by Tonya Plank
I looked all around the studio, throwing my hands up. I forced myself to take several deep breaths before reacting. “A moment of…a moment of levity is okay, especially if it is followed by many moments of very intense work.”
I was trying so hard not to lose it. So very hard. But there was truth in her words. We could have levity, if we also had the opposite, in far more concentrated amounts than the levity.
“I know, I know, I know,” she said. “We only have three months. Yes, backbreaking work coming on now. Okay, let’s just take it from where we left off. We’re almost done with this routine.”
Good, we were now on the same page. The next step was a simple natural opening out where we stood side by side, one arm wrapped around the other, before I whisked her to the opposite side of me. When pulling her in, she was supposed to go past me into a series of three spins on her own as if she were leaving me momentarily. I was supposed to do my slow, sultry rumba walks toward her as she waited for me with opened arms. But once again, I pulled her too fast and she went torpedoing far away, putting us totally off beat.
“Rory, what happened?” I said, becoming increasingly unable to hide my annoyance.
“I know I sound like a broken record. But…you spun me too fast and I lost—”
“I know,” I snapped, looking at the ground. She was making another one of the excuses I so hated. “I just don’t understand why by this point in time you are not used to my— I…okay, I will try hard to remember your…fragility.” I took a deep breath. I had to remain with her on her terms if we weren’t going to devolve into fighting. “Come on, let’s try again.” I extended my arm to her.
But she didn’t come. She stood with her weight on one foot and put her hands on her hips.
“What?” I said.
“I am not made of porcelain, nor am I made of solid muscle.”
I shook my head. What was she talking about?
She took a deep breath and grabbed the bottom of her sky blue halter dance top.
“What are you doing?” I said.
She said nothing, but grabbed the fringe-y bottom of the top and, in one fell swoop, lifted it up and over her head, shaking out her hair as she pulled it completely off. It had a built-in bra, so she was standing there totally, mouthwateringly, topless.
She took another deep breath and grabbed the top of her jazz pants, and pulled them down, along with a thong underneath, letting both fall in a blissful pool at her ankles. She stepped out of the puddle, picked up her clothes, and walked straight past me, not even looking at me. She took the clothes to the living room, placed them neatly on the couch, then walked back to me and, almost mechanically, placed herself in closed hold with me. She was wearing nothing but the Latin stilettos.
“Rory, sweetheart.” My voice had softened considerably on its own accord. “As much as I want to…to devour you…we need to practice for a little longer.”
“I know, that’s why I left my heels on,” she said nonchalantly.
“I can’t concentrate with you like this.”
“Please try, Sasha. I just want to see how this goes. As an experiment. Just the rumba.”
“How will this help? Is this how we’re going to dance at Blackpool?” I was simultaneously annoyed and excited. My dick was growing and I couldn’t stop it.
“Maybe in our minds,” she said, again matter-of-factly.
I just looked at her like she was off her nut. It was incredibly hard to maintain eye contact with her in this state. But I had to, if we were actually going to dance this way. I had no idea what she had in mind, but fine, I would be game. Yes, of course I knew where this would end. It would end in us not fighting. In the opposite of a fight. Which was good. There just had to be a substantial middle, where we got some work done.
“I have a theory. Okay? Come on, please try, Sasha.”
“Okay,” I said, clearing my throat and placing my arms back around her in closed position, trying hard not to focus on her unearthly nakedness.
It actually worked. No mistakes. I was automatically much gentler in the way I handled her. No pushing, pulling. I even found myself catching her and pulling her into me at the end of the series of spins we’d formerly messed up. When I gently pushed her away, and did my lunge while she executed her glorious, high leg-lifting ronde de jambe, it took everything I had not to falter with her so beautifully spread open for me. She was the most immaculately perfect creature I’d ever seen. But I’d screw up the balance and drop her if I lost concentration. I couldn’t do that. Never. She extended her leg completely, and I touched her ankle gently and hooked her heel over my shoulder. Then I slowly glided her across the floor. This was one of our most beautiful moves and it felt so radiant. I felt I was really taking care of her on the dance floor, not letting her falter. It was the best run-through we’d ever had.
