My bandaged finger twinged in complaint as I stepped into the hall then tugged the door shut.
Was I noodling again? Reaching back into that muddy, shitty hole expecting a better outcome?
I’d made that mistake once and had literal scars to show for it. I wouldn’t become an incubus’s desperate thrall or some lovesick fanboy thinking sex workers sold anything but sordid fantasies.
No matter how good Cherry looked, or how good hefelt, I knew better now.
This time, I would keep my hands to myself.
CHAPTER
TEN
Zephyr
Life carried on as though nothing had changed, which was surreal because I felt certain thateverythinghad changed. Thankfully, Maslow didn’t check in with me, and I assumed Darby was responsible for that. The reprieve from the wraith’s attention helped me breathe a little easier and gave me space to think.
I needed to come up with an excuse for why I disobeyed his instructions, and it couldn’t be because I thought myself wiser than he was or that I wasn’t grateful for the elaborate lengths he had gone to in providing for my… needs. And theywereneeds. I couldn’t deny that. Days later, the effects of my tryst with Beck lingered. I felt better than ever.
Every night, I followed Darby on his VIP rounds, which was an education all its own. There were plenty of men like Ewing Livingston, with hungry hands and stares that stripped me bare, but none like Lucas Beckett—I’d learned his full name—who were willing to sweep to my rescue.
I managed not to take anyone to the sex room or my bedroom, but I found myself handing out other kinds of physical attention like favors at a party. By the third day, I had been so thoroughly handled that it felt like fingerprints were stamped into my skin, and I was ready to retreat. To my silks. To the sky. To something above it all.
But first, yoga.
I’d put it off and would have continued to do so if Darby hadn’t insisted on making a production of it.
He was the ringleader this morning—“morning” being a relative term to a band of creatures who rarely roused before noon—ushering the lot of us toward the stage.
“Hope everyone’s limbered up,” he said. “If not, you’re about to be. We aren’t leaving this room until everyone can at least touch their toes.” He winked over at Oz. “I’m looking at you, buddy.”
Most often, we spent our days practicing routines or working out. Today, I had been introduced like a guest speaker, positioned at the front of the group where all eyes fell on me. None of them looked particularly enthused.
Darby appeared most prepared in a white satin Louis Vuitton tracksuit, and Oz was fit enough in his gym shorts and a plain white tee. Callum had on sweatpants and a tank top, but Colt hadn’t dressed at all. Shirtless and wearing only plaid flannel pants tucked into his boots, he tromped across the stage to find a spot to sprawl out as I urged everyone to sit. Elliot lurked at the back of the group with his face shadowed by his black hoodie, but his red eyes glowed from the cover of darkness, so I knew he was paying attention.
For as raucous as the club was during business hours, it was markedly different when closed. It had an eerie, almost sentient presence, like the walls were watching along withthe cameras. The few windows were tinted so dark they absorbed light rather than admitting it, and they blocked any view in or out. The room was a sum of black upon black upon black with infrequent flashes of crimson red. It felt foreboding, like we were in the belly of a slumbering beast, trapped in the quiet and endless dark.
I stood, feeling targeted from all angles and terribly conspicuous. It was like the other dancers could see through me, sense what I’d given away, or perhaps what I’d gained. I wondered if they cared. We were all doing our jobs, after all. Mine was just a bit different from theirs.
Regardless of what they thought or knew about my loss of virginity, right now they were likely wondering how long I was going to stand and stall, so I inhaled and began.
“Hey, uh, I’ve never actually taught anyone, so you’ll have to bear with me. But I wanna say that yoga isn’t about being super flexible or getting everything perfect. It’s about moving your body in a way that feels good and learning to connect with your breath. If something feels weird or uncomfortable, you can always adjust or take a break. Okay?”
Five heads nodded, and five tails curled lazily as I dropped onto the mat I’d rolled out and sat cross-legged with my spine straight and arms loose.
“All right,” I said. “Start by sitting however feels natural to you. Take a deep breath in and out. Get settled, and we’ll go from there.”
Watching them get adjusted was amusing but also gratifying. Darby was clearly invested in the process, shifting his hips and letting his white-lashed eyes fall shut as he relaxed. Oz moved as awkwardly as expected. He had more bulk than grace, and I imagined Darby was right about the toe-touching. We could work on that if he wanted to.
Callum obediently slumped into a loose posture, while Colt crossed his legs then pitched back to lean on his braced arms. His boots thunked on the floor.
At the back, Elliot surprised me by perfectly mimicking my pose. On second thought, it shouldn’t have surprised me at all. He was limber, and his workout routine was based on body resistance. He was probably more flexible and aware of his physical limits than most.
“Now, we’re gonna do some neck rolls,” I instructed. “Drop your chin to your chest, then roll your head from one side to the other. If anything feels tight, just pause and breathe into it.”
I completed the motions as I described them, and the tension began to leave my body.
“Let’s come up onto our hands and knees in a tabletop position. Put your hands under your shoulders and your knees under your hips.” I situated myself demonstratively as laughter rippled through my would-be students.
