Bullseye

by Monica James

  “It worked, didn’t it?”

  I’m about to argue, but he’s right.

  Even though the attack wasn’t the deciding factor, it did play a part in my decision to leave.

  “Andre almost killed me,” I say, shaking the image from my mind. “You saw it.”

  “Carlos clearly wants you scared.”

  Turning to look at him briefly, I can see he isn’t telling me something. He’s not the only one who can read body language.

  “What do you know about Carlos?” he asks.

  The earrings burn my flesh because I never got a chance to give them back to Carlos. I decided to wear them because at Blue Bloods, when you dress the part of upper-class dancer, you get treated that way.

  “He’s just another rich asshole who likes to think he owns people. Why?”

  “Be careful around him. Something is off about this entire situation. I just don’t know what it is. Yet.”

  “Yet?” I glance at him and shake my head. “Please don’t. I need the money. It’s just for a few months,” I add when he doesn’t seem swayed. I omit the fact I signed a one-year contract.

  “And you’re not curious to know why Carlos would go to the measures he has?”

  Pondering over his question, I keep my eyes forward, frightened of what I will see in his. “Of course, I am. But sometimes…you have to think about how your actions will affect another.”

  I’m expecting Bull to fight me, but I get the complete opposite.

  He doesn’t say a word.

  My students are distracted on a good day. Whether it be a fly on the wall or the ribbons on their ballet slippers, teaching preschoolers is hard. Throw in a tattooed bad boy, and I may as well be teaching myself.

  “Mandy.” I clap my hands lightly, trying to get her attention. But her big blue eyes are focused on Bull, who is sitting in the corner of the room.

  I was going to leave him outside to wait with the moms and dads, but when they set their sights on him, I decided to save him from the judgmental looks and allowed him inside. He sat quietly, but I felt his eyes on me. Every movement, every breath—he collected them all.

  Looking at the clock on the wall, I decide to end class a few minutes early because today has been a waste of time. The kids couldn’t stop looking at Bull. I bet they’ve never seen someone like him before. Their parents wouldn’t associate with someone like him. Nor would they with someone like me if they knew what I did apart from teaching ballet to their kids.

  “Everyone did so well today. See you next week.” Turning off the music, I open the door and brace for the stampede of parents.

  As I’m packing up the room, Pamela, one of the moms, walks over to me. I already know what she’s going to say before she opens her mouth. “Lily, can I speak to you real fast?”

  “Sure,” I reply, collecting the rainbow ribbon sticks from the floor.

  “I don’t mean to sound rude, but who is that man?” She tries to be discreet as she gestures with her head toward Bull. She fails miserably.

  “That’s my friend,” I say, flippantly.

  “Oh. Well, some of the parents and I were wondering if maybe he shouldn’t be in the room when you’re teaching.”

  Collecting the last ribbon stick, I look her straight in the eye. “Why not?”

  Her eyes widen as she’s taken aback by my bluntness. “He was, um, distracting to the kids.” She doesn’t even have the balls to tell me the truth.

  “Pamela, they’re distracted by air. They’re kids. They live their lives distracted.”

  She nervously tugs at her pearls. “He looks like a criminal,” she whispers from behind her hand, finally revealing her true feelings. Technically, he is, but I decide not to share that fact.

  Peering over her head, I lock eyes with Bull who sits calmly, but he’s aware of what’s going on. “You shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.” Although I am, and that cover is setting me on fire.

  Returning my attention to her, I smile sweetly. “I mean, what does your cover say about you?” I don’t hide my appraisal of her tight, Botox-filled face and inflatable lips.

  She reads the clear fuck you and turns with a huff.

  I don’t care. When I take over from Avery, this place is going to change. It’ll be an elite school for anyone. Everyone will be welcome.

  The room soon clears, but not before Kylie, one of my favorite pupils, walks up to Bull and speaks to him. I have to mute my chuckles behind my palm because he appears so out of sorts that she’s speaking to him. When he says something to her in return, she skips off, clutching her father’s hand. He smiles at me on the way out the door.

