Dance With Me (9 page)

She moved to the small bathroom. In the shower there was just a bottle of baby shampoo and a bar of soap. Picking up the soap, she held it to her nose, smelling one side of the equation that was Alexi’s unique scent. She had the urge to taste it, an urge that she wisely avoided. Instead, she opened his medicine cabinet finding an abundance of anti-inflammatories and painkillers, boxes of bandages and other medical supplies. A tensor bandage. Medical tape. Moleskin, whatever that was. A prescription for Zoloft, the bottle still full. A tube of shaving cream and an old-fashioned razor, the kind you had to put blades in. She remembered what Sergei had said about Alexi cutting himself, thought of the thick white scars on his chest, shuddering at the thought they were self-inflicted. What kind of inner turmoil did you have to feel to think that was a good idea?

Back in the bedroom, there wasn’t much to see. A new Macbook, password protected, of course, and the stacks of books, all indecipherable Cyrillic titles but for one, St. Xupery’s
Le Petit Prince
, in French. She traced a finger over the faded cover. Was this a gift? If so, from whom?

Hands on hips, Sherry scanned the room for more clues, but it was more notable for what wasn’t there than what was. No photographs. No knickknacks or mementos, though she knew he had traveled all over the world. No closet or dresser. Where did he keep his clothes?

She found it in the hallway—a walk-in closet, stuffed to overflowing. Clothes, suitcases and boxes competed for real estate in the cramped space. The clothes were mostly casual—t-shirts and cotton trousers and sweaters, but when she looked at a few of the labels, she was surprised to see Yves St. Laurent, Dior, and Armani. She didn’t know much about fashion, but she knew those names were out of her budget. She didn’t know much about dancers’ salaries either, but she knew they couldn’t cover the tens of thousands that the clothes in his closet represented. Perhaps the clothes, too, were gifts?

Her claustrophobia kicking in despite the fact that she’d left the door open. She turned to go, but on impulse, lifted the lid of a shoebox stacked precariously on the top of a pile of bigger boxes. She inhaled sharply, seeing what was inside—hundred-dollar bills. Hundreds of them. And nestled amongst them a silver Smith and Wesson.

Heart racing, Sherry clamped the lid of the shoebox on and stepped out of the closet, closing the door behind her and leaning on it. She heard her mother’s voice in her head.

“If you go looking for trouble, you will find it.”

Chapter Eleven

Puckering her freshly lipsticked lips at the mirror in
The Sun
’s restrooms, Sherry had to admit she cleaned up pretty well. She’d thought about wearing the dress she stuffed into her duffel bag, but decided even she wasn’t ballsy enough to go that low-rent to a fundraiser with the cream of Manhattan society. Besides, she wanted to show Alexi that she could be all girl when the situation demanded it. In her newly-purchased backless black confection, she looked good enough to eat, an option she was hoping Alexi would suggest.

With a final glance at her reflection, she stuffed her civilian clothes into the glossy paper Bebe bag and pushed open the door. The newsroom was deserted, dim and almost subaquatic in the blue light of the bank of perpetually lit fluorescents. Making sure her laptop was locked safely in her desk, she shoved the bag under it and headed for the stairs.

In the cab ride to the Lincoln Center, she pushed aside questions about what she’d found in Alexi’s closet and tried to focus on what she had learned that afternoon. Bupkis. Or almost bupkis. Her interview with the director had been canceled, and her conversations with the donors had revealed nothing other than the fact that they believed their contributions were going exactly where they were supposed to. Their responses ranged from incredulous to dismissive when she brought up the ballet company’s near insolvency. None of them seemed worried. But they all mentioned Ninny Vanderbeck.

Sherry had tried to set up an appointment to meet or even speak to the ABC’s sponsorship committee chairwoman, in vain. Ninny’s PA had clearly been given specific instructions to put the press off, in the politest, most oblique way. Maybe that would divert someone like Kim, but it was only encouragement for Sherry. She couldn’t wait to see the look on Ninny’s face when she cornered her at the fundraiser. Maybe she wouldn’t answer Sherry’s questions, but even her non-responses would speak volumes. An anticipatory smile curved on her lips at the thought.

As she stepped out of the cab, however, her smile faltered. On the one hand, she couldn’t wait to see Alexi. Focused as she had been on work, all afternoon, he kept invading her thoughts. His voice, his eyes, his hands on her body. And yet, her mind kept circling back to Sergei’s veiling threats and the contents of the shoebox in Alexi’s closet. She didn’t want to believe that Alexi was involved in ABC’s missing millions, but obviously, part of her thought it was possible. Otherwise, why hadn’t she told him about her assignment?

“Knock, knock.” Sherry pushed open the door of Alexi’s dressing room and poked her head in. Seeing him, all thoughts of work exited her head like commuters off the A-train.

