Page 14

Chapter Fourteen

Christina

When Cam conceded that small amount of money to me to manage, I was beyond elated. Then the team practices accelerated so we’ve only had a couple in-person lessons this week and I’ve missed him. Maria’s voice in my head keeps shouting the word “casual” at me, and I wonder how I’m going to feel when he’s on the road for the upcoming two pre-season games.

We started discussing our routines for the holiday party over the phone. I had thrown out some ideas in text, but he responded by video calling me. Thrown off, I’d declined. I had no makeup on, my hair was up in a messy bun, and I wasn’t sure what the area behind my desk looked like.

Sprinting into the bathroom, I’d cleaned up as best I could and moved to my spare bedroom which I’d converted to a mini dance studio. It has hardwood flooring, a barre and one mirrored wall. My stereo system is house-wide, so I use my phone and Wi-Fi for music.

He’d squinted when he first saw it and asked where I was, shaking his head without further comment when I said my house. My friends know about my family’s wealth, so I don’t give it much thought until someone new reacts to it. But I might have broken the news of my personal studio to him differently had his video call not thrown me off my game.

Thankfully, we moved on to talk through songs and dance styles, and I used the video opportunity to show him a few showy steps we could add to the rumba.

Today is our third in-person practice, and as they have today off after traveling home yesterday from one win and one loss on the road, I blocked two hours on my schedule. Unfortunately, I forgot that Maria has a class that conflicts with the second hour.

Between that and the team’s growing popularity, I debate inviting him to my house to work. If we go to the studio, he might be mobbed by dance/hockey fans, since there are already posters up in the studio about our holiday performance. Also, the word fling hovers in my mind, and not about dance lifts.

Before I can dither any longer, I text him my address.

There are classes at the studio, if you want to come here we can work longer if you’re not too tired.

I get a thumbs-up emoji. A stupid, needy part of me that should be squashed is hurt by the apparent lack of enthusiasm. I mean, I don’t invite any other dance students or even partners into my house.

In our other studio sessions, we’d worked on adding a few showy touches to our rumba and reinforcing the lift that he has already nailed. I’m procrastinating because I’m working my way up to having his hands on me in other places. Every time he grabs my thigh, my body jolts. I hope he can’t feel it, that it’s just my heart thumping, but it’s disconcerting.

I’ve used my battery-operated boyfriend more since I met Cam than I had in the prior two years, although I still haven’t been brave enough to put it inside for fear of pain. Even so, the vivid images of his touch, the remembered sensation of him under me, our kiss, and the pulsing vibration on the highest setting work wonders.

The ecstasy and agony of our video chats are distracting. I love seeing his face light up when I suggest contrasting the slower rumba with a couple of showy steps with a second faster dance that could showcase bigger lifts because of momentum. But it also makes me miss him more somehow. I need to keep my emotions at bay. He’s a student, and at most, an unlikely candidate for a casual fling. No matter what, after the holiday dance I must be able to walk away without either of us getting hurt.

I’ve already alerted the gate to a visitor, but I’m still shocked when the doorbell chimes. I jog over to let him in. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he mumbles, still looking around wide-eyed. I live in what was once a pool house on the family property ever since I was at UT. Greg now resides in the main house and Amy is off doing her own thing. She claims she needs space from Greg for her personal life since she spends her workday with him. I would too if I worked with him more. My brother can be intense but we both love him. We’ve got an amazing pool, but the real draw is the wine cellar Greg keeps stocked without anyone keeping regular inventory. Yes, I could find whatever place I wanted and build a studio, but I like being close to my family and I’m a teeny bit lazy about moving.

“Come on in. Can I get you a drink?”

“I brought one thanks. I came from the gym.” Catching my glance, he adds, “I kept it light, but my weight training needs to be heavier than a buck ten or whatever you weigh.”

I smile, not feeling the need to correct him. At five-nine, I weighed more than that even when I was dancing competitively.

“Great, it sounds like you’re warm then. I was trying a few things out already, so I am, too. Come on back and I’ll show you what I’ve been working on.”

The front half of the house is open concept, keeping the original pool house design. One wall is all windows facing the pool. The front door is on the side wall of the living room, at the end of a path from the driveway.

The other half of the great room has an L-shaped kitchen with a deep island and barstools. There’s a small dining area in front of the kitchen that faces the windows and pool. I don’t entertain here for more than my girlfriends so I don’t need a formal dining room.