  Once we’re alone, I close the door and pull down the blinds on it. “Sorry if that bore the shit out of you,” I lightly say, suddenly needing to fill the silence.

  “It didn’t,” Bull replies, leaning back and crossing an ankle over his knee. He seems to be telling me the truth. Could it be he’s a closet ballet fan?

  “What did Kylie say to you?” I ask, coming to a stop in the middle of the room.

  Something is going on behind those hypnotic eyes. “She asked if my pictures rub off.” When I purse my lips in confusion, Bull peers down at his tattooed arm. He took off the leather jacket, so his arms are showing as he’s wearing a white T-shirt.

  Kylie was referring to his tattoos. “And what did you say?” I ask, laughing.

  Bull shrugs. “I told her it was invisible ink, and only she could see it because she was the best dancer in class.”

  My laughter soon fades because I wasn’t expecting him to say something so…nice.

  It’s now his turn for questions. “What did the plastic soccer mom say to you?”

  My exchange wasn’t as pleasant as his. “Oh, nothing.” I attempt to play it off, but Bull can guess.

  “She’s right. I shouldn’t be here.”

  “How’d you know?” I ask in awe. It wasn’t like he could read her lips because Pamela’s back was turned to him. Yes, what he told me today changes things, but I wasn’t putting my kids at risk. He would never hurt them. His comment to Kylie only confirms this.

  “’Cause someone like her sees someone like me as nothing but trash.”

  “Well, she can fuck off,” I counter, jumping to his defense. “This is why this place is barely standing. Ballet shouldn’t only be for those who think they are entitled to it. It should be for everyone. And it will be when I take over.”

  Bull’s poker face is in play, so he catches me by surprise when he says, “Dance for me.”

  Mine isn’t because he’s caught me completely off guard. “Dance for you?”

  Bull nods once, running his fingers over his thick stubble.

  “You’ve seen me dance,” I state, my cheeks heating.

  But that’s not what Bull is asking. “Dance because you want to, not because you have to.” He leans back in his chair, indicating the floor is mine.

  I’m suddenly nervous, but I don’t know why. Ballet is my happy place. But with Bull sitting just a few feet away, his lips twisted into a devilish slant, I’m fearful my happy place is about to be tainted by the devil. But nonetheless, I walk over to the iPod and choose a song that seems suited for Bull and me.

  Standing in front of him, I wait for the intro to kick in, and when it does, I dance like a monster is at my heels. I choose “Animals” by Maroon 5, not your traditional piece to perform a ballet routine to, but all I need is a beat to get lost in.

  I incorporate all the ballet steps I’ve learned over the years but shake up the steps with some contemporary moves. When I dance, I am the drums, the guitars, and the bass, using every sound and rhythm as an extension of my body.

  Raising my arms high, I push off into a pirouette, turning on my toes as I’m wearing my pointe shoes. Every part of me aches, but it hurts so good—mirroring how I feel about Bull. Dancing for him is like dancing in front of an audience of thousands.

  The adrenaline pumps through me, animating my body as thoug
h I’m possessed. And in some ways, I suppose I am. When it comes to Bull, something overtakes me, and I don’t know what it is. A foreign entity enters me, throwing good sense to the wind.

  I can feel his eyes all over me, watching me closely as I perform a ballet solely for him. Dancing for him gives me an inexplicable surge of confidence. He’s seen me dance before, but this is different. This is who I truly am. I can’t hide behind my ballet because every confusing emotion bursts out of me.

  I end the routine with my arms raised in the fifth position. My breaths are labored, and I am covered in sweat, which only fuels this pulsating energy within. Meeting Bull’s eyes, I wait for him to say something, but instead, he stands slowly.

  He walks toward me in a confident, slow strut, and I quash down my desire and wait for what comes next. When he’s within reach, he stops, tilting his head to the side, eating over every inch of me. He exhales as he unfastens the elastic around my bun. My hair tumbles free, falling around my flushed face as my breathing doesn’t slow.

  Threading his fingers through my hair, he yanks my head backward, exposing the length of my neck to him. I suddenly feel like his next meal. And that’s exactly what I am.

