46. Amelia
Chapter 46
Amelia
" A uditionsarein two weeks," Betsy announces, her voice ringing through the studio with the same authority as her infamous heel clicks. "We'll be selecting two of you fresh faces to come on the tour with us. It won't be a lead role, but I want you to audition like you're fighting for Juliet herself."
A ripple of excitement and nerves spreads across the room, but I barely register it. My muscles are already humming, my body memorizing combinations, even as my mind races ahead to what piece I'll perform to show them everything I am.
"I can't wait to watch you crush it," Harper whispers, squeezing my arm as we grab our dance bags.
"What do you mean?"
"The auditions are in the auditorium.Everyone watches."
My stomach plummets, falling straight out of my ass. "You're shitting me."
She shakes her head, her grin widening. "They want everyone's input on who fits the company vibe. It makes sense—we'll be living in each other's pockets during the tour. This isn't just about how well you can point your toes."
I swallow the panic rising in my throat and straighten my spine. "I'm going to manifest the hell out of it. But I'm going to do it."
"I love this energy for you!" Harper's whole face lights up as we head for the door. "And you know Logan and I will put in a good word for you. You've got this."
The hallway echoes with the sound of dance bags hitting shoulders and scattered conversations, but my mind is already in that auditorium—planning out every arabesque, every turn, every moment that could make or break my future.
"Speaking of Logan, what's the deal with you two?" Harper doesn't flinch, her expression impressively impassive. "What do you mean?"
"Oh, please. There's something between you two, even if you're both pretending not to see it."
She whirls to face me, her eyes wide with panic. "Do you think he knows I'm in love with him?"
My heart stutters as I grab her arms. "Hold up—what?"
"I'm kidding… except I'm not… Oh god." She buries her face in her hands like she can hide from the truth she just spilled. "What if he only hangs out with me because he feels sorry for me?"
"Harper, I've seen the way he looks at you when you're not watching. If he's not in love with you, he's at least tumbling headfirst in that direction. I just don't understand why neither of you has taken that leap when you're already so close."
"That's the problem." She sighs, and her words mirror all the relationship fears I've been trying to ignore.
"We're best friends," she continues, her voice so quiet I have to lean in to hear her. "And I'd rather keep him in my life that way than lose him completely. We're young—what are the chances we'd actually end up together forever if we tried dating now?"
"It's cute that you're alreadythinking about forever." She grins, a blush creeping up her neck as she pulls on her sweatshirt.
"Hewould make the most amazing husband, wouldn't he?"
"Yeah," I admit, changing into my own comfortable clothes. "He's basically perfect. But don't wait too long, Harper. Someone else might see what you see."
She freezes, one hand clutching her bag. "You really think I should tell him?"
"Why not?" I shrug. "You're confident and beautiful, and that guy is so into you."
Her face scrunches up. "You know I can't actually tell him, right? I'd rather do fouettés until I black out." She shakes her head, voice dropping. "If it was meant to happen, wouldn't it have already?"
"Unless he's as terrified of screwing things up as you are," I point out, meeting her gaze. "I bethe's just as scared of losing his best friend."
"Maybe one day one of us will be drunk enough to just throw it out there."
"It's not a bad idea. At least you can blame the tequila if it all goes to hell."
We push through the heavy studio doors into the cooling evening air. "You should go down to the bar tonight. Logan's working."
"I would, but I've got a family thing with my sister and her husband. Once a month, I have to go round for dinner so she can interrogate me about my life."
"Overbearing?"
"She thinks being married with a house in the suburbsmeansshe can judgehow everyone else lives."
"My mom's the same."
"At least she isn't in Chicago. Imagine havingherbreathing down your neck all the time."
"Yeah, no thanks." I laugh, the sound echoing in the nearly empty parking lot.
We say our goodbyes, and I watch Harper's silver Civic disappear around the corner before sliding into my car.
Back at the apartment, I take a long shower, letting the hot water wash away the day's sweat and tension. After throwing on fresh clothes—black leggings and an oversizedT-shirt that slips off one shoulder—I head to my little studio.
Fully stretched from a long day of dancing, I take a deep breath and let the music fill theroom. In my head, I can see the routine playing out perfectly—every beat, every moment designed to make the audience forget to breathe.
I step to the center of the room, toes pointed, spine long, and start to move. My body knows the steps before my mind catches up, and it comes together seamlessly like the choreography has been waiting for me all along. I can feel the story taking shape with every leap, every turn, every aching extension.
I know most dancers will play it safe, sticking to Romeo and Juliet . But that's not me. Not when I need to stand out in a crowd of insane talent.