“I was right!” she squealed as I slowly lifted her up from our final dip. “That was so—”
But she wasn’t able to finish her thought as I whisked her toward me and she fell into my embrace, my lips pressing firmly into hers, my tongue opening her delicious lips.
After one very deep kiss, she moved her head back and looked into my eyes. Those ethereal jade gems.
“You’re right. You win,” I said, holding her even tighter this time.
She cackled wickedly. “You had better believe I will never let you forget you said that. I know the key to making Sasha Zakharov a better partner!”
“Well, at least for Rory Laudner.”
“Another concession! I am on a roll!” she hooted.
“Maybe it’s time to go upstairs,” I whispered, tracing the shell of her ear with my tongue.
“Yes, I don’t think we should practice the other dances like this. My boobs would be all over the floor in jive.”
“We don’t want that. We want them right here,” I teased, fingering her splendid nipples.
I carried her upstairs in a cradle hold, the same way I had on that first amazing night, when she was blindfolded. I placed her down on the bed and, kneeling over her, tore my t-shirt up and over my head while she unzipped my pants. She pushed me over onto my back while she took my pants down past my glutes, then straddled me. She massaged my biceps against the silky sheets and bent her head down to kiss me, my rock-hard dick right at her opening. But before she could take me fully inside her, I released my arms from her grasp, bucked myself up, and tossed her over me and onto her back, the bedsprings bouncing like a trampoline. She giggled and placed a still-stiletto’d foot over each of my shoulders. I began moving my mouth from her lips to her belly, stopping to lick at the hollow of her neck, each nipple, her belly button, and finally her clit, darting into her scrumptiously wet folds.
“Hey!” she said, playfully.
“Mmmm?” I moaned, delighting in the taste of her sweet juices, not wanting to take my mouth away from her for a second.
“You don’t always have to be on—”
My tongue, now circling the pebble-hard glorious crown of her clit, compelled her to release a long moan. She was quite unable to finish her sentence.
In one fell swoop, I released her mouth and climbed fully atop her, sent her legs back up and over her head, and plunged far and fast, but gently, into her. I was ever so thankful for her hyper-flexibility. The position opened her more, allowing me to fill her more completely. She threw her head back, and moaned even louder. Good thing we were in my secluded house and not an apartment where people could hear.
“Russian man!” she teased, after we’d both climaxed and she’d finally caught her breath.
I lay next to her, holding her hand, caressing each finger from root to tip. I raised one eyebrow, and shot her my crooked smile. “Now, let’s please not bring race into this,” I said.
“You mean nationality.”
“Whatever. Semantics.” I laughed. “So, why did you say that anyway?”
“My Russian friend in law school said Russian men were totally dominant and they always
had to be on top.” She giggled, but stopped abruptly, perhaps remembering our last conversation in which she’d mentioned this lovely friend who didn’t seem too keen on Russian men. “Not that she was right,” she added quickly. “I mean, generalizations are always silly. She’d just know more than I would. Or had. Or—oh I’m just joking anyway!” She smiled sweetly.
“Many a truth is said in jest. Didn’t Shakespeare say that?” I was slightly annoyed at her continued references to this friend I didn’t know who seemed to harbor all kinds of stereotypes. But I couldn’t be too annoyed with my dear Rory. As long as she didn’t adopt them.
She giggled. “I actually don’t know. It sounds Shakespearean! I think you know my native language better than I do.”
“I don’t think so.” I laughed. “I know it well, but certainly not as well as you. Anyway, someday I will have to have a talk with this friend who insists Russian men are all sexist bastards intent on domination.”
