Salacious

by A. Zavarelli

  Even while he works, Mr. Vaughn never takes his eyes off me for a second.

  It is the first time he has seen me dance like this.

  Not in free form, but with the skills I have perfected over my endless years of toil. And he is mesmerized.

  Even after the music ends, he does not break his focus, completely oblivious to the fact that Bastien is still here.

  “Thank you so much.” I turn to Bastien and give him a hug. “I really appreciate your help tonight.”

  “Do you need me to help clean up?” he asks.

  “No, it’s okay,” I tell him. “I’ve got it, but thank you.”

  I am eager for him to go. And I know Mr. Vaughn is too. Because I can see it on his face. The last thread of his self-control. Preparing to snap.

  I haven’t even had a chance to take in the painting. The only thing I can see right now is him.

  And as soon as Bastien disappears down the fire escape, he is on me.

  I don’t voice any concerns that I’m covered in paint or that I’m getting it all over him too. I don’t even get the chance before his lips are on mine, hot and possessive. Tongues and teeth clashing as he tears at my clothes. We collapse to a blank space of the paper in a heap, and I help him rid my skirt and leotard, until there is nothing left on me but my pointes. And then he leans back to absorb the moment, taking all of me in. Covered in paint, my chest rising and falling in the moonlight. Desperate for him. For This.

  “Fuck, Chloe,” he tells me even as he pulls off his sweater. “I can’t.”

  But I know what those words mean this time. He can’t hold back anymore. And I don’t want him to.

  So I reach for his pants and tug on his zipper. He draws in a harsh breath and kicks off the pants the rest of the way before lowering his body onto mine.

  The hard to my soft. The big to my small. The corruption to my innocence.

  He’s watching me closely. Looking for any protest I might have to give him. Pleading with me, I think, to give him one. But I don’t.

  Instead, I reach down between us and wrap my palm around his cock. Hot and hard and thick.

  “Christ.” He jerks when I stroke him and kicks over the palate of paint beside us, splattering it onto both of our bodies.

  I smile, and so does he. And then he reaches down and smears his palm through the blue, using that same palm to paint the side of my body and my face.

  It is the most erotic thing he could have done. And I’m panting for him. Wet for him. On fire for him.

  My artist and my muse.

  I push and he rolls over so that I’m on top. And I repeat the action with my own palms, dipping them in red and black and laying claim to his body with my own brand. His cock is sandwiched between my thighs and I’m rolling my hips against him, sliding over him.

  He sits up and pulls me closer, so that I’m resting in his lap. And then he brings his lips to my throat, kissing me. Worshipping me.

  “I’m going to fuck you now,” he tells me.

  “Yes.”

  And then he’s lifting my hips, positioning himself inside of me. It’s intimate in this position. Where we can both see everything. Feel each other’s breath and skin pressed so close.

  He drops my hips and meets my resistance.

  There is a flash of confusion in his eyes, and then the question in his mind.

  I don’t allow him time to ruminate. I grab hold of his shoulders and push myself all the way down, taking him fully inside of me on a gasp.

  “Chloe?”

  “I wouldn’t have wanted it to be anyone else,” I whisper.

  And then my lips find his throat and I kiss him, taking away his doubts and destroying any morals he thinks he might still retain in this moment.

  They disappear easily, under my ministrations. And soon he’s guiding me. Teaching me. The way he does best. With his hands.

  With his brilliance.

  Fucking me so intimately, so close. His hands are on me everywhere. Gliding up my back and down my ribcage. Tangling in my hair to pull my head back and expose my throat to him.

  It’s slow at first. Rhythmic.

  But when he makes me come, I can feel him coming undone too. Getting closer. The tension blooming in his body. The need to fuck. The need to fuck hard.

  “Do it,” I tell him. “Take me. Make me yours, Mr. Vaughn.”

  He growls and flips me onto my back, his hips fitting between mine as his biceps stretch and contract above me. Thrust after powerful thrust, and he tilts his head back on a groan. Coming inside of me.

  It shocks both of us. But it also gives me a secret thrill. Playing with fire. I already knew he was going to burn me.

  “Shit,” he grunts. “I’m sorry, Chloe. I wasn’t thinking.”

  My only answer is to touch his face beneath my fingers. Marking him with the residual paint in hopes of transferring my gratitude. For allowing himself to break free from the confines of our student-teacher relationship. To share this moment with me.

  My first.

  My everything.

  He doesn’t retreat, but now that his lust has been sated, I can see him questioning it. What he’s done. He gives me a gentle kiss on the lips and sits up.

  “You don’t have to worry,” I tell him. “I’m on the pill.”

  He nods, and his fingers tangle with mine. The warm to my cold. The only anchor I’ve ever felt in my life.

  “Chloe?”

  “Yes?”

  “I have absolutely no fucking idea where to go from here.”

  Chapter Ten

  Keller

  A better man would have walked away.

  I am not a good man. I knew it before. But it is clear to me now.

  Because I can’t walk away. I can’t stop thinking about her body. I can’t stop myself from wanting to lay siege to it over and over again.

