AllFreeNovel
Share Us
No.
Maybe.
With everything but my heart.
His eyes softened. “Have I ever done anything to hurt you or put you in danger?”
My mind flashed back over the years all the way to the very first time I’d met him.
“Never.”
He leaned forward until we were face to face, then cupped his hand at the nape of my neck. “That throbbing ache between your thighs? My scent on your skin? Get used to it.” He ran his tongue over my bottom lip the way that he always liked to do. “Because wearedoing this.” He smirked, then gave me a kiss. “I need to go now, but I’ll see you soon,” he said with a wink, then he got up and walked out the door.
My father was a United States senator. I’d spent my whole life around powerful men. None of them held a candle to Caspian Donahue.
The night I gave him all my firsts, he’d told me he would destroy me. I’d dared him to try.
At the time, I had no idea what I was asking for. Now I knew. I’d known for six years.
I was ruined.
He was right.
I craved the depravity he brought with every breath of mine he stole.
And I loved the simplicity of the life I’d built.
I reveled in challenging him.
And I found joy in keeping the peace with my family.
I needed his chaos.
And I cherished my structure.
It was as though two different women lived in the same body, bound together by the same desire—we both just wanted to befree.
***
I wasted more time over the next few days thinking about Caspian than I should have. I stood on the balcony outside of my bedroom every night, waiting for him to return.
He never came.
I sat on the sofa, staring at the front door, waiting for him to burst through it.
He never did.
Brady called twice, and both times it broke my heart to assure him I’d meant what I said. Both times, I wished it had been Caspian on the other end of the line. Both times, I questioned my sanity.
Not long after I graduated, Dad had bought an old theater on 42ndStreet and had it remodeled to look exactly the way it did in the 1940s. He said it was to keep Lincoln out of trouble and to give my students and me a place to perform. Lincoln was big into MMA, so he hosted tournaments and amateur fights there. Three times a year, I scheduled a public performance for my students. It gave us all something to look forward to and helped Dad save face since neither one of us went to college. This way, we were still successful in the eyes of the world—his world.
Our next performance was in a few weeks, which meant that starting today, I would be spending a lot of time in this theater. Lincoln even had a set of keys made for me, so I wouldn’t have to bother him every time I needed in.
On the outside, the theater looked like an ordinary building made of brick and glass. There was a neon sign over a marquee and a set of large wooden double doors. On the inside, it looked like someone snatched the building right out of the middle of Paris and plopped it down in New York City. The walls were painted a creamy ivory with brown accents and gold trim. Every few feet on the walls high above the seats, there were colorful murals of cities with golden temples and people dancing. The balcony formed a half-circle overlooking the downstairs seating area. From up there, the seats below looked like a garden of red poppies blooming in front of the stage. A remarkable gold and crystal chandelier hung from the middle of the painted ceiling. It matched the sconces that hung on the walls. The massive, red velvet curtains were pulled open, showcasing the stage where I had just finished taping off quarter markers for my dancers.
Every year, we did the same three ballets—one for each age group. I knew the choreography by heart. I’d gone over it hundreds of times with different classes in the last few years. I didn’t need to retrace my steps, but as the music played overhead and echoed throughout the space, I couldn’t help myself from moving.
My body was operating on pure muscle memory. Spinning, stretching, and arching with the energy of the music and my emotions. Nothing else mattered when I was dancing. Nothing else existed.
