Chapter 14 #2
Kir cocks a stern, reproachful eyebrow at me. Holy wow , it’s a physical manifestation of that authoritative tone he gets sometimes.
The problem is, same as the vocal tone, if it’ meant to intimidate me, it’s not really working. It’s just… thrilling .
“I will inject it into my veins,” I say solemnly, grinning a little.
He sighs, giving me a half-smile.
“How do you know so much about ballet?”
Kir frowns. “We covered this.”
“No, you artfully dodged it the last time I asked. And don’t tell me it’s because you own a ballet company. Your knowledge is way above that, and you know it.”
An almost imperceptible smile tugs the corners of his lips for a second.
“I…may have danced when I was younger.”
My brows fly up. “Wait, what? Ballet ?”
He nods. “All the boys did at the boarding school I attended. Ballet, boxing, gymnastics. Welcome to newly post-Soviet Russia,” he says dryly.
“You really know your shit.” I wince. “Sorry,” I mumble. “Language, I know.”
He smirks. “I kept dancing when I attended Oxford.”
“That where you got your James Bond accent?”
Kir’s lips curl at the corners. “I learned quickly that in the circles I wished to move through, and eventually do business with, ze thick Russian accent makes you zound like Bond villain .”
His comically over-the-top accent instantly makes me giggle like an idiot before I catch myself and stop.
Kir shrugs. “I also noticed that when I spoke like the rest of them, doors opened. Opportunities that I had no business getting came my way. I suppose after a while, this way of speaking became my new normal.”
“Well, it’s not a bad accent,” I grin. “I bet it doesn’t hurt with women, either.”
Fucking HELL, self. Really?
I wince, feeling my face burn.
“I mean…not that…” I stammer. “I didn’t mean it’s a sexy accent, or…”
Good evening, foot. Allow me to introduce you to mouth . Jesus.
Kir lifts an amused brow as I trail off, shaking my head.
“Let’s take it from the top again,” he says brusquely, already moving past it. “Get into position. I’m going to go find some water.”
“Oh, here, take mine.”
I stand and abruptly throw my water bottle at Kir with zero heads-up. Luckily, moving with reflexes that shock me, he actually does catch it with one hand before it slams into his face.
Not-so-luckily, I apparently didn’t have the top screwed on properly.
Kir grunts as all the water inside that was inside the bottle crashes into his chest, soaking his shirt as my hands fly to my mouth in horror.
“I am so sorry!” I shriek. “Oh my God, I’m?—”
“It’s fine, Brooklyn,” he murmurs. “It’s just water.”
“Seriously, I had no idea it was unscrewed like that! Let me?—”
“I said it’s fine ,” he mutters, looking right at me. He walks over to the iPad and the sound system before turning back to me. “From the top, and do not let me see you hesitate. Go.”
The music begins to swell through the speakers, and I launch into it. I move with practiced but not stiff movements. I actually shut off the second-guesser inside me. I don’t think, I just dance.
Or at least, I do until I catch a glimpse out of the corner of my eye of Kir pulling off his shirt and tossing it aside.
It totally shatters my concentration. Which, obviously, never works out well.
“Stop,” he snaps, shutting the music down.
“Sorry,” I mumble, not looking at him. I can't right now. “I didn’t center properly before we started.”
“Well, do it now.”
I nod, but when I turn to get into position my gaze lands squarely on him, and holy shit , there’s no stopping my eyes from bulging out of my head.
Fuck , is he hot.
Standing there in black gym pants and no shirt, Kir looks like a fucking god . Or more accurately, a devil dripping in sin and temptation.
Broad, sculpted shoulders. Thickly muscled biceps and veined forearms. A chest carved from wood, a chiseled six-pack, and he’s even got those sexy grooves going down his hips and plunging into the waistband of his gym pants.
And the man is forty-fucking-four years old.