There is a short hallway down the center with a bathroom and laundry room facing each other, and then the house splits into two rather large bedrooms. Both overlook Lake Austin. All the rear facing rooms in the big house do as well, which is why we kept this to one level when we expanded it to be my residence.

The bedroom closer to the main house is my studio and has sheer curtains closed over the windows, both for climate control and privacy.

“Alright, let’s get down to business,” I say. Maria’s dirty mind echoes a laugh in my head at my phrase. If only.

* * * *

We’d decided on Take My Breath Away for our rumba. I put it to play on repeat before he got there, the volume turned down so I’d hear the door. Now, I raise it only a little as we’re going to talk through some lifts.

“How warm are you? Did you stretch as well as lift?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t say it and risk injury—boss,” he smirks.

“I was thinking about some options for both of us doing splits, that’s the only reason I asked,” I return mildly. Our working relationship is front and center in my internal debates between pursuing a delicious fling and staying out of trouble, and I am not yet ready to tip my hand one way or another.

“I’m good. What do you have in mind?”

I show him a snippet of a video, talking him through it. “Here. As you turn me, I do a high fan kick with my leg going to the outside. Given your unique-to-your-position flexibility, maybe we then do another fan. Close hold, but this time I push you out to side-by-side and you do the high fan kick.”

“Cool.” He’s nodding. “What are my choices before we start, though?”

I show him two videos. One is more traditional, with the woman’s back to the man’s front where she bends a leg up around his butt, usually after a twirl into a close hold.

The other is something of an advanced hold, but some of that is because the man needs fine motor skills to balance her on his shoulder as well as the strength to get her up there. Both of which Cam has for his day job. On screen, the guy twirls his partner in to stand in front of him, then bends and grabs her inside leg, his other arm going around her waist. He lifts her to lay back over his shoulder so she is draped facing upwards. Her straight leg extends across his body at shoulder height, and her other leg curls around his side as she reaches both arms out in an upside-down arabesque.

“Slow it down and show me again?” His voice rumbles over my shoulder, and I suppress a shudder of want.

“Sure. I guessed you’d like this one so I can talk you through it, too. One thing to watch please—see how he brings her down, shifting his hold, and then they do some arm movements in a stationary close hold? That’s to ensure she isn’t dizzy from the rotations on her back.”

“Oh. Thank you for clarifying. Okay, let me watch it all through at 50% speed.”

Then we talk and step through it standing, music off so we don’t rush anything. He tugs me in, my butt riding the top of one massive thigh until he slides a foot back and bends.

“You thread your hand between my legs”—I might die of need right here, or of embarrassment if I soak his hand—“and grab my left thigh. Make sure you can feel that I’ve engaged my leg muscles before you lift.” I slide my arm around his neck and get his shoulder below my shoulder blades. He’d never be able to do this with a shorter person. Sure, he could get that low, but the balance would be off.

He lifts. Again, I hardly need to help with my arm across his back as he raises me effortlessly with a hand on my leg and the other around my waist. “Don’t squeeze me quite so hard around my waist. Let me do some of it.”

He puts me down. “I was scared to lessen my grip.”

“Ok, that’s understandable. Let’s try it again, but keep it looser from the get-go. If you feel like I’m slipping you can always tighten. I prefer to breathe if we’re going to keep dancing after it.”

He chuckles. “You’re asking for a lot.”

“You’re the one who said you won’t drop me.” I grin. “And until I’m over your shoulder I’d land on my feet anyway.”

He grumbles, but gets into position. It goes super smoothly, and I’m up and draped to face the ceiling in no time, my left leg extended across his neck, my right bent at his side.

“Ok,” I say, a little breathless. From the position, of course. “Do a three-step turn, then allow my leg to lower a little. As my weight shifts, you’re going to tighten on my waist as my bent leg tightens around you. My straight leg will bend to also wrap around you and you’re going to flip your grip to hold just below my knee so it’s under my weight.”

He turns, then starts to lower me.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m worried about you falling when I take my hand off.”

“I won’t fall. And didn’t you say hockey guys have fast hands?” On the floor, I turn to face him.

He laughs, but shakes his head. “I needed a minute to get my head around it. I’m sure I could catch you. Or hold you tighter with my other arm, but I don’t want to crush you.”

After a minute I reply, “Tell ya what. You stay still. I’m going to lean hard on your shoulders and put one leg up to hoist myself to waist height facing you. Once I’m clinging to you like a monkey, you can bring your hands to just behind my knees.” Or I could give into temptation and rub myself up and down your muscles to take myself over the edge . I’m halfway there already.