  He walks us toward the barre and violently spins me around. I don’t have to think or breathe when he bends me over the bar and drops to his knees behind me. His fingers work deftly as he lifts my sheer skirt, pushes aside my leotard, and buries his face between my legs.

  Yelping, I attempt to escape because I’m all sweaty, but Bull holds me prisoner when he licks my sex in one hot swipe. Groaning, I forget about my bashfulness and lose myself in the feel of him devouring my slick flesh.

  His mouth and tongue work in unison, eating me out with feral possession. He drives his tongue deep, humming when I rock back onto his face, not in control of my body because it’s been so long since someone has gone down on me. Gripping my legs, he parts them wide, opening me up farther.

  My leotard is in the way, but the barrier only makes what we’re doing all the hotter. Bending forward, my spine bows, granting Bull full access to my body. The coarseness of his beard adds to the sensation of being consumed from the inside out.

  I buck onto his face, my body trembling with every flick of his tongue. His mouth is soft and hard as he moves from side to side and up and down, rubbing my scent all over him. The barre creaks under my weight as I desperately chase my release.

  Bull reaches around me and begins to rub my clit through the thin material of my leotard. The heightened sensation causes me to gasp. Without direct contact, he winds my body even tighter than it already is. He continues fucking me with his mouth while circling my clit.

  I’ve never come this way before. Sure, I’ve had guys go down on me, but this is something else. I didn’t know I liked this…wickedness until I was with Bull.

  He is everywhere, but it’s still not enough. I want more. “Oh my god,” I pant, not recognizing my own voice.

  His tongue and fingers are ruthless, brutalizing me until I’m begging him to make me come. I can’t take it any longer and clench my muscles, whimpering as I stare at my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks are flushed, and my eyes are animated with a light I’ve not seen before.

  Bull suddenly pulls away, and I collapse over the barre with a frustrated grunt. Before I can question what he’s doing, he comes to a stand behind me. His face is slick with my arousal, and I instantly remember what he said to me the last time he tasted me.

  He reads my retreat and licks his lips with a low, sated growl, proving to me he enjoys my taste after all. “Do you still want me to break you?” he dares, referring to his admission last night.

  I nod wickedly in response, meeting his eyes in the mirror. If last night was a taste of what he’s capable of, then I want more…more…more. This wickedness helps me expel the ghosts of my past and allows me to be…free.

  He grins, a sight I don’t see too often, which is a damn shame because it’s wrapped in pure sin. “You like it when I hurt you, don’t you? The pain, the fear, it gets you off.”

  Coming to a shaky stand, I ignore his question, ashamed of what my response will be because he’s right. When he hurts me, threatens me, it makes me feel alive.

  I watch his every move as he picks up a ribbon stick. The red silk ribbon is like a flashing warning, hinting this is the point of no return. He tugs once, the wand detaching from the ribbon with ease. He slowly unravels the length, stretching it tightly in his hands.

  “Strip,” he commands, and there is nothing negotiable about his demand.

  Even though he’s seen me almost naked and been inside me, this is something else. It’s a lot more personal and confronting. One-on-one, with no glitter or costumes to hide behind. With my back turned, I fumble with the clip on my skirt, eventually getting it undone, and it lands at my feet.

  Never breaking eye contact with him, I slowly pull down the straps of my pink leotard. The material bunches above my breasts as I quickly get cold feet and don’t want to go any further. Bull doesn’t move. He simply stands still, slowly wrapping the ribbon around his fist.

  A part of me knows that if I take this final step, I will be lost to these feelings forever. I haven’t felt this exposed since Michael. He took my virginity with softness and love, and even though I am no longer a virgin, this suddenly feels like my first time. And in some ways, it is.

  I haven’t been with someone I…care about since him, and when I get lost in the heaven and hell only Bull can offer me, I realize that I care about Bull. More than I should. He has been up front, not promising me anything. But this, now, this is enough. No matter what he says, no matter how hard he tries to scare me away, he comes to me, time and time again, proving he feels whatever this is too.

