Chapter 93
CHAPTER NINETY-THREE
Drago
Song- The Apparition, Sleep Token.
Two weeks later…
I lean on the doorframe, watching the concentration on her face in the mirror as she pliés in front of it. And damn… that black bodysuit is making it impossible to look anywhere but her perfect ass.
She must catch me staring, because her next move is intended to rile me up.
One hand to the barre. And then she bends right over like she’s offering herself to my attention on purpose.
I tighten my grip on the door, my jaw ticking as she rises again with that effortless control, settling into a new position on her toes. One arm lifted above her head, wrist soft, fingers elegant.
Grace in motion. Power in silence.
In the past, I’ve seen her dance on various occasions, hidden at the back of venues, tucked in shadows, watching her shine onstage like she was always meant to.
But this…
This is different.
Now I get to experience her like this, within touching distance. No hiding. No pretending I’m not obsessed. No pretending she doesn’t own pieces of me I didn’t even know could belong to someone else.
It’s her third day down here in the gym practicing.
Her third day choosing herself again.
And I’m so damn proud of her.
“Beautiful,” I say quietly as I step into the room.
A knowing grin tugs at her lips, like she’s been waiting for me to break. And then she spins, some fancy twirl that makes her look like she’s weightless. She stops dancing only when I’m close enough to feel the heat of her skin.
I step in behind her, grip the wooden barre on either side of her, caging her in without touching her… yet. Her eyes meet mine in the mirror, lashes low, mouth soft, body still poised like she’s holding herself steady on purpose.
On me.
“Did I say stop?” I whisper against her bare shoulder.
Her breath hitches. “N-no, sir.”
I reach up, sliding my fingers through her hair, and I loosen the bun carefully.
Blonde curls spill down her back. Instantly, she looks less like a dancer and more like my undoing.
“Dance for me, baby,” I murmur.
She turns to face me. Her eyes search mine with that fire she tries to pretend she doesn’t have anymore. Then she bites her lip. “They say it helps to imagine your audience naked,” she pauses, voice dripping with menace. “I’d like to test that theory for real.”
My chest tightens.
Fuck.
Her fingers fumble with the hem of my black t-shirt, and I help her, pulling it over my head. Then my shoes. My pants. Piece by piece, she watches me like I’m the show now.
Her gaze flicks up to my eyes.
“Fully naked, Drago,” she says, like it’s a challenge.
I let out a low chuckle and push my boxers down.
“Just wait until your performance is over, lastochka,” I murmur, leaning in until my lips are right there, close enough to steal her breath.
I brush my mouth against hers. Then I step back.
Not far—never far—but enough to give her space.
Enough to let her do what she came down here to do. To reclaim herself.
Her gaze stays locked on mine for a beat longer, like she’s making sure I’m watching. Like she wants me to see her, really see her.
Then she turns back to the mirror. Back to the barre. Back to her breath. Back to the version of Lily that existed long before men and monsters like her mother tried to rewrite her.
Music hums low from the speaker in the corner. Almost too gentle for the way it makes my chest ache.
She slides one hand to the wood, and she begins again. Her knees bend, and her spine stays long; her chin is lifted, and her shoulders are down like she’s carrying a crown she refuses to let slip.
I watch the line of her legs. The grace that looks effortless, even though I know it’s not. I know every beautiful thing costs something. And she’s paid for hers in blood.
She extends her leg behind her and rises onto pointe, her calf tightening, her ankle steady. Her free arm lifts, wrist soft, fingers elegant, her movement so precise it makes my fingers twitch with the need to touch.
But I don’t.
Not yet.
Because she isn’t doing this for me.
She’s doing it for her.
And I’ll be damned if I steal that from her.
She catches my eye in the mirror again. A silent check-in. Or perhaps a silent dare.
I let my gaze drag over her slowly, with no shame in it. She’s mine. But more importantly… she’s hers. I swallow hard, my throat tight. “Good girl. Keep going,” I murmur, voice rougher than I want it to be.
Her mouth curves like she likes hearing it. She shifts into a tendu, toe tracing the floor like she’s drawing a line between who she was and who she’s becoming. Then she pivots, slower and more controlled, and turns to start twirling.
Then faster.
Her hair whips behind her. It’s the kind of sight that would’ve destroyed me once. Now it just… completes me.
She finishes the sequence with a clean stop, breath shallow, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. And she doesn’t look away. Not once. Like she’s not embarrassed by being watched. Like she’s learned something in these last few days.
That being seen doesn’t have to mean being taken. That being wanted doesn’t mean being owned.
I take a step closer, my hands relaxed at my sides, even though everything in me is screaming to pull her into my arms.
“You’re getting it back,” I say quietly.
Her brows knit. “What?”
“Your fire,” I whisper. “Your body. Your strength.”
Her throat bobs, and for a second, she looks like she might break.
Then she lifts her chin. “No,” she corrects softly. “I never lost it. I just… buried it.”
My chest tightens so hard it almost hurts. “Yeah,” I murmur. “And look at you now.”
Her lips part, her eyes shining like she’s daring me to ruin her. My hands glide down her sides, stopping at her hips, my gaze flicking between her eyes and her mouth.
“Kiss me, Drago,” she breathes.
A low growl rips out of me, and my lips crash over hers. Possessive. Starving. My fingers thread into her hair as I back her into the barre, pinning her there like she belongs exactly where I want her.
My thigh nudges her legs apart, and my hand slides down her stomach, pushing her bodysuit to the side.
I don’t wait.
Two fingers sink inside her in one smooth thrust.
She moans against my mouth, her back arching, her body already trembling like she’s been ready for this since the moment I walked into the gym.
