The Virgin’s Dance_Older Man Younger Woman Romance

by Michelle Love

  Pilot kissed her again, his lips tender against hers. “I’m not most men.”

  “You can say that again.” Her eyes slid to the clock on the wall of the studio. “Dang it. I have to be at work in thirty minutes.”

  “There’s a shower here in the little bathroom over there.” He grinned. “I’d join you, but I don’t think you’d make it to work in a half hour if I did.”

  Boh laughed. “I’d say that’s a given.”

  When she’d finished in the bathroom—luckily, she always carried changes of underwear with her for work—she found Pilot had made her a flask of coffee to have on the go. “I haven’t got any cereal or bread here, but here.” He gave her an energy bar and she smiled.

  “Breakfast of champions.”

  “Do you want me to walk you to the studio?”

  She shook her head. “You have work to do, baby.” She flushed a little at the epithet which came out of her unbidden but his answering smile was worth it.

  He kissed her goodbye at the door. “I’ll call you later.”

  “Can’t wait.”

  As she walked to work, sipping the coffee he had made for her, Boh felt like last night had been a dream. She had been telling him the truth when she told him she felt safe—to be that close to a man had always been traumatizing, if the other man hadn’t been a ballet dancer—but with him …

  Boh wondered how her gentle, kind, sweet-hearted Pilot could ever have been married to that blonde racist. Boh’s face must have registered a scowl as a woman standing next to her at a crosswalk looked alarmed and edged away. Boh shot her an apologetic smile, then as they crossed, she thought about Pilot’s ex again. When she’d Googled him, it had mentioned that his ex-wife was an Upper East Side woman who regularly did work for charity. There was nothing charitable about the woman she’d met last night.

  “Oo, serious face. Who yanked your chain?” She hadn’t seen Elliott falling in step beside her as they approached the NYSMBC building. She grinned at him. Elliott was one of her favorite people and he was an exquisite dancer.

  “Ah, no one important. I feel like I haven’t talked to you in an age, El.”

  “Right back at ya, sweet cheeks. But, I have news. Jeremy texted me earlier—Kristof’s got clearance to do The Lesson.”

  Boh’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? I thought Liz was going hard on him to drop it.”

  “He got it through. Although, she did make him include Romeo and Juliet—don’t make that face, some of us like it.” Elliott grinned at her grimace. “Although I don’t hope to get one of the leads. Jeremy and Vlad will get them.”

  Boh studied her friend. “Still crushing hard on Jeremy?”

  “I think I’m actually getting somewhere. We hung out the other night, just drinking and eating pizza, but it was good.”

  “Any action?” Boh smiled at him but inside she was annoyed. She knew Jeremy made the most of Elliott’s crush on him, and she also didn’t believe for a second that Jeremy had any intention of “being” with Elliott. He was using him and it pissed her off. But she couldn’t interfere—it wasn’t her place to. She just hoped Elliott wouldn’t get hurt.

  “Nah, but, you know, slow burn.”

  Boh smiled, remembering what Pilot had said last night. “I do know.”

  Elliott nudged her with his shoulder. “How come you dislike R and J so much?”

  Because my father loves it. “It’s that whole teen angst angle. I mean, your families are rich, and you’re only a few years away from maturity when you can be together. Why kill yourselves, douchebags?”

  Elliott snickered. “You don’t believe in love at first sight?”

  She was ready to say no, her usual answer, but now she didn’t know if it was true. With how she felt about Pilot, from that first day—was it really any different from the insta-love between Shakespeare’s teen lovers?

  She pushed the thought away. I am not in love with Pilot Scamo. Not yet. As they made their way into the building and to the changing rooms, they heard Serena’s high, grating voice.

  “I mean, why? Why does she get the spotlight shined on her? What’s so fucking special about her?”

  Boh and Elliott looked at each other and both rolled their eyes. Serena could only be bitching about Boh … again.

  “Boh is the principal whether you like it or not, Serena,” Grace was saying as Boh and Elliott made their way into the changing room. Grace winked at Boh, who grinned back at her. Grace looked back at Serena. “Just be grateful you got the lead in the middle segment.”

