Shay’s whisker rubs against the sides of my labia, his teeth running over my skin as his tongue continues to lap at me. His thumb slides up my folds and presses against my clit, and I can’t help the small cry that escapes me. His moves faster and faster, and the hot, throbbing pulse that has been building inside explodes, sending that hot, rushing, tingling sensation surging through my body, turning my bones to mush. My body is shaking uncontrollably, and I pant with quick, gasping breaths.
Shay pulls back only to press kisses along my inner thighs, moving his lips up and over my belly. I lie beneath him, trembling and glowing, overwhelmed with a staggering shyness that I’ve never felt with him before. I can’t bear to look at him in the eye, so I shut mine and bring my hands up to my chest, clenching them tightly together into fists. I’m overcome with another feeling, too, but at this moment, I can’t figure it out. My mind is too scrambled to focus on anything other than Shay and how he just made me feel. He moves up onto the bed and smooths my dress back down. His mouth sweeps over mine with one last, firm kiss, and I can taste myself on his lips. He resettles on the bed beside me, being extra considerate by making sure that my broken leg is propped up on a pillow and free from his weight. With an arm draped over me, he guides my face back to himself so that it’s pressed against the bare skin of his chest. His fingers lazily comb through my hair for a minute, the room now unbearably silent.
“Get some sleep, Sweetness.”
The Past…
Mina: Fifteen Years Old
October
“You can do better than that. That jump was shit.”
I spin on my heel and glare daggers at Keenan from his spot before the stage. He’s lounging back in one of the old, cushioned theatre chairs, smoking a cigarette, with his legs stretched before him, crossed at the ankles. He is the epitome of utter relaxation and not-giving-a-fuck. He reminds me of a housecat, beautiful but lazy. So hearing him criticize my dancing has me seething.
“Are you kidding me right now?” I snap at him, hands on my hips.
“Nope. Totally serious.” He brings his cig to his mouth and takes a long drag before letting the smoke slowly drift out from between his lips. “You’re all over the place today. I’ve seen you jump higher than that. And your back leg didn’t extend as much as it usually does.”
“Since when do you know anything about ballet?” I snap again as I move back across the stage, resuming my starting position.
“Since I started coming twice a week for years.” The corner of his mouth lifts. “I’ve seen you do better. You’re miles ahead from where you started. What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” My gaze moved to the floor as I stretched out my legs, preparing to try again.
“C’mon, you can tell me. The last note you gave me was filled with all kinds of rainbow and butterfly crap, but none of it was actually real.” I can feel his beautiful, icy blue eyes on me. “Like I give a shit about Becky and Ainsley.”
“Becca and Ashley.” I roll my eyes. He very well knew their names. I mentioned my friends enough in our letters and conversations here that he should by now. But he continues to keep referring to them as Becky and Ainsley, for some reason. I think it was just to bug me.
“Doesn’t matter. The point is, you’ve been blocking.”
“No I haven’t,” I insist, still avoiding his observant stare.
“Yes, you have. C’mon, Sunshine. We’ve been talking for years now; I’ve seen you nearly every week. I know you pretty well, by now. And know something’s up. So spill.”
I really didn’t want to get into it right now. This theatre, my time with Keenan, it was my escape. My chance to get out of the house and bask in a few hours of rebellion and peace with him. The last thing I wanted to do was bring up my home life.
“Please, Key, just don’t push it right now…” I said softly as I bit my lip, holding in my anxieties and little stresses. I didn’t want to be a wet blanket and cry on his shoulder. What twenty-one year old guy would stick around for that? He wouldn’t. And I needed these moments of freedom with him.
“Okay.” he said finally, letting the subject drop. He knows when to push and when to back off by now. When I want to talk about anything with him, I will. But right now, the last thing I want to discuss was my drunk mother or my insane stepbrother threatening to beat up some guy from gym class because he was forced to be my dance partner.
I sigh in relief when Keenan stops prodding, and get into first position again, before I glide across the stage and push myself into the air. As I extend my back leg, I feel that same sharp pain that has been inhibiting me from successfully completing my jetes as of late. I hiss as the sharp twinge races up and down the back of my leg and stumble on my feet, limping slightly. Before I can move back into the starting position, Keenan is on his feet, crushing his cigarette beneath his heavy boot, and leaps leapt onto the stage, moving towards me so quickly it catches me by surprise.
“Sit!” he orders. I obey, only because my legs are shaking from overexertion. I’ve been pushing myself for months, wanting to stand out amongst my peers at the dance studio. I sit down as he crouches on his heels at my side and reaches for my right leg, forcing me to extend it. I hiss again as the pain travels up and down my muscles, and he frowns, his brows pulling together. “Have you not been stretching?”
Fuck, no… I’m usually in too big a hurry to make it home after dance class. My curfew is strict as hell, and the few times I’ve been late, Shay freaked out and ended up picking me up on his motorcycle as I walked home. I ducked my head, avoiding Keenan’s accusatory scowl. My silence was enough.
“Mina!” he snaps at me. “You have to stretch! You’re going to injure yourself if you don’t! Isn’t that dancing 101 shit? Stretching?!”
“I know, I know!” I cover my face with my hands, frustrated by my own stupidity. “I just... I can’t be late getting home!” I left it at that, letting him put it together himself. He knew enough about my home life and how overprotective Shay was. Sure enough, he let out a disapproving grunt.
“I don’t give a shit how mad he gets… you stretch before and after you dance. Period. Or you’re going to fuck up your leg!” He sets my legs straight out before me and applies pressure to the tops. I grit my teeth and squeeze my eyes shut as he forces a stretch. “We’re going to do this every fucking time you dance, got it? It’s a stupid mistake to make, Mina.”
“I know, Key!” I snap, tired of his berating.
“Then do it!” He forces the stretch again, making me wince. “If you fuck up your chances of reaching your dream because of a stupid, careless mistake, and injure your leg, you’ll never forgive yourself. Understand?” His voice softens a little as he speaks, and he moves on to my other leg. I couldn’t swallow back the small cry from the sharp stretch. At once, his warm, rough hand moves underneath my calves and starts to massage the muscles.
I couldn’t help myself as I lay back on my elbows, relaxing into his touch. God, I needed this. It feels amazing. Maybe I should ask Mum if she can take me to a massage therapist once in a while.