just…quit selling those. It’s creepy. Put that down.” We fought for a minute over the basket but he managed to strip it from me. He put it down next to the wall. “You can come back for it later. I need a minute with you. Alone.”

Just a minute? He seemed really keyed up, and I was adrenalized just to be close to him. From the beginning, I’d felt that way. He pulled me into the first room we came to, a cramped, obsolete sound room.

“Speaking of creepy,” I whispered, “I think someone died in here.”

“No one died in here. Someone probably got groped in here a few times.” His hands opened on my throat and he kissed me, pressing me against the wall. “I’ve missed you, Ash,” he said in between ravishing my mouth. “How are you?”

I struggled for breath. “I’m— I’m— I don’t—”

He kissed me again, his black tie standing out against the white of his shirt in the dim room. I touched his neck, his cheek. There were no other bare spots to touch. His fingers roved over my pale pink leotard with its short, diaphanous skirt. “I could see the outline of your ass in this leotard,” he whispered with ferocious craving. “I’ve wanted to grab it all night.” He did then, firm and hard, and kneaded it in his palm. “Your body is ridiculous.”