Waking Kiss (22 page)

“No pressure,” he said. “I don’t want you to feel like it has to happen while we’re there. This is all to help you, so it’s whatever you feel comfortable with.”

“What about after?” I asked. “After I’m…better?”

“You mean, will we keep having sex?” He looked away, just for a second, then back at me. He looked so distant I almost flinched. “I guess that’s up to you. It’s your life, you know? But it’s pointless to talk about it now, when we haven’t accomplished it even one time.”

“Yes. I guess so.” I swallowed hard, feeling abandoned even though he was lying right next to me.

“Do you want to stay here tonight?” he asked. “Have some breakfast in the morning before you go?”

I said yes because I could tell he didn’t feel like taking me home, but really, I should have gone back to my bed of branches. That was where I belonged, behind the wooded barrier, sleeping. I wished my prince would kiss me, but after a few more moments, he got up and went to sleep in his own room.

On Wednesday I was called to Mr. Thibault’s office between rehearsal and the evening performance. As soon as I arrived he handed me an embossed envelope with a Cheyenne postmark.

“This arrived at the City Ballet offices addressed to you.”

I looked down at the return address. “It’s from my old dance teacher.”

“How delightful. When you write her back, you can convey the good news—Mr. Rubio has decided to cast you as the female lead in his new ballet.”

“He just told you that now?”

Mr. Thibault laughed. “Don’t look so nervous. There are merely contracts to sign. A pay raise, although not as much as I’d like to give you.”

He gestured to his desk and slid some papers over for me to read and sign. I tried to concentrate on the small print and legal phrases, but my mind was on the letter. I hadn’t spoken to Miss Melanie in years, even though I owed her everything. Life circumstances had separated us by an ocean. I hoped she was okay. As soon as I finished signing all the papers, Mr. Thibault drew me into a conversation about Rubio and the ballet, and my ambitions within the company.

Ambitions? Me?

But it was ambitious to dance with Rubio. Now I’d be part of the shark-tank crew, the sharp, scrabbling dancers who were always trying to get ahead, usually by stabbing each other in the back over roles and partnerships.

“I’m not sure what my plans are for next year,” I told him honestly. “I wasn’t considering trying out for soloist.”

He gave me the same look Rubio had given me the day I almost turned down the role.
Whut? Why you dance then?

“I’ll think about it,” I said. “Things are kind of crazy now.” Yes, because I was apparently going to the country with Liam for the weekend, to a picturesque little cottage he owned a couple hours north of London. I wanted to have sex with him there, but I was afraid it wouldn’t work and he’d lose patience with his Fix-Ashleigh initiative. Lately it seemed like he’d been distancing himself and I wasn’t sure he wouldn’t drop me altogether if I had another meltdown. I accepted that Liam wasn’t my boyfriend, that he wasn’t anybody’s boyfriend, but that didn’t mean I didn’t fall a little more in love every time we were together.

As soon as I left Mr. Thibault’s office, I went to the dressing rooms and hunched over my carrel, ripping open the envelope with Miss Melanie’s note.

Dear Ashleigh,

I hope this letter finds you well. I think of you often, gracing the stages of London with your dancing, and I’m so proud of all your accomplishments. You were a very special student and a diligent artist. I knew you would go far.

I’m writing to send love but also to ask you to solve a mystery for me. A couple weeks ago I learned from my bank that both my dancing school and my house mortgages had been paid off by an anonymous donor. When I asked for more information I was told the funds came from London, from “a friend of Ashleigh Keaton.” My deepest thanks are due to you for remembering my modest academy, and to your astoundingly generous friend.

I can’t explain to you the difference this gift has made in my life. The school has struggled the last few years but now we’ll be able to stay open. I’m thinking of changing the name to the Ashleigh Keaton Dance Academy in honor of our most famous graduate. What do you think? Thank you, thank you, dearest Ashleigh. Please let me know the name and address of your friend so I can thank him or her for their kindness. You can write to me or email me at the school.

In closing… I only recently learned of your father’s illness. From what I understand he is approaching his final days. Please know you will be in my thoughts and prayers. I hope you are well and happy where you’re living.