My brain screams at me to stop staring at him like a fucking creep. But I can’t , especially once my eyes lock onto the huge, ornate Russian orthodox cross tattooed across his chest, plus an eight-pointed star just under his neckline.
As if I needed a reminder that my current ballet instructor also happens to be the leader of one of the biggest Bratva families in the world.
“Ms. Ellis.”
His cool, even tone rips my attention from his chest to his piercing, dark eyes.
“Surely when you’ve been dancing as long as you have you don't get surprised by a human body.”
My face turns to fire as I shake my head. “Not at all,” I croak, forcing a smile.
“Then let’s begin.”
This time, when I begin to dance, he’s right there beside me with each movement, his words both cracking like a whip but also lifting me up.
“Turn your head!” he barks. “Arch your back more. More , Ms. Ellis!”
Sweat trickles down my temples and slips down my spine. My muscles scream, begging for relief.
Each lash of his words feels less like punishment and more like freedom. Each shouted reminder to do this or that is like an extra pair of hands lifting me, urging me on as I let go completely and give myself over to the movement.
“Arms up. More , Brooklyn.”
My pulse jumps when I feel him move into step behind me, like he fucking knows this choreography as well as I do.
His hands skim up my arms, grasping my elbows and lifting my hands above my head as his body presses to mine, his muscled chest against the skin of my back where the leotard plunges low.
We move in unison, leaping as one. His hands skim down my arms, gripping my waist tightly as he pushes me to arch my back further. He moves with me, his hands sliding over my hips to clasp my middle as we sink into the backbend.
Heat ignites in my core and pools between my thighs.
I can feel a tightness in my nipples, aching against the silky fabric of the leotard.
Kir’s grip tightens on my hips again, his thumbs at the small of my back and his large, thick fingers splayed across my lower belly.
His touch has my head spinning and my pulse roaring.
I’m sweating. So is he. I can feel his muscles twitching against my back and my ass. His pulse throbbing. His breath, hot in my ear and lingering teasingly against my neck as he growls each authoritative command.
The music swells to a crescendo, our hips glued together, his hands squeezing my body as my blood rages like fire in my veins and my body aches for him to throw me to the ground and take me any way he wants.
Then the music slows, and stops.
We come to a standstill, but Kir doesn’t let go.
He’s still holding me tightly from behind, his fingers spread across my stomach, his hands gripping my waist. His chest is still pressed to my back, and when I feel the thick, hard, pulsing of his cock against my ass, my breath catches and my thighs squeeze together.
“ Good girl .”
My entire body shudders, my eyes half closing and rolling up as he breathes the words in my ear.
“That was very good, Ms. Ellis.”
Slowly, I turn in his grip, until I’m facing him, looking up into his eyes with his hands tight around my waist.
I can still feel his erection—hard, shockingly large, bulging against my stomach.
Our eyes lock, our mouths mere inches apart, breathing each other's air as our chests rise and fall with exertion.
My gaze moves to his full, gorgeous lips. Then back to his eyes. Then down to his lips again as my pulse skips and heat slithers and coils in my core.
“I—”
“Excellent work, Ms. Ellis.”
With no warning, the shock of him suddenly letting go, stepping back, and whirling to walk briskly across the room feels like a punch to the chest. I flinch, drawing in a breath, as if his nearness just now sucked the oxygen from the room.
“Now,” he barks coldly as he steps over to the iPad, his back to me. “Again. From the top. Without my help this time.”
I feel dizzy, like my head isn’t screwed on right. My legs don’t want to work. I want to be back where I was ten seconds ago, in Kir's arms, looking up into his eyes, breathing him in and feeling the throb of his desire for me against my body.
Kir turns, his brow furrowed, his eyes black as they stab across the room.
“I said again , Ms. Ellis,” he growls.
Swallowing quickly, I nod. “Y-yeah,” I mumble. “Okay.”
The music starts again, and I do too.
But it’s not the same.
I’m not sure it ever will be.