Waking Kiss (BDSM Ballet 1)

“I am still considering.” He pursed his lips. “Or rather, I am still fighting with Yves. I have some ideas.”

“He doesn’t agree with your ideas?”

“Not yet,” he said. “You want to listen?”

He went to the audio station in the back and put on a track that sounded very evocative and lyrical, with faint, thrumming guitar strains and crying violins. For the choreography, his choice was perfect. I started doing the steps to the music because they fit, and he joined me a moment later. We watched ourselves in the mirrored wall, dancing all out, even improvising a few steps at the end. After the music stopped, after he went back to switch off the track, I kept moving, lost in his vision.

“You go to see Liam?”

His question jolted me. I turned and dropped off pointe. “Did he tell you I did?”

“He didn’t tell me nothing. Did you go?”

I poked the tip of my shoe into the floor. “Maybe.”

He snickered. “That means yes. You sleep with him? You play BDSM with him?” The lurid gleam in his eye took me right back to that night he’d groped me and lifted me in the air.

I gave him a quelling look. “Why should I tell you when you won’t even tell me what your ballet is about?”

“I gave you his address, you remember? I introduced you to him.”

“And?” I went to the barre and stretched out my arms. “What we’re doing together is none of your business.”

“Ah. So you are doing something together.”

He smirked at me. I’d been having such a good time dancing with him, I’d almost forgotten what a jackass he could be. “Do you need any more help?” I asked. “It’s getting late.”

“Yes, getting late.” He frowned and waved at me. “We’re done. Enough.”

“I mean, I can stay if you want—”

“No. Go. Is late, Raccoon Eyes. Go home to sleep.”

I started for the door, then turned back to him. “Thanks for letting me work with you tonight. I don’t know if you think about stuff like this, but you’ve always been an inspiration to me. You’re the whole reason I auditioned to join this company, because of your talent and your expertise. You’re an inspiration to a lot of people, and…” He looked away from me, over at the wall. Apparently I was boring him. “Anyway, no matter what your ballet is about, it’s really beautiful and a pleasure to dance. So thanks for letting me help with it tonight.”

I turned to leave, embarrassed by my fawning soliloquy, but his voice stopped me.

“Hey! Ash-lee.” He jogged over to meet me by the door. “I meant to tell you, your shoes. Much better.” He did this awkward little wink and thumbs up. “And maybe…if you stay late again and I need help… If you’re around, maybe you come help me again? Is easier to think of the steps if there is someone to try them.”

Was The Great Rubio really standing in front of me, tapping me as a practice partner? Or was this some bizarre fantasy world? I tore my eyes from the definition of his chest and forced them to his face. “Sure. Of course. I’ll help you anytime, Mr. Rubio. Like I said, I’m a huge believer in your art.”

He wrinkled his nose. “My art, heh? Why you call me Mr. Rubio?”

“It’s in my contract.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “It is not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Call me Ruby if you want, like Liam.” He waved a hand. “If we’re all going to be friends. Anyway, Ash-lee. You go. I got more work to do. If I need you again, I’ll come find you with your shoes.”

“Or you could call,” I said. “Liam has my number. Or, I could give it to you. We could set up, you know…times to work.”

“Hm.” That was it, just “hm,” and he walked away from me, lost again in his dance.

*** *** ***

The days ticked by, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, with no word from Ashleigh. I was okay with this. I preferred it that way. If she’d glommed onto me and called me constantly, I would have called the whole thing off. What we were doing was really intense, and really intimate by default. I didn’t want her to get the wrong idea—that we were going to start dating, become a couple, get married. My lifestyle wasn’t set up for that kind of commitment, especially to someone with problems like hers.

Then why are you thinking about her all the time?

It wasn’t so much that I was thinking about her, just that I couldn’t get into the idea of hanging out with other women. I’d become too focused on our little sex training program to work my usual game. I ignored the backlog of sexts on my phone, even though it was my habit to flirt just for the fun of it, and maybe hook up a few times a week with an especially persistent slut. I should have been hooking up every night. I had a lot of built-up sexual energy and I didn’t want to unleash it on Ashleigh.

Not yet.

Ruby came over on Saturday to hang out and use my gym, which was another poking reminder of her presence in my life. He handed me an envelope just inside the door.

“Your invite to the New Year’s Gala.”

“Thanks.”

“You coming?”

“I might.”

He smirked at me. “Your girl will be there.”

I headed toward the gym. “I don’t know what girl you’re talking about.”

Ruby let it lie until we were well into our workout, until I was sweating through a series of bench-presses with his ugly face looming over the bar.

“She told me, you know.”

“Are you going to spot me, Rube, or are we going to girl-talk?”

“She told me she came to see you.”

“I think Lousha left some makeup upstairs. Maybe we could do each other’s eyes. Talk about getting our periods.”

Ruby chuckled and pushed down on the bar until I hissed at him to stop. “I know you like Ash-lee,” he taunted. “You never went to see so much ballet.”

I ignored him and readjusted my grip, pressing against his opposing force.

“Aw, come on,” he said, pulling a pout. “You talk to me about the other girls. You tell me everything.”

“You work with this one.”

“Ah. You ‘respect’ this one. Maniero,” he drawled in Portuguese.

“You’re getting on my nerves.” I frowned and powered through another few reps. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d guess that you were interested in her.”

Ruby shrugged. “I practiced with her. She helped me, a few nights ago.”

I rattled the barbell into the uprights and sat up. “You practiced what with her? Where?”

“This ballet I’m working on. She’s the only one there so late. Still banging her shoes, but less hard now.” He gave me a speculative look. “You sleep with her, yes? She has that…” He wiggled his fingers around his head. “That fuck-my-face look.”

“Stop. I’m not going to tell you anything.”

“Maybe I find out myself, now that you’ve brought her into the lifestyle.”

“She wouldn’t touch you with a ten foot pole.”

“No?” His demonic features twisted into a grin. “She told me I’m her inspiration. She admires me.”

I leaned on my knees and faced him as he went to work with a couple of dumbbells. “What do you want me to say? ‘Don’t touch her, you dirty bastard?’ ‘Hey, no, she’s mine?’ I know you’re not interested in her. She’s not your type. If you’re curious about how she plays or how she fucks, I don’t know. I don’t know how she fucks yet. I haven’t fucked her, okay? We haven’t scened yet, not really. She’s new to the lifestyle stuff.”

Ruby dropped the weights and rolled his shoulders. “You haven’t fucked her? What do you like about her then?”

“Her body.” That was something he’d understand.

“I know a lot of girls with bodies like that,” he scoffed. “Not sexy. No boobs. No fat to grab on to.”

“I like her face too. She’s pretty.”

Ruby pursed his lips and ignored me, picking up the weights aga

in. He was more of a drama queen than any of the women I hung out with. I got on the treadmill and tuned him out, settling in for a long run.

“You think she dance good?” he asked a few minutes later. “Ash-lee?”

“You’re the dancer. You tell me. You think she dance good?” I parroted his words, nailing the accent.

His brows drew together. “She dances different,” he finally said. He put down the weights and started pulling poses in the mirror. “She dances like, uh…” He made a motion, a gripping gesture at his center. “She dances like something eating at her. Like she have sharks circling under her in a tank.”

It was something I normally would have laughed at, especially with his grasping illustration, but I knew too well what fueled that intensity.