  Boh raised her eyebrows at her friend and Grace smiled. “You’re the lead for La Sylphide and The Lesson, babe. Congrats. No one could do a better job.”

  “Thanks, Gracie.”

  “Holy crap,” Elliott was holding a piece of paper. He looked up, amazement in his eyes. “I’m your partner for The Lesson.”

  Boh was delighted for her friend. He had been toiling away in the corps de ballet for years, losing out to Vlad and Jeremy on leading roles most times. When Vlad had been promoted to principal danseur over Elliott, he had been crushed. Now he was overwhelmed and picked Boh up and spun her around.

  Everyone except Serena laughed at them. She slammed down her makeup and stormed out of the room. “Ding dong, the witch is dead,” Vlad sang in his Russian accent.

  Their good mood lasted until Kristof’s class, which had been extended to three hours, late in the afternoon. He ran them ragged, criticizing every plie or port des bras. “You look like a bunch of fucking construction workers,” he spat at them.

  Elliott started to sing “YMCA” and the others giggled. Kristof rounded on them, and they shut up. His small eyes focused on Elliott. “You think this is funny?”

  Elliott shut his mouth, but Boh noticed a small smirk playing around his lips. He met Kristof’s eye and something passed between them she didn’t understand.

  Kristof huffed out a sigh but moved on. Huh. His usual trick of exploding and making an example of someone was missing today, and it freaked her out.

  By the end of the day, Boh was exhausted. Kristof made her go over and over her choreography for La Sylphide, and now, when she took her shoes off, her toes were split and bleeding. She hoped Pilot didn’t have a thing for feet because, any ballerina would tell you, their feet only looked beautiful in shoes while they danced.

  “Ugh,” she said, and wincing, tore off a loose piece of toenail. It could have been worse, but what was worse was the dizziness.

  It had started around four in the afternoon and although Boh pushed through, it had gotten worse incrementally over time. She glanced at the clock. Seven p.m. She waited until the changing room emptied out then leaned her head against the cool tile wall and closed her eyes. Bright sparks flashed behind her eyelids and she felt as if she might throw up.

  Her phone bleeped. You done? Want me to come pick you up? P x

  Before she could answer, Grace came to find her and taking one look at her friend, knelt down beside her. “Hey, kiddo … you dizzy again?”

  “Again?”

  Grace smiled softly at her. “The throwing up, the extra-strength iron tablets on your nightstand? We live together, Boh.” She gently pulled the skin under Boh’s eye down. “Anemia?”

  Boh nodded. She should have guessed Grace would find out—she missed nothing.

  Grace frowned at her. “How long?”

  “A few months. It’s mild, but sometimes …”

  “Yeah. Come on. I’ll feed you raw steak and spinach, Popeye.”

  She helped Boh to her feet, but Boh hesitated and Grace suddenly smiled. “Unless you have a better offer?”

  “Not a better offer,” Boh protested, not wanting to hurt her friend’s feelings, but Grace laughed.

  “He’s a sweetheart, that’s what I hear,” she said, lowering her voice. “Nelly was singing his praises when I was in her office the other day. Bitch of an ex-wife.”

  Boh chuckled. “Yes, I met her last night. She deserves that title.”
>
  “You stayed at his place?”

  “His studio, on the couch.” Boh could feel her face flame red, but she also couldn’t hide her smile and Grace chuckled.

  “You ready?”

  Boh blinked. “For what?”

  Grace’s smile was wide. “For the first—and hopefully last—love of your life?”

  Even the sight of her, hair mussed up, no makeup, was like a shot of pure heroin in Pilot’s veins—not that he would know what that felt like—but he couldn’t imagine it would be any better than Boh smiling at him. “Hey, beautiful girl.”

  “Hey, handsome.”

  He pushed himself away from his car where he’d been leaning and took her in his arms. Boh kissed him, but when she drew away, she swayed a little and he caught her. “You okay?”

  “I’m a little dizzy, is all.”

  He tucked her into the passenger seat of the car. “Do you need a doctor?”

  She smiled at him. “No, I’m fine. Just exhausted.”