That's why I picked Giselle .
It's a risk, but if I'm going to make it, I can't play it safe. The tragic, ghostly tale of betrayal and forgiveness resonates in a way that feels right. It's haunting. It's heartbreaking. And it's exactly what I want to channel in this audition.
I launch into an arabesque, arms sweeping like whispers of the wind, the music building to a crescendo. My body drives through the haunting notes, every muscle pushing past exhaustion as I embody the sorrow, the longing, and the sacrifice of the character. My chest tightens as I hit the peak, my pointe shoes barely touching down as I spin like I'm possessed, catching glimpses of myself in the mirror—sweat-slicked and wild-eyed with determination.
The final note hits, and I collapse in a graceful wreck, lungs burning while my heart tries to break free of my ribs. For a second, everything freezes, and I let it all sink in. If I can feel this much dancing alone in my apartment, I can't imagine what it'll be like under those lights.
I stop for a moment, attempting to catch my breath, when I notice Tobias leaning casually against the doorframe. Time slipped away, and I was too lost in the dance to hear him come home. His eyes track every inch of me, perusing in ways that make my already racing heart skip.
"Do you have any idea how beautiful you are when you dance, Firefly?"
I shake my head, my throat too tight to answer, as he steps forward and drops onto the black stool in the corner of the room, the one I should probably be using, given how my legs are shaking. But the heat in his stare has me pinned in place like a butterfly under glass.
"The way you move…" He trails off, dragging his hand through his hair. "It blows me away every time I watch you."
"How long have you been watching?" I ask, trying to sound unaffected, even as my pulse betrays me.
"A few minutes," he admits, his lips curving into that devastating half smile that lives in my dreams. "Is that your audition piece?"
"Yeah." I brush a sweaty strand of hair from my face, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. "Do you think it's okay? I know it's a little dark."
"It's perfect," he says without hesitation. "And you're gonna fucking nail it."
"I hope they like it as much as you do."
"I hope they don't. Not with how fucking hard I am right now."
My breath hitches at the heat in his stare, the way his eyes rake over me like they could burn. He lingers on my legs, and damn if it doesn't make me weak, but we both know nothing can happen. Mother Nature made sure of that when she showed up yesterday morning, and I silently curse the bitch for her horrible timing.
"Maybe if I make them hard," I tease, deliberately testing his control, "they'll sign me up."
But he doesn't crack a smile. His jaw ticks, and those eyes turn lethal as they drag back to mine.
"Is that what you want, baby? Other men watching you, wanting you the way I want you?"
"Careful, Tobias. Anyone would think you're jealous."
"Jealous?" He lets out a humorless laugh as he leans forward, forearms braced on his thighs. "No,Firefly. I'm not jealous because I know what we have, andI know no other manwill everknow how beautiful you look when you come."
The weight of whatever this is—whatever we're becoming—settles on my chest like concrete, a truth we're both too chickenshit to voice. Because every day, it gets deeper, and when the shit hits the fan—because it will—there's no coming back from this.
"However,I don't share what's mine. And I sure as hell don't want anyone thinking with their dick when they look at you."
The possessiveness in his voice sends shivers racing down my spine, and I'm not sure if it's fear or want—or some fucked-up cocktail of both. But the way he looks at me, like I'm his and only his, makes it impossible to look away.
"Guess it's a good thing I know exactly what I've got and what I want." The words come out breathier than I mean them to, betraying every emotion I'm trying to hide. He palms his cock through his jeans, and my eyes take in that thick outline.
"Is this what you want?" I nod, my mouth watering as my body responds the way it always does for him. "On your knees, baby." I sink down slowly, desperate, needy, and fucking shameless at this point. "Now crawl to me. Come take what belongs to you and show me just how badly you want it."
There's no hesitation.
No pride.
Just a raw fucking need.
He has no clue how gone I am for him, how I'd hand over every piece of myself without a second thought.
"Look at you, so fucking perfect for me."
The floor bites into my knees as I crawl forward, but I don't care. He's leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, his eyes burning into me like I'm his favorite addiction.When I finally reach him, his hand cups the back of my neck, and his mouth crashes into mine.
It's everything—demanding, possessive, all-consuming.
"You have no idea what you do to me, baby. No fucking idea."
I melt into him completely, my hands gripping his thighs as I press closer, surrendering to the desperate ache building between us.
"Let me taste you," I whisper, my breath hot against his mouth as he pulls back, chest heaving.
