Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 103852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Kirill is still watching me, no doubt wanting to figure out my method, but no one will know my in with the Italians.
If it were a few days ago, I would’ve told them all about Lia Morelli, but after today, she’ll remain locked between me and myself.
She’s now my secret.
Dirty.
Dangerous.
And entirely fucked-up.
10
Lia
My life goes on.
Or at least that’s what I’d like to believe a week later.
In my attempt to gather myself together, I pretend that my life does go on. That I didn’t witness a murder, didn’t kiss the murderer, then fantasize about fucking him and come by his stimulations. Twice.
Because that orgasm when I was drunk? Yeah that wasn’t entirely me. I was merely adding a little friction to the avalanche he’d already caused by playing with my nipples.
I can blame all that on how sensitive they are or how drunk I was, but the fact remains that I was turned on by him, by his presence and calm savageness.
But that wasn’t all. I asked him to fuck me.
In my drunken state, I nearly begged him to take what he wanted. Yes, I thought it’d hasten the process for him to leave me alone, but a hidden part of me craved that depravity.
Maybe too much so.
I suck in a deep breath as I land in Ryan’s arms. It’s our last move for today’s rehearsal and I’m ready to go home, snuggle up in a blanket, and listen to some music. Hopefully, I’ll fall asleep without my pills.
And without having any nightmares.
Ryan’s fingers slide up my hip, feeling me up as he puts me down.
He always does shit like this, touching me when he shouldn’t. Stroking me as if my body belongs to some sort of exotic animal he wants to study.
“Let me go,” I grit under my breath.
“It’s part of the choreography, sweetness.”
“No, it’s not.” I push him away, but he digs his fingers into my hipbone.
“We’re supposed to act as if we’re in love, so how about you become a bit more cooperative?”
“It’s called acting, Ryan. It’s not real.”
“True acting is derived from real life.” He licks his lips, subtly grinding his erection against my belly. “You should try it sometime, life.”
I elbow him, disgust coiling at the bottom of my stomach. I’m such a hypocrite. I’ve been dreaming about a damn killer since he left my apartment a week ago, yet I feel nothing but disgust for my dance partner.
But Ryan has serious behavioral problems. No matter how much I push him away, he takes it as an invitation to come back for more.
While I respect him as a dancer for his flawless posture and technique, I loathe him as a human being.
He leans in to whisper in my ear, “You’re supposed to trust me since I always catch you, sweetness.”
“While acting.” I try to push him away again.
“What’s going on here?” Hannah, his latest acquisition, barges between us, glaring at me.
Ryan lets me go with a smirk. “I told you we’re only acting, Lia. No need to feel it so much.”
Everyone’s attention slides to me, some snickering and others horrified, while Hannah looks like she wants to strangle me.
I point at Ryan’s semi hard-on that’s visible through his tights. “I think it’s obvious who was feeling it.”
I turn around to leave, catching Stephanie shaking her head at Ryan. I told her the other day that I’m growing uncomfortable leading with Ryan, and she promised to talk to the producers and Philippe so that we’re not paired for the next performance.
But I have to put up with him for Giselle and consider it a sacrifice for the sake of art.
“Where do you think you’re going, chérie?” Philippe, who was too busy with the staff to pay attention to what happened, loops his arm in mine.
“Home.”
“Non, non. Not tonight. We promised we’d go out for drinks for team spirit.”
“I’m tired and I need some aftercare.” Because as much as I hate to admit it, my ankle still throbs. Dr. Kim said it’s fatigue and gave me muscle relaxers, but I’m paranoid as hell about using my legs when it’s not for the purpose of ballet.
“Do the aftercare here and then join us.”
“Philippe…”
“I’m not taking no for an answer. We miss having you among us outside of rehearsal.”
He’s the only one who thinks that. And maybe Stephanie, because she rocks.
I peek at all the glares shooting my way because of Philippe’s obvious favoritism. He calls me his star, his muse, and the lead of his every masterpiece. Something that has dug the hole deeper between me and the other dancers.
If he wasn’t openly gay and happily married, they’d say I’m sleeping with him like they do about the producers.
“Come on, change the mood.” Stephanie takes my other arm. “You’re stressed. I can feel it.”
She can say that again. I haven’t been able to sleep, probably since…well, since Adrian walked into my life.