  Pilot reached out and stroked her face tenderly. “Wanna come home with me? I can cook.”

  “You can?”

  “Half-Italian, remember?” He grinned as she chuckled, hearing her sigh of happiness. He brushed his lips against hers, then, out of the corner, he saw Kristof, standing outside the building, watching them. Pilot drew away from Boh and gave Kristof a sarcastic salute.

  Boh looked around and groaned. “Quick, drive, before he decides I need to rehearse for another three hours.”

  “I’d talk him out of it,” Pilot said, his voice even. He saw Kristof finish his cigarette and step toward the car. Nope, asshole. She’s tired, and she’s coming home with me. Tempted to give Kristof the finger, he held back and instead pulled the car away from the curb.

  By the time they got back to his apartment, Boh was asleep. Gently lifting her from the car, he carried her to the elevator and into his apartment.

  He hesitated before taking her into his bedroom and laying her on the bed, pulling a blanket over her sleeping form, and easing her sneakers off of her feet.

  He left her to sleep and went to the kitchen to prepare something for them to eat. His father had been a gastronome, a fact that probably contributed to his early heart attack at 56, but Pilot and his sister Ramona had both spent hours with him in their huge kitchens in their farmhouse in Italy and their mansion in New York State, learning the craft of cookery.

  He made gnocchi now, from scratch, rolling the dough as his father taught him. Pa, you would have been proud—and you would have loved Boh. After he’d formed the tiny dough balls, he covered them with a damp cloth to await cooking when Boh woke up.

  While he waited, he logged onto his laptop and went through the shots they had done the previous day. Some of them were good enough to be in the exhibition in his opinion, and he’d sent a few test shots to Grady for his opinion. The answer came back straight away and confirmed what he, Pilot, had been contemplating all day. From Grady, it had been straight to the point. This girl. No gimmicks. No theme. Just her.

  Pilot couldn’t have agreed more. While he still loved the idea of the Faraday cages, that could wait until they had time to do it. Grady was right. This one was just Boh.

  “Hey.”

  He looked up and saw her, leaning shyly against the door to the kitchen. He went to her and drew her into his arms. “Hey. Did you sleep okay?”

  She nodded. “Sorry for nodding off on you.”

  He kissed her. “Never apologize. You were tired. You hungry?”

  She nodded, and he took her hand. “Come watch me cook.”

  She sat with a glass of red wine in front of her, watching as Pilot prepared their supper. “You made this? All of it?”

  Pilot grinned. “Told you I could cook.”

  “Is there anything you can’t do?” There was no double meaning in her words and she was looking at him with eyes filled with nothing but … love. He cleared his throat and looked away. The ego in him wanted her to believe he was perfect, but that was no way to start a relationship. “There’s plenty I can’t do, Boh. Plenty. I can’t fix the mistakes I’ve made in my life.”

  “No one can, baby.”

  “I—” he faltered. “I made one big mistake, Boh, and even though I’m so happy with you, that mistake is still—”

  “Eugenie?”

  Pilot nodded. “For a man like me, for any man, to admit he’s been abused by a domestic partner … it’s hard. But I cannot start this thing with you without you knowing what I’ve had to deal with, in case … it comes back to hurt us. You’re 22 years old, Boh and—”

  “My father sexually assaulted me from the age of twelve,” Boh interrupted him, her voice shaking. “My mother knew. My sisters knew. He died recently, and I refused to go to the funeral. My sister called me a whore. A whore.” She got up and went to him. “And until the day I met you, I never knew what happiness could be. What trust and love and honesty meant. And until last night, the person I most wanted to rage against was him for hurting me. But now, I want to kill that bitch for ever, ever, hurting you.”

  Pilot was stunned by her declaration, by the revelation of her terrible past. “If your father wasn’t already dead …”

  She smiled grimly. “We both have damage. Together, I know we can make it okay again, beautiful man.” Her voice was a whisper now, and although her face showed her youth, her words made her sound more mature than he could ever have expected.

  “I adore you,” Pilot said. “I adore you, Boheme, and we’ve known each other what? A week?”

