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Chapter Five
Corentina
I’m not a novice or some inexperienced newborn deer, and yet my limbs are shaking like I’m both of them. I’ve performed in front of crowds of ten, a thousand, and even ten thousand . . . yet opening nights are always the worst. When Madelaine told me tickets were almost sold out the other day, I know she was doing it to help boost my mood, but all it’s done has made me nervous. Crazy, and I know it.
In the back of my mind, I can’t help but wonder if I’m nervous because of something else. Sure, opening nights are terrifying because they’re the ice-breakers in the dancing world. But I’m not an idiot. Félix isn’t the one who manages the dancers. That’s Rémy . . . the man I’ve been having dreams about. Vivid, sexy, downright dirty dreams. Fuck, just thinking about it takes my mind back.
“You look phenomenal,” Rémy tells me from my dressing room door. He’s standing on the inside, and the door is shut behind him.
Staring in the mirror in front of me, I put in my long, bedazzled earrings. “I might look great, but I feel like shit.” He knows I’ve felt like crap for the last few days.
“Then why are you working?” he questions, and I catch him coming closer to me in the mirror.
“Because I’m not sick, Rémy. We already talked about this, and if you’re trying to talk me out of working, you’re shit out of luck.” I stand up for myself, and he snickers from behind me. His hands trail over my shoulders, fluttering down over my corset. He halts for a minute over my breasts and a tingly feeling shoots through me. Fuck, he can’t be doing this right now. I go out for my routine in fifteen minutes.
“I’m not talking you out of anything, Cora. I only want to relieve some of your stress.” Rémy slides an arm behind my back and puts another under my legs. He lifts me and carries me over to the white leather couch in my dressing room and leans me over the back of it. He shoves my skirt up, grabs onto my black thong and yanks it down until it’s hanging off one foot, and brings his face closer to my pussy. His hot breath hits my clit, and I suck in a sharp breath.
“Rémy, we don’t have time for this,” I warn him.
“We have time for whatever I want. I’m the boss,” he grits before sticking out his tongue and dragging it in between my lower lips. I suck in a breath and arch my back out of instinct. He snickers against me and sticks his tongue inside my entrance. I’ve never had anyone do this before him, but I love it. It feels so good. He holds onto my hips and pulls his tongue out from inside me, beginning to French kiss my clit.
“Rémy, please don’t make me . . . I’m going to make a mess,” I moan out my request, but I know him too well, he’ll do what he wants. He always does what he wants.
He brings his lips away from my pussy for a second, but only enough to chuckle. “Have you ever considered that’s what I want? That I want your juices dripping down my chin? I need to taste you, Cora.”
His words cause my center to grow hotter, like a volcano moments from erupting. He dives back into sucking on my clit, and I writhe against his touch. Rémy growls against me, and the vibration adds an extra sensation, one that only pushes me forward on this pleasurable path.
Before I realize what’s happening, my entire body erupts into waves of pleasure. “Rémy,” I moan out his name, and he chortles against me, sucking my clit and my juices as they leave me. He rips his mouth from me after a few moments, and the clinking of his belt tells me what’s happening.
“I know you have to go on soon, but I can’t wait. I’m too fucking hard for you,” he tells me in a rugged tone as he shoves his cock into me. My pussy’s tight and I throw a hand over my mouth to hold back the moans. He doesn’t take it easy on me, and I love the way I feel. I’ve never fucked my boss before. I’ve never even fucked someone in my dressing room, but it’s the one place I screw Rémy more than anywhere else. It could be a kink for us, but who knows.
He grinds his cock into me so hard static shocks storm through my pussy. My eyes roll back into my head, and soon enough, I’m being swept away into more pleasure. He groans, growling as his own release comes, and no sooner than his release comes do I feel physically nauseous. He releases my legs and pulls out of me, and within seconds I know I’m not winning this battle with nausea.
I roll onto the couch, grab the waste bin, and the contents of my stomach come up. Rémy sits beside me and rubs my back soothingly as I get sick, and the way I feel is becoming hard to describe. I’m clammy but warm, nausea is something that’s becoming normal, and I can’t sleep for shit. The mere stench of certain foods causes me to vomit, and as soon as I’m finished vomiting, Rémy asks the one thing I think I need to do. “I know you wanted to wait, but we can’t keep doing this. Have you taken the test yet?”
I’ve had this same dream the last three days. Work, sex, pregnancy. It’s a bit much for me to take right now.
A knock comes on my door, and I turn back from looking at the mirror. “Who is it?”
“It’s only me,” Madelaine calls back.
“Okay, come on in if you’d like,” I tell her as I apply one last coat of lipstick.
She opens the door and shuts it behind her, makes her way through my dressing room, and has a seat on one of the white leather couches. They’re not fluffy or modern at all. They remind you of the Victorian-style couches, or the couches that would’ve been out in that era.
“You look beautiful.” Madelaine smiles brightly at me, and I look right at her.
“Thank you. So, I don’t look terribly nervous?”
“I never would’ve been able to guess. What’re you nervous about, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Shit. I didn’t think this through. “Being in a new place is always a bit nerve-wracking,” I tell Madelaine, but it’s not the full truth, and I think she can tell.
She cocks a brow. “I know we’re still getting to know one another, but what’s the matter? Something feels off.” God, her intuition is good.
I could lie, but Madelaine obviously has a good read on people. But this is a catch twenty-two. If I tell her the truth, this could be so awkward. I don’t know what to do. I really don’t.
“All right, something is clearly off here. Whatever it is, you can trust me with it.”