“I don’t think she’d go that far. And I don’t know if you’ll get the chance. Like I said, I don’t speak to her anymore.”
“Well, are you and she then equating dominance in bed with sexism?” I asked.
“Mmmm, no. I mean, not unless you’re like, you know, forcing yourself on, or stifling the other person.”
“Stifling? Do I stifle you, Rory?”
Her eyes widened and her gaze suddenly darted all over the room. Okay, maybe I did, on the dance floor. Certainly not in bed though?
Before she answered, I rolled onto my side, facing her. I released her fingers and placed both hands around her waist. Then, in one motion, I picked her up and lifted her over my body, placing her atop me.
“Damn are you strong!” she shouted, spreading her legs into a straddle split. She lowered her lips to mine, suddenly unable to control her giggling.
I had no idea what had given her the giggles, but I assumed it was a good thing. She was having fun. She placed her hands over my arms and resumed where we’d left off. I thrust up and into her as she sat up and beautifully arched her shoulders again. As I filled her, she threw her head back and breathed deeply. I cupped her beautiful breasts, palms rolling over each pebbled nipple. Her eyes closed. I massaged one nipple with my hand, the other with my tongue. I sat up, pumping into her harder and harder, filling her more and more. She bent her knees and lifted herself slightly, then slowly allowed herself to fall to the side, pulling me over onto her.
I followed her lead, positioned myself squarely between her legs and resumed my intense thrusting. She bent her knees and crossed her legs over my back. I reached under her, wrapped my arms around her back and kissed her deeply. We were completely entwined in each other.
“I sensed that’s the way you liked it best,” I said after we were again lying beside each other, catching our breath. “That is why I got on top, took the so-called dominant role, if you prefer to think of it that way.”
“Okay, I do enjoy your big, protective body over mine. You sensed right,” she said, rolling her eyes and laughing.
I know I sense things. I am a mind-reader. At least of Rory Laudner, my love.
Chapter 25
The next morning she hurried off to work, late. No time for morning banter, cuddling, breakfast, or an early morning practice, like last time. Rory kissed me on the way out, and asked me to tell Greta she’d be an hour late tonight to make up for work. Initially, her words sent a shot of panic through me. We hardly practiced last night, and she’d be at the studio all day Saturday with her mambo team, which was performing at the party that night. That left only Sunday. I took a breath. We had plenty of time. We’d made amazing progress. We were getting better every second, and our dance partnership was growing alongside our romantic one. They complemented each other. Sex was a kind of practice. It was.
***
An hour before our now-delayed practice with Greta, she texted me.
I’m really sorry but Gunther’s being a pain in the A again and needs me here all night. Some crazy last-minute research for a brief due Monday that he told me nothing about till now. I’ll see you tomorrow morning. I promise to make it up before I go to team practice. Sorry sorry sorry! Kisses!
You can’t come tonight at all? I texted back.
I don’t think so. His words were ‘through the night.’ I’m sorry, Sasha. I’ll be there tomorrow morning at seven a.m. on the dot!
Through the night? Will others be working with you? I don’t want you there all night alone.
I assume Gunther will still be here too. Otherwise he wouldn’t know when I left.
Tell me the second he leaves, Rory. Promise me.
I knew how much she liked to be independent. But downtown was still not as gentrified as Angelenos would like to believe. There were a lot of homeless around. It was especially sketchy in the area where the office buildings were because it was so dead. She would absolutely not be coming home alone on that subway.
Will do, she texted back.
***
She called me at eleven thirty p.m. to say he’d left and she was finally ready to leave as well.
I was already in my car right in front of her office. The security guard had gone for the night so I stayed in my car.
“Good. You can come down now. I’m outside.”
“What?” through the phone I heard her scampering down a hall, then stop. I looked up to a lit window, to see her sweet face. “How long have you been there?”
“Since my last private ended about two hours ago,” I said.
“Sasha!”