Still glowing with endorphins and post-performance euphoria, he looked like a Greek god, though she wasn’t sure which one. Apollo, maybe, god of the sun. His green eyes shone with the power of having just brought the audience to its feet, and his body radiated with the energy of having been pushed past its limits. He was stripped to the waist, the ripples and dips of his torso coated in a slick substance that the diminutive gray-haired woman in front of him was wiping off with a cloth, taking with it the thick body paint necessary to cover his tattoos.

His face lit up even more when he saw it was her, his gaze traveling from her pinned up hair to her dress to the ankle-strap heels that curved her feet into high arches.

“Sherry,” he breathed. “You look… Thank you for all your help, Magda. I can take it from here.” He spoke to the woman kindly, a soft smile on his face, but his eyes kept flicking back to Sherry.

“No problem,” the dresser said, her voice like whiskey and cigarettes. She gave Sherry the once-over, a wry smile on her face as she left, putting the damp cloth into Sherry’s hand.

Locking the door, Sherry approached Alexi, one slow click of her heels after another. She was so filled with lust, there wasn’t room for thought.

“You were saying?” she asked, loving the way his eyes drank her in, his hot gaze tracing her slender curves. She turned, sliding her newly purchased wool coat off to reveal the naked stretch of skin from her nape to where her spine dipped in.

He inhaled sharply, running a warm hand down her back, making her shiver. Standing behind her, he grabbed her coat and tossed it at the armchair in the corner. Then, putting one hand on her neck, he wrapped his other arm around her waist, pulling her closer. He left a narrow band of space between their bodies, but she could feel the heat of his chest close to her naked back.

“You look good enough to eat.” His breath was hot in her ear. Catching her earlobe between his teeth, he flicked it with his tongue as the arm around her waist dropped to cup her mound. She felt a throb of pleasure deep in her core.

With a low throaty laugh, she squirmed out of his grip and turned to face him. “We have to get you cleaned up first.”

His gaze holding hers, he leaned back against his dressing table. She lifted the cloth and ran it over his clavicle and down over one pec, spiraling in to center on his hard, brown nipple. He bit his lower lip, his eyelids falling to half-mast as she honed in on the place she knew gave him intense pleasure, her touch growing firmer as she circled in.

Moving over to the other pec, she repeated what she had done to the first. At the same time she bent to take his clean nipple in her mouth, flicking the hard nub with her tongue, then sucking it. A low moan escaped his lips, and she felt her own pleasure building in response to his. She trailed the point of her tongue over the firm mound of his pec and up his neck to his mouth. The residue of the makeup remover was tasteless with a faint orange fragrance, another element of his unique scent. Holding his jaw with one hand, she dipped her tongue into his mouth, finding his, soft and warm and alive.

He grabbed her hips then, plunging his tongue into her mouth. His hunger for her was so raw, so apparent, but she twisted away.

“Not finished.” She held up the cloth, a teasing smile on her lips. Beneath her dress, her naked lady parts were swollen and slick. She wanted to push him down to kneel in front of her and watch in the mirror as he devoured her, but more than that she wanted to please him. To drive him crazy with desire and then satisfy it. To watch his face contort as he came.

“Take those off.” She pointed to his tights. He complied, peeling them off and removing the athletic support that protected his family jewels and created that enormous bulge. What lay beneath was big enough, she thought taking in the sight of his engorged member, dark and thick with desire for her.

“Face the mirror,” she said. Her voice was hoarse with want. His eyes found hers in the mirror. His pupils were dilated, and a smile tilted the corners of his lips, as if he was both surprised and amused that she had taken control like this. As if he were allowing her to play with him.

Moving close behind him, so that the front of her body pressed up against his firm buttocks, she held his gaze in the mirror. She scraped her short fingernails down his chest, loving how he shivered under her touch, his head falling back. Pinching one nipple, she held her other hand at his throat, feeling the pounding pulse there, before running it down the center of his body between his pecs, over his abs to his granite-hard shaft.

Gripping it, she continued to play with his nipple with her other hand as she traced its head with her thumb, rubbing around and around the tiny hole at its silky tip.

“My God,” he gasped, reaching behind her to grip her butt and press her closer to him. She felt herself teetering on her heels and teetering on the brink of losing control. She had to get it back.

“Hands on the mirror,” she ordered.

He did as she asked, but the look in his eyes and the clenching of his jaw told her that he intended revenge, and it would be very, very sweet. She shivered at the thought of it, her insides aching for him.

Dipping one hand into the open jar of makeup remover on the dressing table, she cupped his tight sac with the other. Understanding awakened in his eyes and he licked his lips in anticipation. With her dry hand, she drew him closer to her. The she wrapped her other hand, slick with cream, around his thick shaft. She slid it up and down, up and down, gliding over the ridge of the head then down to the base, her gaze shifting between his face and his swollen member.

