At the time, I told myself she was threatened by my success. Now, with a little more perspective, I can see that I didn’t handle things well. I kept my aspirations to move on from Northeast a secret and then abruptly bailed on her.
But the Joffrey was a dream come true. I was selected the year Carlo arrived. I thought I was such a big shot. I left Northeast Ballet and didn’t look back—never stopped in for a visit or sent a Christmas card or anything.
I consider going in to say hello, but now, as I sit here watching the rush of students, I realize it’s a bad time. Ana will be busy in the office if she isn’t in one of the studios, and I wouldn’t have time to...well, I owe her an apology for leaving and never coming back until now. And for my arrogance in just writing off everything she taught me. In retrospect, the technique and discipline I learned here has served me very well. I never had to unlearn any bad habits, the way some dancers do. Hell, I never would’ve made it into the apprenticeship program if it hadn’t been for Northeast.
Putting the car into drive, I pull out and head to Carlo’s apartment. I could start with an email to Ana. It’s a chicken-shit approach, but at least I’d have time to think about what to say and how to say it. I’ve never been good at dealing with people on the fly.
It’s too bad—I had this little fantasy about telling Carlo I followed his advice and started teaching. I wonder how he would reward me? Would it still involve me naked and merciless under his hands.
I smile to myself, my core tightening at the idea.
Of course, telling Carlo would mean confessing I went somewhere besides class without his permission. Not that I mind a little punishment at his hands.
I’ve never had so much attention from a man in my life. He notes what I eat, what I don’t eat. How much I study, how much I sleep. Wednesday, when I woke up after him being out late playing poker, I found a dozen pink roses in a vase with a note that just said, “Make sure you eat a good breakfast, principessa.”
So I ate breakfast. In fact, I’ve eased back on my obsessive monitoring of food. If I’m brutally honest with myself, I’ll admit that I’ve used food in the past year or two—or the withholding of food—as self-punishment. Punishment for not being able to keep John’s attention. Or for ruining my dance career. Or not being perfect.
Maybe now that Carlo’s taken over my punishments–and made them pleasurable–I can let myself eat. He doesn’t make me feel bad about myself. On the contrary, I’m starting to feel alive again. Sexy. He makes me feel beautiful when he devours me with his gaze or demands sex from me at all times of the day. Or devotes hours to the delicious torture of my body.
But he also demands something deeper from me. A part of me I didn’t know existed. Or I did, but hated. My real self, complete with fears and insecurities. Hopes and dreams.
This morning, he rolled me over and kissed down my back then examined how my ass had survived the play from the night before.
“Are you still sore, cara?”
“Only my pride.”
“Baby girl, you don’t have any pride. At least, not with me. I require you to be fully bared. Completely vulnerable.”
I went still.
As if he knew the fear his words inspired, he said, “I promise I won’t let you fall.” He stroked his hand over my ass. “That, my sweet, is what will allow you to be your most sexual self. You’ll give me everything because I demand it, and you’ll have no choice.”
I almost came just from those words, my core turning molten. Carlo had put me on my knees and fucked me from behind until I screamed my release. Afterward, he kissed me with so much passion, I was ready to hop on his cock all over again.
I press the gas pedal down, suddenly in a hurry to get to his place, hoping he’s there.
He is.
I push the door open to find him on the sofa, a sexy smirk on his face as if he was waiting for me. Mother of God, he takes my breath away. Those dark-lashed green eyes, the curling dark locks falling over his forehead, the shadow of stubble on his jaw. He’s debonair and drop-dead gorgeous. He carries a gun and engages in dangerous unknown business affairs that probably fall outside the law, and that only heightens his dangerous appeal.
“I have something for you, bambina.”
“You do?”
“Yes. A present. It’s in the bedroom. Go and see.”
I laugh softly, thinking for sure it’s some kind of sex toy or lingerie. Something kinky, so he can do more freaky things to my body. I run to the bedroom and push open the closed door. Nothing was on the bed. Nor the dresser.