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After slipping out of my pointe shoes, I grabbed my cardigan off the back of my chair and slid it over my shoulders. I wore black leggings, a black camisole leotard, and a short ballet skirt. The cardigan helped me look presentable in case I had to stop anywhere on the way home, which I usually didn’t.
My heart slammed in my chest as I slid my feet inside my sandals, taking one last look around the studio before I switched off the lights and stepped outside.
Breathe, Tatum. You’re being ridiculous.
Right as I reached for the door handle to pull it closed, a strong arm wrapped around me from behind A hand covered my mouth, pulling me back into something solid—a body. Tall, hard, and unyielding. I was terrified beyond belief.
What if I was wrong? What if it wasn’t him?
At the same time, anticipation flooded my veins.
What if I was right?
Why did that thought excite me? What the hell was wrong with me?
I was shoved back inside the studio, then the door slammed shut with a sturdy thud.
Oh God.
I instantly regretted closing the curtains. With the lights out, we were surrounded by complete darkness. I tried to scream, but my voice was weak, muffled by the force of the hand cupping my mouth. My arms flailed through the air, grabbing at the forearm that held me in place. An immediate hiss of breath ghosted my ear, letting me know I broke skin.
“Did you honestly think it would be that easy?” he asked, and my intuition was confirmed. “Did you think I’d just let you go?”
I knew that voice. I’d memorized it. It was Caspian. He was here.
I scratched at him again, this time reaching up and hoping to find his face. I missed. He growled against my ear, then grabbed my arm with his free hand and pinned it behind my back. A sharp pain tore through my shoulder at the force of it.
His voice rippled through the air again, sliding over my skin like silk. “Does he close his eyes when he fucks you? Whisper sweet things and ask if it hurts?”
Anger wrapped around me, clenching its fist around my heart.
He left.
He went four years without a word. Occasional presents with cryptic notes were his only means of communication. Now he had the balls to come in here and talk about things that were none of his business?
“See, that’s the difference between him and me, Princess.” His mouth moved, as though he were smiling against my throat. “I bet he calls you Princess, doesn’t he?”
The sensation of his mouth against my neck sent a wave of searing heat straight to my core. This was wrong. I wasn’t supposed to feel this way.
And no, Brady didn’t call me Princess. He called me Babe. But Caspian was spot on with the other stuff. Brady didn’t fuck. He made love. Which like I said, was none of Caspian’s business.
I lifted my leg to try to stomp on his foot, but all I accomplished was making my sandal fly off and hit the floor with a slap.
He sighed. “I know you hate me, which is why I had to do it like this. I couldn’t give you a choice to see me because I knew what you would choose.”
He was right. I would have slammed the door in his probably still flawless face. I wished I could see him, know what he looked like now. Was his mouth still beautiful? Did his eyes still pierce through my soul?
But the wishing just made me angrier. I didn’twantto want to see him.
Why couldn’t he just stay away?
I was doing fine. I didn’t need him here.
The sound of my labored breaths shuddered against the back of his hand. I tried to focus on breathing through my nose, but it was hard to concentrate on anything other than the pounding of my heart and my increasing lack of oxygen. Tears began to sting my eyes, but I blinked them back.
Caspian loosened his grip on my arm. Immediate relief washed over me as the blood began circulating again. “I needed to see you. I just wanted to talk,” he said as if answering my unspoken question.
I closed my eyes and let out a calming breath. Maybe he was about to let me go.