His hand moves to his belt, unbuckling it with ease, and when I tug his jeans down, my thighs press together at the sight of him.I rise on my knees, my hands gripping his thighs for balance as he strokes himself. I can't wait a second longer—I lean in and flick my tongue across the bead of moisture at the tip, savoring his taste.
"Fuck, baby, get that mouth on me," he groans out, the words low and desperate.
His hand falls to my hair, fingers threading through as I take him between my lips. I swirl my tongue over the head, hollowing my cheeks, and look up at him. His head falls back, a broken laugh escaping him as he rubs a hand over his face.
"God, you're such a fucking tease."
I release him with a pop, smirking as I drag my tongue along the thick vein on the underside. "What's the matter, baby? You want more?"
His jaw tightens, and he pulls his shirt over his head. I rise up, pressing open-mouthed kisses along his abs, tracing every ridge with my tongue. When I reach his nipple piercing, I flick it with my tongue before giving it a gentle tug with my teeth.
I wrap my fingers around him, pumping slowly as he pulls back just enough to watch me. My tongue flicks out to wet my lips, and his gaze zeroes in on the movement.
"Suck it before I lose my goddamn mind, rip off your shorts, and make a mess of you," he raspsas his hand slides into my hair.
My lips stretch wide around him, and I swallow him down. Each stroke, each swirl of my tongue, is designed to drive him crazy. His body tenses beneath my touch, his thighs like coiled steel, and the deep groans escaping his lips let me know it's working.
I want to wreck him.
"You turn me on so fucking much, Mills. Your mouth is… fuck," he drawls, his voice breaking as I deep-throat him, my nose pressing against his stomach.
Tears gather at the corners of my eyes as I choke around him, and the sound breaks something wild inside him. His grip tightens in my hair—possessive and demanding—and when I pull back, I spit on him.
He raises both of his hands, firmly grasping my head, and begins to buck his hips, thrusting until I moan around him.
"Jesus fuck, Mills," he growls. "You look so fucking pretty with your mouth full of my cock."
I relax my throat for him, letting him use me how he needs. Each brutal push has me digging half-moons into his thighs, making my body come alive with every animalistic sound he makes.
"Fuck, come here."
I stand, and he rips my shirt off like he can't wait another second. My bra hits the floor, and suddenly, I'm in his lap, my back against his chest.
His hands are everywhere.One massages my breast, his thumb circling my nipple while the other slides down my body. His fingertips graze my stomach, moving so close to the waistband of my leggings that I’m already fucking panting.
His lips ghost over my shoulder, hot against my skin, but it's the way his eyes catch mine in the mirror that has me pushing my thighs together.
His fingers dip beneath the waistband, and I squirm, "I can't…"
"Me and your clit disagree, Firefly." His fingers move slowly, giving me time to stop him—but god, I'd rather die than stop him.
The pads of his fingertips rub slow, torturous circles around my clit, and my body melts into him. My head falls back, giving him access to my neck as he caresses my skin with open-mouthed kisses.
"That's it, baby, let me take care of you." Every stroke of his fingers, every dirty word he whispers in my ear, pushes me closer to the edge.
My hand slides down between us, fingers wrapping around his cock. I stroke him, slow at first, then faster, matching the rhythm of his hand in between my legs.
"Make me come, Mills."
He grips my chin, forcing my eyes to his, and when his fingers go still against my pussy, I glance down just in time to see hot, thick ropes of cum spill onto his chest.
Before I can catch my breath, he pulls his hand out of my panties, swipes his fingers through his cum, and slides them right backovermy clit.
"Holy shit, that's so hot."
"Yeah? You like me using my cum to get you off, dirty girl?" His fingers move with precision, rubbing tight circles that have me writhing beneath him.
"I fucking love it. Keep going. I'm so close." My voice is a breathless plea, and his lips curve into that cocky-ass smirk as he tugs my nipple.
"You're pulsing against my fingers, baby." Heat explodes through my body, my legs shaking as pleasure rips through me, leaving me shuddering in his arms. "That's it," he murmurs, his lips brushing against my ear. "I've got you. God, you look so fucking beautiful when you fall apart for me."
He trails lazy kisses along my shoulder as he guides me through the aftershocks, fingers stroking me as his touch turns tender.
"You're such a distraction."
"I just came here to watch you dance." The grin in his voice is impossible to miss, and his beautiful laugh fills the room.
I turn in his arms, ready to fire back, and he catches my mouth in a slow kiss. "Shower with me. I promise I'll make you comeagain."
Screw it. If he doesn't care, then neither do I.
"Make it three times, and you've got a deal."