Much love,

Melanie

I held the letter against my face. Miss Melanie, with her short salt-and-pepper curls, her sharp gaze and her gentle corrections. I never confided the depth of my problems with my father but she’d sensed my desperation and been kind enough to help. Then there was Liam Wilder, who took helping to a whole new level. I didn’t need any more reasons to adore him. I found the school’s email online and wrote to my old teacher, giving her Liam’s full name and address. I also begged her not to name her school after me. I didn’t want any part of me back in Wyoming, not even on the awning of a rural dance academy.

That night, while I was getting ready for
Bayadère
, I noticed looks from my fellow dancers, and not many smiles. Of course. The word was out. Me and Rubio were dancing in the spring showcase. If anyone had asked me, I would have talked it down.
Just a short piece. I don’t know why he asked me. It doesn’t even have a name.
But no one asked me, because no one seemed to want to talk to me. Professional jealousy was a bitch.

So was romantic jealousy. Why didn’t Liam want me? Who else occupied his time? What was I missing that his other sexual partners had?

Well, I knew the answer to that question. Mental health.

*** *** ***

I assured Ashleigh that our weekend in the country wasn’t going to be about pressure.

I didn’t want it to be about pressure, but from the moment I picked her up at the theater, there was an uneasy tension between us that grew by the hour. We drove north out of London, had dinner at a quiet restaurant, and then continued on to my secluded haven, a small, old, extremely English cottage I’d restored a few years ago from a hollowed-out shell. It looked prettier in spring and summer, with the blooming trees and wildflowers, but Ashleigh said she loved it.

There wasn’t much to see inside. No TV, no rooms except a small bathroom with a shower. She fluttered around the cottage as if looking for a place to land, but there wasn’t any place except the bed.

I second-guessed everything as I watched her. Yes, the cottage was rustic and private, but I wondered if I shouldn’t have taken her somewhere with more luxury—and more distractions. This cottage was four walls and a bed, a kitchenette and a few paintings on the walls. It must have seemed that I’d only brought her here to fuck her.

Well, I had, right? We were here to fuck. I couldn’t draw out this mentoring arrangement much longer, not without becoming hopelessly entangled. I wanted to go back to my former life, where women were just pals and sex was easy and fleeting, and I didn’t have to worry about eviscerating someone’s damaged soul. I wanted to spend my nights scening with random partners who were objects, not people. Objects were so much easier. Girls like Ashleigh were hard.

I brought in our bags and fired up the wood stove in some effort to settle her. She perched on the edge of the bed while I double-checked the locks and shut the window blinds.

“Are we— Do we follow our rules here?” she asked. “The rules we follow in the guest room?”

I turned back to her, considering. “I don’t think this weekend should be about D/s, but I like being in charge of you. I think everything works better between us when I’m in charge.”

“When you’re around me I feel like you’re in charge,” she said.

“Someone can be in charge though, and not abusive. I have authority over you but…”

“But I have power too. I know.” She didn’t say it in a smartass way. She stood and crossed to me, and took my hand. “I don’t know how I’m going to thank you for all this, for all the help you’ve given me. You’ve changed me. Even if this doesn’t end up working…”

I studied her as she skittered away from me again. “Do you think it’s not going to work?”

Ashleigh shrugged and stood near the window, peering out through a crack in the blinds. “My dance teacher wrote me. I know that you sent money to her.”

“She deserved it. She helped you.”

“So what can I do for you?” she asked. “What can I possibly do for you, to thank you?”

“Get better. That’s all. Get better and be happier. You deserve a happy life.”

“Like yours?”

I slowed on the way across the room. “Well, yes. Like mine. A life where you feel comfortable and content. Where you have all the things you want, the relationships you want, all of that.” I was the world’s biggest hypocrite and liar, holding my life up as an example of happiness. But we weren’t here to fix my issues. We were here to fix hers.

When I reached her I tilted her face to mine in the dim light. “You’re so beautiful, Ash. You always have been. If I changed you in some way that makes your life better, that’s all I need as thanks.”