I dip my head and bite her neck, a brutal little claim. “Fuck,” I groan, the sound of her wetness filling the room, echoing off the walls like the whole place is listening. “This is so hot.”
“M-more,” she gasps. “Please, sir.”
I spin her to face the mirror, guiding her down until her hands grip the barre.
My palm glides up the back of her head, and I fist her hair at the roots, tugging just enough to make her look at me through the reflection.
Her cheeks are flushed. Her eyes are blown wide. Her lips are open, wrecked already.
“You are gorgeous,” I tell her, voice rough. “So fucking gorgeous, baby.”
I undo the poppers at the bottom of her bodysuit, giving myself better access, and step back to position her the way I want her. “Ass back here,” I command, tapping her cheek once.
She shuffles obediently, angling herself perfectly, hands planted on the barre like she was made for it. She grins like she loves being told what to do. Like she trusts me enough to let go.
I keep my fist in her hair so I can lift her head, keep her eyes on the mirror. “Watch, lastochka,” I murmur, my mouth close to her ear. “I want you to see what I see.”
Her breath stutters.
“How beautiful you are when you come apart for me.” Another tug. “How perfect you are for me.”
My lips brush her skin, a slow kiss along her shoulder. “Mine.”
She sucks in a sharp breath as I position myself at her entrance, her eyes flicking to mine in the reflection like she’s silently asking if I’m going to destroy her.
I push just the tip inside and stop. Her body jerks, and her mouth falls open.
I shake my head once. “Not on me,” I remind her. “On you.”
Her chest rises as she forces herself to focus. To hold her own gaze. To stay present.
And she does.
“Good fucking girl.”
I drive in fully, one hard thrust, and she cries out, the sound broken and perfect.
“Drago—”
I don’t tear my eyes from hers. I watch every pulse in her throat, every tremble in her thighs, every breath she fights to take. The way she falls to pieces and lets me put her back together. The way she owns me without even touching.
Both hands grip her ass, spreading her, holding her steady as I move deeper, slower at first. Dragging it out, making her feel every inch. Then harder. Long, relentless strokes that steal the air from her lungs and make her fingers clamp around the barre.
Her eyes go glassy. Her body shakes. “I-I need to—” she cries.
Her lashes flutter closed, her head dipping, and I slap her ass. Just enough to sting, just enough to pull her back to me.
“You only get to come if you watch,” I murmur. “Those are the rules, baby.”
I tilt my head, meeting her gaze in the mirror like I’m daring her to run. “Can you do that for me?”
She nods, desperate, breathing hard. “Yes—yes.”
“Good.”
I lean over her, mouth at her ear, my voice dropping as I thread my hand around her throat, squeezing just enough for her. “Come hard, baby.” I thrust deeper. “Let me feel it.”
Her fingers whiten around the barre. Her eyes stay locked on the mirror, on me, on herself, watching the way she breaks, watching the way I take her apart like it’s worship.
And then she comes.
Violently.
Her entire body seizing as she cries out, shaking, her tight, perfect pussy gripping me like she’s trying to drag me under with her.
It doesn’t take long. I lose control with her, driving in deep, holding her throat as I spill, my breath shattered against her neck, giving her everything I am.
Everything I’ve ever been. Everything I promised her.
When I finally still, I keep her there. My mouth pressed to her skin, my eyes still on hers in the mirror.
Watching her breathe. Watching her survive. Watching her glow.
Like she was always meant to be mine.
“How was that, baby?” I whisper.
She smiles, and it’s the most beautiful sight in the world. “Powerful.”
I nip at the flushed skin of her shoulder, my hands still steady on her hips like I’m not ready to let her float away yet.
“My good girl, huh?”
She nods, biting her lip to tease me.
I pull out of her carefully, turning her to face me. Expecting her to need a breath, a pause—
But she doesn’t miss a beat. Her mouth is on mine. She’s claiming me, and I’m letting her take what she needs from me.
“Again?” I ask against her lips.
“Please, sir,” she breathes, batting her lashes.
Like I’d ever say no to that.
I lift her into my arms. She clings to me instinctively, legs wrapping tight around me. I drop to my knees and lay her back on the mat behind me, positioning her with ease. Her ass lifted, her legs sliding over my shoulders like she was made for this. Like she was made for me and me alone.
“Show me how far you can spread your legs, lastochka,” I tease, eyes dark.
I’ve seen her do the splits. I’ve seen how far she can push herself.
Her lashes flutter. She keeps her legs straight, toes pointed, and spreads them as far back as they’ll go with that dancer control that drives me fucking insane.
“Wow,” I breathe, because it’s all I can manage.
Dipping my head, I drag my tongue along her slowly, tasting her properly this time. Taking my time, taking care.
My hands grip her ass, holding her open, anchoring her as I lap at her with soft strokes, circling where she’s already sensitive, already on the cusp of breaking for me.
“That’s it,” I murmur, my voice just pure hunger. “Let me clean you up.”
And then I devour her like a man starved. My mouth stays on her, dragging her higher with every stroke until her breath turns broken, her hands fisting on the mat.
She tries to lower her legs, her body begging for mercy.
But I don’t let her. “Don’t you dare move your legs until you come, baby,” I warn. “Not until you give it to me.”
Her breath catches, a helpless little sound slips out of her, and she holds.
She fights for it.
She shakes harder, and it drives me fucking crazy, her body coming undone in my hands as I keep her right there on the edge, teasing and taking and worshipping until she’s so close she can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but feel.
She found part of herself today. And she doesn’t even realize…
Just how whole she makes me.