“That isn’t the stance we’re talking about, but okay,” he says. Holding his hands out above his waist to keep them out of the way, he plants his feet.

I put one arm around his neck, the other on a shoulder, and hook a leg over his hipbone, then push upward. Oh lord. Even as I bring my other leg up, I realize what a bad idea this was. We’re face to face, chest to chest. Groin to groin.

His hands are there, hovering, a frown of concern on his face. Once he’s holding me, his brow smooths and his hands flex around my thighs.

I envision his hands sliding forward to cup my ass, thrusting me against his hardness. Then I imagine it without clothes and I nearly lose my grip.

His eyes flutter closed for a minute, before he opens them to stare unblinking at my face. His voice is full of gravel when he asks, “What next?”

“Lower your hands away from me by a couple inches.”

He does.

“Now, I can hold in this direction for a while.” Never mind that I wonder how long I could hold it if he’s bringing me to orgasm. “We’re going to do the same thing in the other direction.”

I drop to my feet and turn, and he stands offset from me as we would for the move.

“Bring me up to your shoulder as you did. Turn if the momentum helps.” From up there arched over him, I say, “Rotate to face the mirror so you have line of sight if I slip. Now bring me down a little, releasing my leg and putting that arm out straight to your side.”

I’m horizontal in front of his neck now.

I continue. “Instead of coming back to your shoulder, my left hand will slide down your back to your side. Literally with each of us with one hand, we can do one turn like that. Then as I slide further and come upright, I bend the straight leg back around your waist, and your second hand goes under it to help stabilize, allowing me to lower gracefully. You’re going to let go again after a turn as I slide to standing.”

He’s standing with me under his chin for the last part. In the mirror on the side wall I see his nostrils keep flaring and his eyelids flutter, making me realize what part of me is right under his chin.

His demonstration of strength aside, my already-damp core is almost within licking distance of his plush lips, and I’m here for it. If we were naked…a small shudder runs through me at the thought.

“You all right?” he asks, ever solicitous.

“Yes, but let’s walk through it.”

“Slow, please,” he says, probably not realizing it’s actually harder in slow motion.

He groans as I slide down him to standing, before I step around to twirl to a close hold.

Whoa. That was definitely harder. My butt slid over a steel rod on the way down.

And now I’m picturing that stance naked, with him thrusting into me from behind. Perhaps not as much leverage as face to face, but he could reach my clit. My pulse thrums in my chest, my wrists, between my legs. This is why I worried about adding more lifts.

He’s turned away, I’m guessing to will his cock into submission. But he’s apparently a sucker for punishment because he asks, “Let’s do it with music.”

As am I. “Sure.”

As he raises me to his shoulder, my leg extended, and begins to twirl, my only thought is how close his hand is to my pussy. I moan, and he inhales deeply. If he’s smelling me, I’ll be so embarrassed. That might be worse than if my arousal leaks down onto his hand.

He clutches me tight for an instant before allowing me to slide down. I wrap my arm around his back, the arch of my spine more pronounced than before. I’ve forgotten the move. My ass craves his cock against it and my legs are splayed wide to get maximum friction where I want it. I’m too high, though, so I’m splayed across his belly, his big hand inches above where I need it to be. He releases his left hand where it had moved under my knee and I slide down, leading with one tiptoe so I can slow my slide over his cock.

I am shameless and over this lesson almost before it’s begun.

I don’t spin around and instead shimmy my ass against him.

His hand tightens around my waist as he pulls me even closer. We breathe in unison. My back brushes his chest with every inhale.

“Christina?” he asks into my hair. I’m sweaty and horny and I don’t care about resisting any more.

I whisper, “Cam. Please.”

Spinning me around, he responds with a husky, “Thank fuck,” as his hands go to my head and his lips meet mine.

He kisses far better than anyone I’ve ever experienced. I’m lost. My brain skitters along the hard floor under us before I remember that my bedroom is literally feet away. But I’m afraid to break the spell. I want to sink into these sensations, this pleasure, and wallow in it.

My hands roam his hard muscles. Arms, back, chest, shoulders are all explored as our lips and tongues play. I tunnel under his shirt, craving skin to skin, and he moans. I flick his nipple with a fingernail, and he shudders around me.