  Her surrender.

  That’s the thing I want the most.

  I’ve claimed her, and she’s mine.

  It’s fucked up. It’s predatory. Wrong on every level.

  But she is the thing that I need right now. It pains me to admit it. That I’ve succumbed to such libertine ways.

  At the end of the day, I am a mere mortal. A slave to my hedonistic desires. And she is a goddess on pointes. A goddess I want to debase in every imaginable way.

  So when I walk into my office this morning and find her in my chair, her hand down her skirt, it pleases me beyond measure.

  She looks up at me with half-lidded eyes and a pout on her lips, not an ounce of shame to be found.

  “Are you thinking of me?” I ask her as I set my briefcase aside.

  “Who else would I be thinking about, Mr. Vaughn?” she smiles.

  Fuck. Me.

  That smile, those words… she knows what she’s doing to me. She looks innocent. She was innocent until I touched her. But right now, she is anything but.

  “Did I say you could touch yourself?” I ask her.

  Her pupils dilate and she responds to my harsh words. Her hand moving faster. Her chest rising further as her nipples tug at the thin fabric of her shirt.

  “I meant to wait for you, but you took forever.”

  “You know this is wrong, Chloe,” I try to reason with her again. Or maybe it’s me I’m trying to remind. I haven’t a clue anymore.

  “But you like it so much,” she argues. “You liked it last night.”

  I don’t reply because we both know it’s true.

  “I think you like the idea of controlling me,” she whispers.

  All of the blood in my body heads south. And I’m surprised by her candor. The way she reads me so well. She is young, but she isn’t naïve.

  That’s what I tell myself before the next words fall from my mouth.

  “Get down on your knees.”

  She responds. Without protest. And when I step in front of her, her eyes move to the straining cock inside of my
trousers. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and I grab hold of her pony tail.

  “This is Rellek,” she whispers as she looks up at me with those sinful blue eyes.

  “What?”

  “I always knew you had two sides to you,” she answers. “Rellek and Mr. Vaughn.”

  Her insight irritates me. So I unzip my trousers and put her mouth to better use by shoving my cock inside.

  It’s wet and hot and perfect, the sound of her choking on it when I hit the back of her throat.

  “Is this what you wanted?” I ask her.

  She nods and mumbles around me.

  And when I look down at her, legs parted, delicate hands on her thighs… I almost blow my load at the sight of her like this.

  I grab hold of her face and use her. Use her mouth. Testing her. Fucking her like a toy. Hoping that maybe she will tell me to stop. Maybe she will save us both from spinning out of control. But she doesn’t. She eats it up. Soaks in everything I have to give to her and begs me for more.

  My cock slides in and out of her throat in a torturous rhythm, her sounds vibrating all the way down through my balls. When I come, I don’t let her pull away. I make her take it all and swallow, gripping her hair and cursing out my release.

  Cursing the way that it feels.

  I wish she’d never stepped foot in my class. Never caught my eye.

  This beautiful fucking poison.

  She’s going to ruin me.

  I pull away and zip up my pants, running a hand through my hair. Calming myself before I turn my attention back to her.

  The sensible part of me wants to tell her to leave. That I’m done with her. I’ve had enough.

  But the sadistic part of me knows that I can’t.

  It will never be enough.

  Because I need to ruin her too.

  “Did you like it?” I ask her. “Do you like being treated like a whore? That’s how it will be with me.”

  She smiles again and licks her swollen lips. “I think you already know the answer to that, Mr. Vaughn.”

  I take a seat at my desk and tell her to crawl to me. She does it. Just like that.

  Double fuck.

  I pull her up into my lap and kiss her. Sweet this time.

  She melts into me and whimpers. Her body is a live wire right now. On the threshold of explosion. Just a single touch from me could do it.

  “You aren’t going to come today,” I murmur against her.

  She blinks up at me and the fire returns to her eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “I took you and made you mine, Chloe. You want to play the game with me, you have to play by my rules. You don’t get to play with yourself unless I tell you to.”

  She bites down on her lip and I expect an argument out of her. But instead, she just nods.

  Exactly the way her father trained her to.

  Jesus Christ.

  This is beyond fucked up.

  So why do I want it so much?

  “Tomorrow,” I tell her. “Come to my office after dance. I want you bent over my desk by eight o clock.”

  “Okay, Mr. Vaughn.”

  I kiss her again on the throat, feeling her pulse beat wildly on my lips.

  “No panties,” I add. “But keep your skirt and tights on.”

  She kisses me on the lips and then pulls away. “Whatever you want, Mr. Vaughn.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Chloe

  I spend the morning at the yoga class for amputees. Getting to know the poses. The people. Trying to piece together a sequence in my mind.

  I’ll be coming here a lot, while I work on this project. But Mr. Vaughn won’t.

  He agreed to be there for the actual project. When the art is happening. I know it’s because he doesn’t want to face them.

  He is the strongest man I know. Mind, body, and soul. But he fears this encounter. Facing his past and the people who remind him of that horrible day. For the things that were out of his control, but the same things he blames himself for.

