Page 82 of His Turn

“Now,” I say, crossing the distance between us until I’m looming over her and she has to crane her neck to look up at me. “Now you’re going to pay for not being on your best behavior tonight, Miss Wolfe.” I extend my hand, she takes it, and I pull her to her feet. “I bought a house to make you happy and I don’t think you were happy.”

She stares at me, with a look of genuine fascination on her face. “Thank you,” she says. “And I mean that. I don’t need the house, Elias. But it’s a grand gesture, for sure.”

“I’m invested, Nadia. I want you to understand that.”

“I get it,” she says.

“I don’t think you do. If you did, you wouldn’t have treated me so badly tonight. I’m afraid I can’t stand for it.” Every word comes out crisp and clear. But there’s no anger in them. No animosity.

“So punish me,” she says, unable to hide her smirk.

“I plan on it. Go to the wall,” I say, pointing at the brick. “And stand in second, en pointe.”

She bites her lip but doesn’t say another word.

She likes this, I realize. Everything about this moment is easy for her because she likes it. She likes the shoes, she likes this room, and the thought of me challenging her in her element makes her happy.

I’ll have to remember that.

But she gets it wrong immediately, and that makes me smile. “Face the wall, Nadia.”

“OK,” she says, coming off pointe so her feet are flat on the floor. She turns and faces the brick, then places her palms on the wall to steady herself and rises up, legs slightly spread apart.

God, she’s beautiful. I can see every muscle in her legs. Her back is straight and firm. Her head is high, neck stretched long, and her shoulders relaxed.

Her element.

I walk over to her and stand right behind her. Wishing for the wall with the mirrors so I could see her face. But then she’d be able to see my face too, and we don’t want that.

I place my hands on her waist and press my groin into her ass. She looks down for a moment, losing her concentration. “Do you want me to fuck you, Nadia?”

“Yes.” It comes out as a breath.

“I bet you do. But we’re not even close to that yet. I have to punish you, remember?”

“Yes,” she breathes again.

“How long can you stand like this?” I ask her.

“Long time,” she says.

“Give me a number, please.”

She takes a moment to think. And I wonder if she’ll shortchange herself to try to spare her muscles some pain tonight.

“Ten minutes,” she says.

“OK,” I say, taking out my phone and pulling up my camera. “I’ll be back in thirty. And just in case you think you can cheat, I’m going to film you, Nadia.” I set a timer on the phone, walk over to the other side of the room, adjust the camera so it’s front-facing, and prop it against the wall, positioning it until she’s centered in the frame.

“Be good,” I say, exiting the room. “Because I’ll know if you’re not and then I’ll really make you work hard to please me tonight.”

I go to her bedroom and stand in the doorway. She’s got clothes on the floor. Mostly dance clothes. Some shoes. Her bed is unmade, the sheets all askew. It makes me wonder if she’s ever had another man up here. Aside from Jordan.

I’ll have to ask her about that.

I sit on the bed, then lie back and close my eyes. Picturing her asleep in this very spot. I can smell her shampoo on the pillow.

What makes Nadia Wolfe tick? I’m not quite sure yet, but ballet is definitely a big part of it. You don’t get this far in that art without serious dedication.