The music starts, and I position myself at the center of the floor, wincing as muscles protest after being used in ways dancing never prepared them for.
“Five, six, seven, eight,” I count, leading the dancers through our routine. I catch glimpses of myself in the mirror—the way my hips now roll with a knowledge they didn’t possess before, how my spine arches with memory.
“Your choreography feels... different today,” Jasmine says during our water break. Her eyes linger on the finger-shaped bruises visible on my wrists. “More... I don’t know... sensual?”
Marco nods in agreement. “Whatever happened during your break, it’s changed your dancing.”
I take a long drink, avoiding their curious gazes. They’re right. Every movement now carries the weight of Ace’s and Cyrus’s hands on my body, their breath against my skin, their cocks stuffing me full.
“Let’s go again,” I say, ignoring their questions. “From the top.”
After the fifth run-through, I dismiss the dancers for a fifteen-minute break. My phone vibrates in my bag—a text from Cyrus.
Missing you already, little dancer. Ace says you better not be overexerting yourself.
A smile tugs at my lips before I can stop it. It’s been five hours since I left their penthouse, and already they’re checking in. The possessiveness should bother me, but weirdly enough, it doesn’t.
“So who is he?” Marco appears beside me, startling me into nearly dropping my phone.
“Excuse me?”
He leans against the mirror, eyes knowing. “The marks. The way you’re walking. The fact that you keep checking your phone with that stupid little smile. There’s definitely a guy, right?”
I tuck my phone away. “My personal life isn’t part of this rehearsal.”
“It is when it’s affecting your choreography,” Jasmine calls from across the room, stretching her hamstring. “Not complaining. This new style is fire.”
I sigh. “It’s complicated.”
“Complicated usually means rich,” Tori quips, joining our little circle. “And those bruises look expensive.”
My phone vibrates again. I glance down to see a message from Ace.
We expect you home by 7. No excuses.
Home. It’s been a week, and already they’ve labeled their penthouse as my home.
“Look at that blush,” Marco teases. “Come on, Keira, you’ve never been secretive about things before.”
“This is different,” I snap, surprising myself with the intensity in my voice. The room falls silent. “This isn’t—” I struggle to find words that won’t reveal too much. “It’s private.”
After practice, Marco lingers as the others file out, his eyes tracking the careful way I move.
“So,” he says. “You gonna tell me about this guy?”
I busy myself collecting my water bottle, avoiding his gaze. “There’s nothing to tell.”
“Really?” He steps closer, examining a mark on my neck. “Because those marks tell a different story.”
I pull away. “I don’t need to explain my personal life.”
“I’ve been asking you out for months, and suddenly you disappear for over a week and come back...” he gestures vaguely at my body, “like this. Who is he?”
The envy in his voice makes me bristle. How could I possibly explain Ace and Cyrus? Two identical men who share everything—including me. Men who’ve claimed every inch of my body and somehow touched parts of my soul I didn’t know existed.
“It’s a new relationship,” I say firmly. “And it’s private.”
“Is he hurting you?” Marco presses, genuine concern mixing with his obvious jealousy.
