Pointe of Breaking

POINTE OF BREAKING

By Amy Daws & Sarah J. Pepper

Published by Dawper Publishing

Copyright © Amy Daws & Sarah J. Pepper 2015

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

Much ink had been spilt in efforts to describe love. Countless sonnets were dedicated to a beloved. Canvases decorated the finest museums; each a testament to express absolute devotion. The very emotion that drives us into each other arms will forever be exemplified in the arts. Yet, when I expressed this impossibly beautiful feeling using my body as a medium, he only saw heartbreak.

Not even the applause could drown out the self-criticism of my cynical alter ego. So I shut “her” up by mentally going through the Pas de Deux routine my partner, Ivan, and I were to execute tonight.
Pirouette… Tour en l’air… Is the man with the Fedora hat a critic or a reporter?
I closed my eyes so I’d stop staring through the crack in the red curtains. Guessing at which people in the audience were ballet critics, journalists, or élite scouts was a futile endeavor. None of it mattered—nothing mattered—if I bombed the performance tonight.

As soon as I’d closed my eyes, a man grabbed me from behind and carried me backwards. “Stop goofing around, Ivan! I’m trying to focus on our big dance routine!”

He took a slow, deep breath against my hair and then whispered in my ear. “I’m not Ivan.”

I froze. The sound of
his
voice—the deep vibrato inflection—had long since been burned to memory. Blake Rossi. Hatred reserved for my ex-fiancé had long since corrupted my shattered heart.

I shouted, “Hel—”

Blake slammed his hand over my mouth, muffling my screams. “Shut up, Adeline! A stage hand might actually think you’re in danger. Stop being so melodramatic! I just want to talk. Privately.”

Melodramatics be damned! I’d rather go down in a blaze of bitch-slaps than make my capture easy for him. I sunk my teeth between his thumb and forefinger, right over a thin, white scar.

“For fuck sakes, Adeline!”

He pried his hand out of my mouth and threw me into a forgotten storage room where old props and costumes went to die. He slammed the door shut behind us.

I stumbled away as gracefully as one could in pointe shoes. As soon as I regained my balance, I whipped around and faced the man who professed his love for me the year prior. So much had changed between us, although neither of us appeared any different.

Blake looked like everything money could buy.

I didn’t. Period.

His Italian pedigree was intensified by his naturally tan skin and immaculately groomed raven-colored hair. He was intelligent and dressed to match his narcissistic demeanor—aka: a gorgeous, psychopathic, dickhead who knew just what to do and say to convince everyone he was a good-guy.

I hated that I’d fallen for his act.

He removed his Gucci glasses, revealing his heart-stopping emerald eyes. Gazing into them was like staring at the devil and wagering your soul simply to catch a glimpse of his true intentions. So why was it so hard to look away? After all the broken promises he’d made, I should have just told him off right then and there. Yet, my mouth refused to follow my intuition. So I let my middle finger do the talking.

The corner of his eye twitched when he glanced at my hand. Smoothing out his Armani suit he said, “I’d hoped we’d act civilly.”

Act civilly? You just dragged me into a fucking closet!
Instead of screaming out obscenities, I bit my lip. An outburst was exactly what he wanted. Opening a line of communication, even if it was simply me swearing at him, would please him. Besides, he could handle a few curse words. I’d said enough of them when he asked for the ring back…

“It’s been too long, Adeline,” he said, rolling my name off of his tongue like
I’d
burned
him
—not the other way around. “But I still know you and am certain there are things you want to say to me, my love.”

I crossed my arms and glared at him. He was just trying to get a reaction out of me—antagonize me…again.

He eyed me from tits to ass. I was a piece of property:
His
property to be exact. He may have deemed me unworthy for marriage, but he had no qualms with my physique. Dressed in a cream leotard and platter tutu, my attire didn’t leave much to the imagination. He took his sweet time eyeing me over, paying special attention to my legs—always. My legs were my source of income; a potentially great income at that.

That was one of the reasons I fell so damn hard for him in the first place: Our constant demand for perfection. He was as ruthless in business as I was onstage. I strived for head prima. Staying late at the studio, extra practices, anything I could do to achieve my dreams, I’d do it. Now, the hard truth was that he was literally standing between me and my dreams.

That was going to change.

I blew past him and reached for the door handle, but he grabbed my waist and pulled me against him. Without thinking, I spun into his arms. It was out of habit—a bad fucking habit.

“I’ve never stopped thinking about you,” he whispered.

Lie!
I refused to believe that someone who’d disowned me a year ago—who I hadn’t heard a word from since our failed engagement—was here to make amends in a storage closet. I bit my tongue to stifle a cynical retort. The irony wasn’t lost on me. He would have me in the shadows, when everyone else was distracted by the pretty things prancing around.

“I know you’ve thought about me too, Adeline.”

I neither confirmed nor denied my thoughts. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing…he leaned in expectantly. For a man of his stature, he used his imposing presence like it was all the convincing I needed to be with him once more.

I slapped him. “I hate you!”

His malicious glare matched my own. “I love you too.”

“Leave me alone,
Blake
,” I spat out his name.

“No.” His gaze dropped to my lips like it was everything he could do not to suck on them. The self-loathing was obvious in his eyes. He still wanted me—craved me—and he hated himself for it. “I can’t. I’ve tried so fucking hard.”

Try harder you dick!
I hated myself for ever caring for him… Yet, that wasn’t what disgusted me so. It was that even glaring at him now, my mouth still watered. “We’re not good for each other; or rather I’m not good enough for you.”

“If I know anything it’s that.” His eyes filled with unconventional lust. “It makes me want you more.”

