Page 22
Now, twelve years later, I’d convinced myself I was free.
Suddenly, I wasn’t so sure.
It was easy to see the irony of the love story in the ballet, Firebird as being my last performance as prima ballerina. If God had a sense of humor, I would be the punch line.
As I deepened into my role, those comparisons drifted, as did the doubt and angst that had been my companions since seeing Gio for the first time that morning. The cloudless blue sky hovered above me as I leapt and spun, trying to evade my fate, only to finally fall to the ground, exhausted and captured by the relentless hunter.
This was one of my favorite parts. I bowed my head in acknowledgement of the two choices I had. Either submit and live or fight and die. I loved this part because it allowed me to explore through movement what my entire life had been: a struggle between two opposing forces.
The hunter raised his bow, but I plucked a feather from my wing and held it before him in offering. He accepted my magical feather in exchange for my life. I was free to leave but would never be free of him until he claimed his one wish, only then would my life be my own.
I rose from the earth, weaving and twirling as I fought through the imaginary woods that had filled in around me, thick limbs and trailing vines reaching out to pull me into the darkness.
A patch of light ahead brought me to a momentary pause and I found myself spinning, basking in my momentary freedom. I stopped when the music did and leaned my hands on my thighs to catch my breath. Noticing the sun no longer warmed my skin, I looked up and saw that daylight had passed and was headed toward sunset, leaving orange and pink clouds in its wake.
It was only then that I became cognizant of how long I’d been outside. I needed to be ready for dinner at six p.m.
The silence was replaced by a slow clap, and I looked over to see that Gio had stepped up to the stage to help me down. Completely unnecessary, but I couldn’t stop myself from celebrating the fact he was touching me at all, even if it was just his warm hand on my elbow.
He wore an honest expression of awe and appreciation that took me by surprise. For one brief, impossible moment, it felt like nothing had changed.
Like I was seventeen again and dancing for two boys who looked at me as though I hung the moon.
Warmth spread through my chest before I could stop it.
Then the moment vanished.
His features hardened and the cold, standoffish mafia man returned. I dropped my gaze and hoped I’d successfully hidden the hurt. “Thanks. Don’t worry, I’ll quickly get cleaned up and be ready for dinner.” I hustled away, acknowledging the return of the knots in my stomach.
It was ridiculous. I should have been angry. Instead I was frustrated. Frustrated that Gio could still affect me with a single look.
Frustrated that Marko still made me feel safe with nothing more than a touch, and most of all, frustrated that twelve years hadn’t changed nearly as much as I’d hoped. Those feelings followed me into the bathroom and lingered as I turned on the shower.
I had no right to have expectations regarding either man after what I’d done, leaving them like that but it didn’t change how much I wanted it to be true. In Marko’s case, he was hanging on to his control by a thread and I assumed, holding back from taking me the way I wanted out of respect to Gio.
Nothing happened unless Gio allowed it, which was both frustrating and sexy as hell. The sexy part haunted me when I stepped into the shower a few minutes later. I moaned with pleasure as I turned the water on and the multiple jets massaged my shoulders, back and buttocks. In need of relief, I sat on the shower bench, placing one heel on the edge of the bench.
The water hit my sensitive slick opening and sheer pleasure zinged through me. Reaching down, I circled the hardened nub demanding release. I pictured opening the door back at my apartment and seeing Marko. His dark, angry expression taking me in and the unmistakable relief that followed when he realized I was okay.
My vision shifted to Gio leaning me back by the staircase at the hotel. His body pinning me in place, his gaze searing me into stillness. I couldn’t hold back the moan as my mind jumped back and forth between the strong images.
Sinking a finger inside my wet heat, I penetrated my swollen lips, burying a second and then a third, but it still wasn’t enough. Using my other hand, I teased my clit with the pad of my finger, easily gliding it across the surface. I alternated between circles, and furiously rubbing, as I coaxed myself toward release.
Heat traveled down my spine in waves. I was close, but I needed more. Angling my body toward the multiple jets, I shifted until one caught the tip of my nipple. A powerful orgasm ripped through me, and I cried out. Thank goodness I was sitting down as I was pretty sure I would have collapsed on the tiled shower floor had I been standing. Instead, I was left panting on the seat in the aftermath of a powerful orgasm, only standing when the water began to turn cold.
Exiting the shower, I saw anything a girl could ever want displayed on the counter. I spent extra time on my long locks instead of throwing my hair up in a damp ponytail like I usually did.
I added moisturizer to my face and gloss to my lips. Standing back, I checked out my image in the mirror, happy with the results of looking less ballerina and more woman for a change. Now I just needed to complete the look with the right outfit. In my room, I dug through my suitcase, bypassing my older clothing and looking at the new stuff Marko had bought me.
A glittery gold cocktail dress grabbed my attention. I held it up in front of me in the mirror. It was sexy as hell, but I didn’t wish to appear like I was trying too hard. I dug a little more and found a figure-hugging white mini dress in the softest material I’d ever felt, and smirked at my image when I put it on.
Oh yeah, just try and not notice me in this dress, I hummed to myself.
A white thong accompanied the dress, and I deliberately chose not to wear a bra. After a final check in the mirror, I squared my shoulders.
Chapter 8
Giovanni