“Oh, oh, oh,” he breathed as she increased speed, tightening her grip. The throbbing between her legs was almost unbearable. The way he looked, his head tilted back, his mouth open, his eyes barely slits but watching in the mirror as she worked him, faster and harder.

“Oh, Sherry,” he cried, his hands dropping over hers as he came, the hot spurts of his seed contained by their hands. His face contorted in a pleasure that was almost pain, and his head dropped forward, pressing against the mirror.

She held him for a moment. Then, heart racing with desire, she pulled her hands from his and wiped them on the cloth. He took it from her, wiping his own, his breath coming in pants, his forehead still pressed to the glass. Taking a deep breath, he stood up straight, his eyes meeting hers in the mirror.

“Sherry,” he said. Like an oath, like a curse, like a dirty word. She looked at him through her lashes, coquettishly biting her lip.

“Did you like that?” she asked.

He answered her by cupping her jaw and brushing his lips over hers, feather soft. His hands moved down her neck and over her bare arms, his touch just as soft as his kiss. It was exquisite, nerve-tingling, gentle, but her need for release was insistent. She took his hand, guiding it toward her mound, but he stopped her.

“Sherry,” he breathed into her ear as he gripped her hands. “What did I tell you about playing fair? Taking turns?” He kissed the pulse in her throat, first gently, then harder, opening his mouth and pushing his tongue against it. She gasped, overcome with need.

“It’s my turn now,” he said. A smile flickered on his lips and his eyes were teasing, but his grip on her hands was strong. He would allow no argument.

Releasing her for a moment, he swept his dressing table clear, bottles and jars falling to the floor. Then, he positioned her at one end of it.

“Sit,” he said, kissing her, softly.

She did.

“Now, lie down.”

She complied, her dress riding up her thighs. His hands moved to its hem, pushing it up further, his fingers warm on her skin.

Watching her in the mirror, he traced his fingertips under the hemline, brushing over her thighs and down between her legs. His lips curved as she shivered under his touch.

“Good,” he said. “Nothing under your dress. Nothing but beauty.” He pushed it up to her waist, revealing her nakedness. His mouth opened slightly, and she saw his soft member twitch, starting to rise again. Reaching for a stool, he sat down between her thighs and lifted her legs up onto his shoulders.

Her passage clenched in anticipation.

He ran his fingers over her buttocks and inner thighs, moving closer to her core. He traced one finger along her outer lips, teasing her. She pressed her pelvis up, wanting him to touch her, to rub her, to make her come.

“Ah-ha.” He smiled, pulling his hand away. “My turn, remember.”

She nodded. “I’ll be good.”

He brought both hands back between her legs in response, spreading her outer lips with one and tracing her inner folds with the other. She gasped, her eyes half-closing. It took all her will not to lift her pelvis.

“My flower,” he said, looking down at her most private parts, pink and glistening and swollen. “Your petals are so wet.”

“For you,” she said, arching her back and toying with her nipples through the fabric of her dress.

He watched her in the mirror, his eyes full of lust. “But I want to make them wetter.” He bent toward her, gaze not leaving her reflection, slowly, achingly slowly. His face inches from her, he breathed hot, moist breath over her most delicate parts. Her bud throbbed and swelled. Her nipples were hard pebbles under her fingers.

“Oh, Alexi,” she moaned. He smiled a slow, wicked smile.

Then he flicked out his tongue in a long hard spear and used it to trace the same path his fingers had followed. Sherry shuddered under him, her breath coming faster.

“Oh, please,” she panted. “Please, lick me there.” She reached down to show him, but he grabbed her hand, stopping her. Flattening his tongue, he licked her from the back to the front, his tongue like hot, moist velvet against her. He brought it into a point, hovering over her bud. She could feel its wet heat and arched toward it, but he held her down. His eyes glinted at her in the mirror.

He inserted two long fingers inside her, deeper, deeper. Her passage constricted around them. He eased them out and thrust them in, deeper, harder, his tongue still hovering above her. Then he dipped his head and touched the point of his tongue to her bud. The sensation flooded her body, a million white-hot arrows of pleasure. She cried out as he licked her, faster, his fingers plunging into her.

She closed her eyes as she came, and came, and came, the pleasure wracking her body, the waves of sensation crashing over her again and again. As the waves became ripples, she opened her eyes to find Alexi watching her. He pulled his fingers out of her and planted a gentle kiss on her mound, just at the top of her slit. Her bud gave an answering throb.

With her legs still on his shoulders he stood up, revealing his member, fully engorged again. She felt another throb of desire. Gripping her hips, he placed its head at her wet little opening. Not able to be good anymore, she pushed herself onto him. His eyelids dropped then lifted as he slid in further, filling her with his sweet, hot thickness.