Even after everything, I couldn’t deny that my passion for him ran as deep as my hatred. I was still compelled to this vile man. Yet, there was no justification for it! Well, minus his intelligence, good looks, and bedroom history. None of that mattered now. I’d been banished out of his precious circle, his privileged life, and his designer world… I just wished all my attraction to him would have been eradicated as well.

He tightened his grip. “I need you back in my life.”

“Back in your life? To what degree?” I retorted. “Has something changed? Because last time I checked, you were embarrassed to be seen with me!”

“It was my biggest mistake to let you out of my life, Adeline.”

This confession tugged at my disheveled heart. A whirl of emotions hit me. For over a year, I wished to hear any apology of
any
magnitude from him. And now the manipulating bastard finally got around to saying them.

“That’s one mistake I won’t let you make, because I’m not letting you back into my life.” I raised my hand.

Catching my wrist before I slapped him across his face, he jerked me against his body. As he clutched my waistline tighter, my heartbeat sky rocketed. My lips curled as I stared at his. The harder I pushed against his chest, the more forcefully he pulled me against his body.

I wanted him to hurt, to feel all the pain that I’d endured. My emotions should have been prohibited in my heart. I was broken—a mess—a fucking disaster, especially when it came to Blake Rossi. Everything was unfiltered, raw obsession. Even after not seeing him for so long, our unsanctioned infatuation was paramount. Not even I could deny that.

I balled my hand into a fist; clutched his jacket in my hand, and twisted and then jerked him so that our faces were inches away. I wanted—needed—him to see my uncontrollable fervor. We were past being civil; past using our words to express our mutual hatred; past niceties. Even when we’d been together, we communicated much more thoroughly with our bodies.

His lips collided with mine. He stole a kiss from me as I pushed him away. He didn’t deserve me!

“If you steal another, it will hurt,” I wiped his kiss from my lips.

He lifted my chin and stared into my eyes. “It already hurts.”

All the guilt I ever wished he’d felt now harbored in his eyes. He was undeserving of me, my commitment or my love. Yet, he knew, deep down, a part of me would always belong to him, even if it was a shattered piece of my heart. I wanted nothing more than to know what it was like to be with him again. He leaned in again, but not to steal another kiss. He slid his forehead against mine and just held me like he used to. That pissed me off. He was doing it again! Luring me back to him! So what? He could eliminate me from his life when it suited him?

“Tell me how much you love me,” he whispered.

“
Hate
you.”

He smirked. “So tell me.
Scream
it.”

I’d scream nothing of the sort.
I’d had a whole speech prepared the next time we’d meet, but the words fell mute on my lips. My anger fell short of my desire as his words echoed in my ears.
I need you back in my life.

In a moment of weakness, I kissed him. It quickly became more fierce. I hoped he knew just how much I loathed him. He was everything I shouldn’t want but craved nevertheless. He slammed me up against the door, sending my adrenaline into overdrive. I bit down on his lip, savoring his primitive reaction. Sandwiched between the door and his body, I grabbed his hair and refused to let him take me so easily. The harder he pushed up against me, the more I wrapped the strands around my fingers and jerked back. He taught me how to
love
the
hurt
.

Eyeing me over, he reached for my bun and snapped the tie out. My hair cast down onto my shoulders. He grabbed a fistful behind my neck and returned the favor. It stung. It hurt. The exhilaration rush hit me just as forcefully as Blake had when he slammed me against the door. As he pulled harder, I screamed out his name. The more his name slipped from my lips, the tenser his body became.

“Tell me you want me,” he commanded.

“Screw you.” The words came out slurred. Lust could be so intoxicating.

He greedily reached down, tearing my tights as he forced one of my legs up over his shoulder. Thrusting his hips against mine, he stretched my legs further apart until his chest was flushed mine.

“You let yourself go.” He bit my leg that was exposed from the tear. “I used to push you like this without any muscular resistance.”

He was provoking me. I could easily hold this pose for hours. “
Try
to break me.”

“God damn it! You’re a fucking drug.
My
drug.
My
Adeline.”

He reached under my tutu and shoved my leotard to the side. When I reached for his pants, he grabbed my wrists and my ankle and pressed them both against the wall. He held me there with one hand. With the other, he loosened his belt.

“Tell me you want me,” he commanded.

That was something I’d never admit, not verbally. He looked me up and down, relishing the sight as I writhed against him. I nodded for him to come closer to me since he had me pinned against the wall.

I sucked on his earlobe and then whispered, “Never.”

“You will scream it.”

“You’re so Goddamn addicting.” He pushed himself into me hard and fast, stretching every inch of me. He took me, forcing me to understand the way I moved him. With each shove he showed me just how much he hated what we had become. The starved expression on his face gave me a glimpse of his never-ending addiction.

When we were finished, he gave me a look that said I’d given him the best fuck of his life. I returned the gaze. Like I said, Blake was obsessed with perfection. He excelled at
everything
he did.

“I needed that.” He thrust into me once more. “I had to have you again.”

I searched for any sign of regret in his eyes. There was none.

I asked, “Where does this leave us?”

“I told you that I wanted you back in my life.” He lowered me to the floor. He took my hand and kissed my ring finger. “Do you want me in yours?”

A part of me screamed yes but—the music sequence changed. The stereo blasted bass, introducing the next showcase. Shit! It was my queue to go back onstage. Cast as a principal dancer in the upcoming arrangement, I needed to be onstage.
Like
Now
. My tights were ruined; my tutu was trashed and would have to be changed. My hair was an effing disaster.

Racing to open the door, I knew Blake of all people would understand that I’d risked a lot by letting him back into my life, especially at this pivotal point in my career. However, I desperately wanted him to know that I’d be around to talk after the arrangement. We had so much to discuss.

Before I got a word out, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a wedding band. With his gaze locked on mine, he slid it onto his ring finger.

“I
had
to have you again, Adeline.”