“I mean it about you not being down here alone, Rory. It’s a ghost town and skid row is not that far away.”
She emerged from the building, and literally skipped to the car. I opened my door and got out but she was already opening my passenger door.
I sat down, then reached over and cupped her chin in my hand, giving her a long, slow kiss. But about halfway through, I felt her tense.
“What is it?” I asked. She looked worried. “Seriously, what is it?”
She shook her head, worry visibly growing on her face. “I don’t know. Nothing.”
“What do you mean? Is Gunther here?” I looked around but saw no one.
“No. I mean, I don’t know. I just have this weird feeling someone’s watching me.”
“What?” I looked around.
“Sasha, let’s just go. It’s nothing. I think my paranoid client is rubbing off on me. It’s nothing.” She was trying to be upbeat, but I could still hear the worry in her voice.
“You sure?” I started the car.
“Yeah, it’s totally gone now. I don’t know what it was.” She shook her head as if shaking off a negative thought. “Anyway, what have you been doing out here all this time?”
“Reading the New York Times on my phone, listening to new Latin songs to use in show dances, people-watching. There are some serious weirdos around here. Even worse than in Hollywood.” I laughed as I pulled into traffic.
Suddenly, from out of nowhere a blue Nissan swerved around us, honking like mad.
“Where’d he come from?” I said under my breath.
The mad honking made us both glance at the driver. We were directly under a streetlight and I caught a glimpse of his beady little eyes in his rearview mirror as he glared back at us. They were eyes I vaguely recognized. Who was this nutter? He seemed to know us. And right then it hit me. It was a man I’d seen leave Rory’s building about half an hour before her. Gunther.
Rory snickered.
“Gunther?” I asked.
“Yeah. What the hell? I swear he left like twenty minutes ago. What was he doing? I mean, I feel like he was…watching us or something. Gross.”
Gross was accurate, I thought. If it was true and he was watching us. Maybe he was jealous and wanted her for himself. Maybe that’s why he kept insisting she stay at the office till all hours of the night. But he didn’t care too much for her, or he’d be more concerned about her safety. Not to mention, he wouldn�
��t harangue her like he did, making her feel horribly, unjustly inept.
“Does he show any signs of, you know, having a thing for you?” I ventured, careful with my words so as not to worry her.
She snickered again. “Not like that. He’s shown lots of signs of being annoyed that I have a life and am not at his beck and call all the time, maybe.” She ran her fingers through her hair.
After I switched gears and merged onto the freeway, I held my hand over hers. It really sucked to have an asshole boss. I wished so much I could take her away from all that. I could, actually. But I didn’t know whether she’d want to follow me at this point in her career, to give up what she had.
“So, are you off the hook for the weekend now?” I asked.
“He said he wanted me to come in both days. But I got a lot done tonight. I don’t have much left. Maybe two hours on Sunday.” She sounded less stressed talking about her actual workload. It wasn’t the job itself that made her anxious; it was this asshole.
“Sunday day. And I’ll take you and pick you up,” I said firmly.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Alpha Male,” she said with a wicked grin. “I can finish the work from home.”
***
She invited me into her apartment, where I made some chamomile tea while we chatted. She was actually nervous about the mambo team performance tomorrow. What if she fell, hurt her knee more, just screwed up in front of her peers?
“Don’t worry about all of this, sweetheart. You know the routine like the back of your hand, as they say. It’s going to be fun. You’re going to rock it.”
She cracked up. “My American Russian!”
I smiled, glad I could lift her out of her nervous energy a bit.
***
She showed up at seven on the dot the next morning looking bright and beautiful, and very well rested.
“I missed you last night,” she said, placing her nose into my just shampooed still-wild hair before running her hands through it. It felt amazing.
“Believe me, the feeling is mutual.” I kissed her cheek. “Even though it’s been all of eight hours since we last saw each other.” I laughed. “Mmmm, okay, we have to get to work. Greta’s waiting.”