  They all ask about him. And look forward to meeting him. Even after what happened, they are still his fans. They want to see his work.

  I want to see more of it too.

  During my lunch break, I head up to the rooftop to examine the painting that I set aside to dry. And what I find in the daylight is even more beautiful than I ever expected.

  But it isn’t the Nutcracker on canvas. It’s the one beside it. On the extra length of paper. The black and red and blue that paints an entirely different story.

  And it occurs to me then that there is nothing that can top this one.

  Salacious.

  That’s what I’m going to call it. And I’m going to use it in the show.

  Nobody will know what it means. Only us. Rellek and Chloe, and the visual imprint of our bodies coming together for the first time.

  And when the world has seen it, or even a small portion of the world, I will hang it above my bed. As my most cherished piece.

  It is with this thought in mind that I store the paintings and head to my afternoon dance classes. And for the first time in forever, I feel my heart soar as well as my body when I fly across the studio.

  ***

  I have five minutes until he arrives.

  It’s pure torture. The waiting.

  I’m already doing what he asked, just in case he comes early.

  My body is bent over his desk. Tights cool from the wetness already between my thighs. The anticipation thrumming through my veins.

  My fingers are curled around a graphite pencil, sketching on a piece of paper to pass the time. To keep my mind occupied and to resist the urge to touch myself.

  I’m drawing his face above me. His hand cupping my cheek as I kneel before him. The perfect mental snapshot of the way he looked yesterday.

  His deep commanding voice telling me what to do while his eyes laid claim to my body.

  He owns me. And he knows it.

  The door opens, and I cease all movement.

  Mr. Vaughn takes in the sight of me bent over his desk. Skirt flowing over my hips and legs spread in my pink tights. Hand around his pencil. The art he compels me to create.

  His eyes darken as he flips the lock on the door and shrugs out of his jacket. And then he walks around behind me, wordless, and bends his body over mine. Covering me with his heat while he grips my chin and brings my lips to his.

  He kisses me hard and possessively. Our tongues dancing and breaths mingling.

  He is the purest form of divinity that I’ve ever tasted.

  And then he takes it away from me.

  “Keep drawing,” he murmurs against me. “Don’t stop.”

  It’s an order. And I try my best to follow it, even at the sound of his zipper coming undone behind me. He lifts my skirt up and lets the material fall around my waist. And then I feel the heat of his cock pressed against my tights. He’s stroking himself while he watches me draw.

  “Don’t stop,” he tells me again. “Or I will.”

  I bite my lip and he rips a hole in my tights. Right through the wetness. Where I am soaked for him. My body begging for him.

  And then he’s kneeling behind me. Tasting me with his mouth. Fucking me with his tongue while I draw his face.

  It’s so dirty and wrong and intimate. The sounds that he makes.

  The sounds that I make.

  I’m possessed by something else right now. A demon that hungers for more. He gives it to me. Gripping my hips and eating me out.

  My professor and my mentor.

  Teaching me how to be his good girl.

  I’m so close. So, so close. But I’m impatient for more. For all of him.

  He rises up and gives it to me in one thrust.

  A possessed sound moves up my throat and out of my mouth, but I don’t allow the pencil to stop moving. Even as he pins my hips and begins to fuck me in earnest.

  Even when h
is palms skate up my leotard and beneath the material to stroke my breasts. I arch my back to accommodate him, but the pencil never leaves the paper. The lines are jerky now. Rough and edgy. It doesn’t matter.

  I just need his hands on me. I need him inside of me. Sating the addiction he has created. He’s the only cure for this madness.

  “My filthy little ballerina,” he murmurs against me. “Do you like being dirty for me?”

  “Yes, Mr. Vaughn.”

  “Reach down and touch yourself with your other hand,” he tells me. “Make yourself come on my cock. But don’t stop drawing.”

  I do as he asks. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I can’t focus on anything but the feelings. His cock moving inside of me. His fingers on my nipples, his mouth on my throat.

  I come hard around him, grinding the pencil into the paper as I do.

  Mr. Vaughn grabs hold of my hair and my hip and thrusts hard and fast until he’s breaking apart. Jerking inside of me. Filling me with his come.

  He collapses against me and retrieves the pencil from my hand, tossing it aside. And then he’s pulling us back, into his chair. I fall into his lap and he leans his head back against the cushion, both of us catching our breaths.

  I can see his mind working again.

  And I’d give anything to know what he’s thinking right now. But it is enough to have his hand wrapped around my waist. His skin against mine. Our hearts breathing in rhythm as they calm.

  “Hand me the drawing,” he tells me.

  I reach across the desk and pass the paper to him. It’s not perfect. It’s half grace and half chaos. But it looks better than I expected. And he likes it too.

  Rellek.

  “I’m keeping this,” he says.

  He sets it aside and we fall into a comfortable silence. The only sound in the room is our breathing. Until he’s had some time to gather his thoughts and tell me what’s on his mind.

  “There’s a part of me, Chloe,” he says, “that wants to tell you to follow your heart. To tell you what you need to hear. That you are a natural born artist and that you could do great things.”