I stared down at her, at her pale blue-gray eyes and her sensual lips. There was a time I’d thought of her as an object too. If she hadn’t been troubled and sad, and damaged due to her childhood, what would our relationship have been like? I would have fucked her that night, I was sure. And since she was mostly vanilla, that probably would have been it. I wouldn’t have given her my number, even if the sex was really awesome. I might have noticed her in ballets now and again, remembering our torrid night together. It would have been easy and pleasant. I wouldn’t have had to spend the last few weeks fighting with myself, questioning all my life choices. I definitely wouldn’t be standing here now, half afraid it would work and half afraid it wouldn’t.

If it worked, I would have to start letting her go.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I said. I didn’t know where the words came from, I just knew I meant them passionately. Maybe, more accurately, I could have said
I love you
because the sentiment was the same. Holy God.

“You won’t hurt me.” She gave me a tremulous smile. “I feel really ready. You’ve been a great teacher.”

I traced her brow, then cupped her cheek and kissed her parted lips. It was so quiet, so still. No hovering Mem, no parties, no music blasting in the background, no computer, no TV, and for her, no backstage hustle-bustle. She smelled like flowers and baby powder and her hair felt like silk. I’d never brought anyone here to my hideaway because I didn’t think they’d appreciate it, but Ashleigh belonged here. If it wasn’t so cold I would have taken her outside under the stars and made love to her on the ground, on the earth.
This is what it should be like
, I would have told her.
Beautiful and fearless, tender and affectionate and rough and elemental…

“Ashleigh,” I sighed. “I want you. I want to hold you down and be inside you. I won’t hurt you, I swear.”

She blinked at me, then stared down at my chest. I owed her a big seduction—she deserved a big seduction—but I felt too raw to work my game on her. That was for other girls. With Ashleigh I wasn’t a player, but someone else. A lover. A friend. “Are you ready now?” I asked. My voice sounded strained, almost desperate.

“We should get it out of the way, huh?” She gave me a comic, panicked look that started both of us laughing.

“Yes, let’s get it over with,” I said, playing along with her. “The sooner the better.”

We undressed, layers of clothing coming off until we were skin to skin. I felt pressure, yes, but I also felt an almost painful lust. We’d had weeks of foreplay, lessons on personal boundaries and consent, explorations into the lifestyle. I was achingly hard from wanting her. I nudged her back onto the bed and lay down beside her. She squiggled right against me, into the circle of my arms, seeking protection or encouragement. I drew her close and hugged her tight.

“We can go slow,” I said. “We can take our time. All the time you need. We can do it an hour from now. We can do it tomorrow.”

“No,” she said. “Now. Please. I know I’m ready. I’m not scared.”

“You feel a little scared. You’re shivering.”

“I’m nervous, not scared. It’s not the same.” She reached between us, taking my cock in her hands, and smiled as she noted its rigid length. “You don’t feel scared or nervous. At all.”

That touch alone was almost enough to set me off. “I’m not nervous, no. I’m turned on like hell because you’re so lovely, so beautiful. I can’t wait to be inside you.”

“Just don’t…” Her confidence seemed to waver for a moment. “Please just…be careful. Don’t be too rough.”

I won’t be like him. Never like him.
“Ashleigh, look at me.” I held her close, cupped her face and ran my thumb across the satiny texture of her cheek. “Just remember, the fear is all in your head. Don’t hang on to those old wounds, those old experiences. Let them go. It’s here. It’s now. I’m here and I want to make you feel good. Trust me to be careful with you.”

“I know. I know you’ll be careful.” She touched my cock again, cradling it in her hands. “I know I’m ready. I’m just a little nervous now that the moment is here.”

“Baby…” I was going to come in a second, if she didn’t stop stroking me. She’d gone on the Pill so we didn’t have to use a condom, but I almost wished for one, to desensitize me, to help me last a little longer. I worried that as soon as I got inside her I’d go off like a bomb. “Baby, I want to touch you first, make you feel good. Make you feel excited for me.”

I knew all the spots that got her hot and wet. I kneaded her ass and pinched her nipples, reveling in her responsiveness. She’d come so far in her ability to enjoy this, to trust me, and I wanted to be worthy of that trust. I ran a hand down her body, from her sculpted shoulder to her beautifully shaped breasts and down to her flat, tight stomach. I parted her pussy lips, finding her clit, moving my hips against hers.
I just want to help you. I just want to help you…