  I have inexplicable feelings toward someone who took another’s life. No, that doesn’t define Bull, but it does stitch together who he is. So, the question is, what will I do?

  Letting go of what’s right or wrong, I hook my fingers into the material of my leotard and peel it from my body, exposing my breasts. Bull’s ravenous expression gives me the courage to roll the leotard down the rest of the way.

  Kicking it aside, I stand in nothing but my pointe shoes.

  Standing with my back to him makes this a little easier, but Bull can clearly see my front reflected in the mirror. His eyes scour over every inch of me, and when he rubs two fingers across his bottom lip, my nipples instantly harden.

  Tilting his head slightly, he drops his gaze lower and lower until it lands on the junction between my thighs. Yes, he’s felt what lays hidden there, but he’s never seen me like this before. I instantly notice a bulge straining against his zipper.

  As I press my lips together, the flush to my skin betrays my response to him. Needing to do something to conceal my blushing, I attempt to bend discreetly to take off my slippers, but Bull shakes his head, a sinful grin tugging at his lips, stopping me.

  “Leave them on.”

  He steps forward, ribbon in hand, eyes alight. I grab onto the barre, needing to anchor myself before I fade away. Bull stops inches from my back, towering over me as he eats me up from head to toe. I can’t stop trembling as I await his next move.

  I so desperately want him to touch me.

  He trails his fingers down my arms, spreading goose bumps evenly across my skin. I lick my dry lips, unable to silence my heavy breathing. However, when he comes to a stop at my wrists, I hold my breath.

  Bull doesn’t say a word as he guides my arms behind me before looping the ribbon around my wrists. I’m being bound, tighter and tighter, and when he reinforces my imprisonment with a tight bow, my heart begins a deafening tempo.

  Watching him in the mirror for any sign of what comes next, I brace myself for utter wickedness when a slanted smirk spreads from cheek to cheek. His longer canine teeth emphasize his predatory actions as he grips my bicep and spins me around.

  Face to face, hands bound, I am imprisoned in every way possible, and when Bull�
��s gaze dips toward my sex, I am his willing captive. I want to kiss him so badly, so using what God gifted me with, I rise onto my toes, which makes me level with those bowed lips.

  His arrogance is suffocating, robbing me of breath, so I decide it’s only fair to steal his. Pressing my lips to his, I savor him with a newfound taste because this kiss is something new. I don’t fail to realize every kiss we’ve shared are ones I’ve instigated, but with this one, under the hunger, under the need to devour one another whole, there is a longing, a calling to each other’s souls.

  The fact only has me kissing him harder.

  He threads his fingers through my hair, tugging wildly, but the pressure is just right. We kiss without apology, attempting to triumph over the other, but in the end, Bull wins. He guides me through the room, our lips and tongues never missing a beat as he finds the chair in the corner.

  Crashing into it, he draws me onto his lap, where his impressive erection brushes me down low as I straddle him. I want to touch him, run my hands all over him, but I can’t. A frustrated grunt leaves me. He bites my bottom lip, sucking it deliriously slow before it pops free.

  I attempt to kiss him again, but he turns his cheek. He is so frustratingly beautiful.

  He reaches down and grips my ankle, drawing it back to rest on his thigh. He repeats the same action on the other side. My legs are now spread wide open over his lap. I’m limber, thanks to my ballet training, and Bull seems to take pleasure in my flexibility as his gaze drops to between my thighs.

  He slips two fingers into my mouth, encouraging me to twirl my tongue around them. Once they’re slick, they pop free before he sinks them into my sex. I cry out, the intrusion almost too much. I’m sore from last night but push past the pain and focus on Bull’s fingers as they slip in and out of me.

  I watch with anticipation as he fingers me leisurely, his tattooed hands owning my body as I surrender. He takes his time, thriving on my whimpers because as I arch into his touch, he slows down.

  “Bull…” I whimper, desperate for him to go faster and stop skimming around my needy center. I tug at the ribbon around my wrists, but it’s done up tightly.