Page 66 of Dance of Devils

My brain screams at me to stop staring at him like a fucking creep. But Ican’t, especially once my eyes lock onto the huge, ornate Russian orthodox cross tattooed across his chest, plus an eight-pointed star just under his neckline.

As if I needed a reminder that my current ballet instructor also happens to be the leader of one of the biggest Bratva families in the world.

“Ms. Ellis.”

His cool, even tone rips my attention from his chest to his piercing, dark eyes.

“Surely when you’ve been dancing as long as you have you don't get surprised by a human body.”

My face turns to fire as I shake my head. “Not at all,” I croak, forcing a smile.

“Then let’s begin.”

This time, when I begin to dance, he’s right there beside me with each movement, his words both cracking like a whip but also lifting me up.

“Turn your head!” he barks. “Arch your back more.More, Ms. Ellis!”

Sweat trickles down my temples and slips down my spine. My muscles scream, begging for relief.

Each lash of his words feels less like punishment and more like freedom. Each shouted reminder to do this or that is like an extra pair of hands lifting me, urging me on as I let go completely and give myself over to the movement.

“Arms up.More, Brooklyn.”

My pulse jumps when I feel him move into step behind me, like he fucking knows this choreography as well as I do. His hands skim up my arms, grasping my elbows and lifting my handsabove my head as his body presses to mine, his muscled chest against the skin of my back where the leotard plunges low.

We move in unison, leaping as one. His hands skim down my arms, gripping my waist tightly as he pushes me to arch my back further. He moves with me, his hands sliding over my hips to clasp my middle as we sink into the backbend.

Heat ignites in my core and pools between my thighs. I can feel a tightness in my nipples, aching against the silky fabric of the leotard. Kir’s grip tightens on my hips again, his thumbs at the small of my back and his large, thick fingers splayed across my lower belly. His touch has my head spinning and my pulse roaring.

I’m sweating. So is he. I can feel his muscles twitching against my back and my ass. His pulse throbbing. His breath, hot in my ear and lingering teasingly against my neck as he growls each authoritative command.

The music swells to a crescendo, our hips glued together, his hands squeezing my body as my blood rages like fire in my veins and my body aches for him to throw me to the ground and take me any way he wants.

Then the music slows, and stops.

We come to a standstill, but Kir doesn’t let go. He’s still holding me tightly from behind, his fingers spread across my stomach, his hands gripping my waist. His chest is still pressed to my back, and when I feel the thick, hard, pulsing of his cock against my ass, my breath catches and my thighs squeeze together.

“Good girl.”

My entire body shudders, my eyes half closing and rolling up as he breathes the words in my ear.

“That wasverygood, Ms. Ellis.”

Slowly, I turn in his grip, until I’m facing him, looking up into his eyes with his hands tight around my waist.

I can still feel his erection—hard, shockingly large, bulging against my stomach.

Our eyes lock, our mouths mere inches apart, breathing each other's air as our chests rise and fall with exertion.

My gaze moves to his full, gorgeous lips. Then back to his eyes. Then down to his lips again as my pulse skips and heat slithers and coils in my core.

“I—”

“Excellent work, Ms. Ellis.”

With no warning, the shock of him suddenly letting go, stepping back, and whirling to walk briskly across the room feels like a punch to the chest. I flinch, drawing in a breath, as if his nearness just now sucked the oxygen from the room.

“Now,” he barks coldly as he steps over to the iPad, his back to me. “Again. From the top.Withoutmy help this time.”