He also starts to explore. His fingers knead the muscles of my upper back, around the base of my spine, and my ass. He skims as far down my legs as he can reach and mutters against my mouth, “God, I want these wrapped around me.”

I nod.

He raises his head, looking a little surprised. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. It’s been a while, though, so please take it slow.” I’m not ready to share my specific worries about penetration, angle, or position, but I’m safe with him. This is a man who worries he’ll drop me a few feet from a simple lift.

Nor is this the time to talk about keeping this whole thing secret. Maybe I can get my fill of him today and then move on. I’ll worry about all that later. Right now, I need the pleasure his body has been taunting mine with for weeks.

“If you need me to do something different, tell me.” He’s done asking for permission, however, because he peels the straps of my leotard down to my hips in one move. Plucking the knot of my filmy wrap skirt open, he tosses it aside and gets me naked except my shoes in seconds.

I suck in a breath. The mirrors reflect a three-quarter view of the back of me, so he can see all of me at once. And while he’s in his prime, both age-wise and being a professional athlete, I’m no longer the lithe competitive dancer I once was. I’ve filled out, although I stay fitter than most thirty-year-old women.

“God, you’re gorgeous. Even more beautiful than I imagined.” His voice is reverent, allaying the few worries my thoughts had room for. It’s time to bask in this experience.

He lowers to his knees; I assume to take my shoes off. But no, he runs his hands up and down my legs, testing the muscles with light squeezes. “Your legs are my greatest fantasy.”

Well, that’s hot. And original. I brace my hands on his shoulders. Even with him kneeling before me, the power dynamic of me naked and him clothed is a little overwhelming. I tug on his shirt. “Off, please.”

He does that young guy thing, grasping it behind his head with one hand and yanking it up and off, flinging it aside.

My hands return to his shoulders. Warm, smooth skin covers muscles that are hard even at rest. I could fondle him all day.

He has other ideas. Tucking a hand behind my knee, he braces me by holding my other hip and slides my knee over his shoulder, opening me to him.

I’m still wearing my dance shoes and it puts me at the perfect height for him to nuzzle into my pussy.

“I need a taste,” he mumbles as his thumbs spreads my outer lips and he licks up my center.

My nails dig into his trap and my other hand goes to his hair. Not for balance or direction, but just to clutch more of him to me. Maybe I can keep him there forever. Because his tongue is magic. He traces my folds and laps at my wetness. When he licks my opening right before sucking on my clit, I nearly collapse.

I lock my knee holding my weight and moan, bowing over him. He brings one hand to where his mouth was, circling my nub with one finger before sliding it slowly into me. He turns it, which spikes my pleasure, to make room for his mouth to work. His other hand is on my mons, pulling my skin to expose my clit.

The few men in my past who have done this gave a cursory effort, and then only at the start of our relationships. Cam, however, is devouring me. Slurping and licking and sucking. His hand is wet against my thigh, whether from his saliva or my body’s reaction, I don’t know and I don’t care. His nose and cheeks are also damp, and he is humming and moving his hips like he’s the one getting off.

He’s definitely not. I clutch him tighter as ecstasy grows and spirals up my spine and outward along my limbs. I’m dizzy with it, and everything he touches tightens.

He twists his finger inside me a fraction, then bends it and shortens his pistons as his tongue speeds up.

“Cam!” My shout echoes off the glass and wood.

“Yes, baby. Let go for me,” he hisses against me.

And I do. My knee buckles and he is literally holding me up with his hand under my convulsing sex, his finger still wiggling gently inside of me, his face still rubbing any way it can against my gyrating flesh.

Fireworks explode behind my eyelids as every muscle—except of course that damn knee—tightens. Even the other knee does, clutching him to me as I surf the crest of the wave, astounded at the length of the orgasm.

I open my eyes to see my hands digging into his shoulder and hair. I loosen them and release his back, bringing my leg off his shoulder to the floor.

He slides his finger slowly out of my oversensitive flesh. I shake with aftershocks, and he grips my hips. Staring up to me, he asks, “You good?”

My grin is a little drunk as I answer him. “I’m great.”

“I meant to stand, but that works, too,” he replies with a chuckle.

“Oh. Yes. Thanks. Come on,” I tug on a forearm to raise him and lead him to my bedroom. Normally I want a nap after an orgasm, but I’m energized. For the first time in a long time, I want some dick in me. But I have no doubt that not just any dick would do. Only Cam makes me feel special and safe. My own personal Tornado creating a storm of pleasure and emotions.