  “Time is a human construct. It has nothing to do with love, Pilot Scamo.” She tilted her head up to kiss him and his lips crushed against hers.

  Boh reached over and switched off the stove, pulling the boiling water from the flame, slipping a lid on the sauce. Pilot watched her, his hands on her waist, and when she looked back at him, he knew what she was doing. “We can have this later, Pilot,” she said softly.

  “Later?”

  She looked up at from beneath her lashes. “After …”

  She took his hand and led him to his bedroom. Her apparent confidence was belied by the fact she was trembling uncontrollably. Pilot nodded. “It’s okay,” he said, his lips against hers, “I’ll show you.”

  She nodded and lifted her arms for him to slide her sweatshirt over her head. Pilot dropped her top onto the floor, and bent to kiss her mouth, then trailed his lips along her jawbone. His fingers slid under the straps of her bra and drew them down her shoulders. Boh leaned into him as he kissed her shoulders, her collarbone, her throat.

  Pilot looked into her face; he could tell she was scared but he could also see the desire in them. “Baby, one word and I’ll stop, okay?”

  “Don’t stop.” Her voice was a whisper. Her fingers were in his hair, stroking his dark curls, and he lifted her into his arms, laying her down onto the bed. He slowly unzipped her blue jeans and pulled them off, his hands on her body, stroking her belly. He loved that she wasn’t skin and bones, that she had retained her curves even if she was toned and athletic. He pressed his lips against the soft curve of her belly, rimming her navel with his tongue and his hands drew her panties down her legs.

  Boh gasped as he moved lower and his mouth found her shaved sex. His tongue lashed around her clit, teasing and probing, and she felt a flood of emotion and pleasure slow through her. He was being gentle, holding back, she knew because he had guessed it was her first consensual time. As his mouth pleasured her, Boh finally let go, tears rolling down her face but with a smile on her face. He made her come, gasping and panting and writhing, and when he moved up the bed to kiss her mouth, she smiled at him through her tears.

  Pilot kissed the tears away. “Are you okay?”

  “More than, Pilot. More than. These are happy tears, I promise.” She reached down and cupped his erection through his jeans. “Please, Pilot … I want you.”

  He stripped quickly and rolled a condom down over his impressively big cock. As he
hitched her legs around his waist, his eyes were serious. “Remember, you want to stop, we stop.”

  She pulled his head down to kiss his mouth. “I want you,” she repeated and Pilot smiled.

  Boh felt a moment of terror as his cock notched into the entrance of her sex but as he slid gently into her, all of her fear left her. God, this man … As he filled her, his eyes never left hers, searching, questioning. She tightened her thighs around his waist as they began to move, making love slowly at first then as the intensity built between them, harder, faster, deeper.

  This time her orgasm shot through her like a bomb, making her cry out, arch her back, beg him to never stop. Bright sparks filled her vision and she gasped for air, wishing this feeling would never end, not caring if she lived or died at that moment.

  Pilot groaned as she felt his body spasm with his own climax, and she stroked his face as he recovered, his skin damp with sweat, his smile huge. “God, Boh …”

  Oh, how I love you. But she didn’t say it, knowing that kind of declaration was way too soon, even if she knew without a doubt that it was true. “Thank you,” she whispered, “you take the pain away.”

  Pilot chuckled a little incredulously. “Right back at you, gorgeous girl.” He kissed her and excused himself to go deal with the used condom. Boh lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, trying to process the whirlwind of emotions flooding through her.

  When Pilot returned, she held out her arms and he went into them. They kissed, and Boh stroked his face. “You are the most wonderful man.”

  Pilot laughed softly. “I’m not, but I hope to be for you, Boh.” He lifted her hand and kissed her fingertips. “I have to ask—the age difference doesn’t bother you?”

  She shook her head. “Like I said, time is a human construct.”

  “I’m crazy about you, Boheme Dali.”

  She smiled and kissed him. “Pilot?”

  “Yeah, babe?”

  Her stomach growled, and they both laughed. “Food now?”

  “Food, please.”

  She swooned over the perfect little potato pasta dumplings as she scooped the last of her gnocchi into her mouth. “You are a genius.”