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When I get to Claire’s door, I notice it’s open a crack, not too concerning because Con and Lilith are the only other people who live on this floor and security is tight. Still going to have to say something though. She can’t be leaving her door cracked open like that.
“Claire?” I close the door behind me quietly and look around. The layout of her apartment is similar to Con and Lilith’s with the kitchen and dining room open to the living room. On one side is the master suite. The only real difference is that instead of several guest rooms on the opposite side of the apartment, Claire has a large studio space.
I head toward the studio and see her sitting in the middle of the floor, her forehead resting against her knees and her arms wrapped around her shins. Her body is trembling a bit, and I can hear muffled sobs.
“Hey, hey, hey,” I drop to my knees beside her, “what’s wrong?”
I flinch when she lifts her head and looks up at me. Her mascara has run down her cheeks in black rivers, and the whites of her eyes are pink. The contrast makes the green of her eyes even more potent than usual. I have never seen a woman look more beautifully broken.
“I’m sorry.” She hastily wipes the tears and looks away from me. “Fuck.” She stands up gracefully and walks toward the wall of windows on one side of the room. I can’t stop myself from appreciating the lithe way she moves across the floor. All she’s wearing is a pair of tight shorts and a sports bra, her pointe shoes bang against the floor with each step.
I stay where I am, aware that she doesn’t want me hovering around her protectively in this moment. I just wait for her to get ahold of herself. I’d gladly wait here on my knees for her forever. That thought has me doing a double take inside my own head. I kneel for no one, at least I didn’t until her.
“I feel like I’m at war with my body now. As a dancer, my body has always been my greatest asset, a tool for me to use and manipulate to create my art. Now it just fights me every step of the way. I want to go left, it goes right. I need to be balanced en pointe, and I fall out of basic turns like a bumbling novice.” She shakes her head and turns to me, her voice cracking. “I have an expiration date, not just as a dancer but as a human being.”
I stand up and stalk toward her. I reach her in three long strides and grip her chin firmly in my fingers. “No, Tsarina. I will not allow you to entertain that narrative.”
“You don’t have a choice.” She stares back at me through a sheen of tears. “It’s the truth. The average life expectancy for MS is twenty to thirty years following diagnosis.”
“So?” I back her against the windows. “You’re just going to give up? To give into self-pity? Wallow in what could have been instead giving the universe the finger and continuing to be you, striving continually for what you what?”
“Maybe,” a fire lights in her eyes. “I’ll never dance on the stages of the world.”
“You sure as fuck won’t with that attitude.”
“Why did I even reach out to you?” she asks as she pushes away from me.
“Because you need me.”
“I don’t need you,” she says with a derisive snort, “for anything more than the favor you’re already doing for me.”
“Okay,” I turn and start walking for the door. I have no intention of leaving, but she doesn’t need to know that. I walk into the kitchen and grab a chair, carrying it into the studio.
Her brow wrinkles as I put it in the center of the floor and sit down, loosening my tie. I don’t say anything, I just sit there, returning her stare.
“What are you doing?” she finally asks.
“You’re going to dance for me, Tsarina. My very own private show. Any music, any movement, just let your body lead you through it.”
She stares me down for a minute as she tries to decide whether or not to humor me with this request. Finally, she moves toward her phone and cues up a song. She moves directly in front of me and lifts onto her toes.
I’m in awe of the way her body flows perfectly in time with the music even though I’m quite sure she is freestyling this dance. She spins with one leg out level to her waist so many times I start to get dizzy just watching her. As the minutes pass, she lets go more and more, becoming one with the music and her body. By the end of the song, her chest is rising and falling deeply. I lick my lips at the sight of her small but firm breasts straining against the fabric.
“Another.” I command with a voice that does not betray how turned on I am by watching her.
She cues up another song, this time it’s a song I’m vaguely familiar with. The lyrics are about an electric connection between two people. Through all her movements, she holds direct eye contact with me. She walks toward me like a predator honing in on her prey. The hungry look in her eyes has my dick swelling against the zipper on my pants. The bite of the metal against the tip of my cock keeps me grounded. I want to see what her next move is.
She dances just out of my reach, a slight smirk on her lips as she catches a glimpse of my erection. In a move I’m completely not expecting, she pulls her bra off so she’s dancing topless. I bite down on my tongue as I watch her continue to dance, her nipples hard and pink against the cool air pumping from the vents.
“Tsarina,” I point down at my knee when the music stops, “come here.”
She sits down, straddling my leg and looks at me with hooded eyes. “Did you enjoy that?”
“I did.” I run my hand up her thigh to her hip and squeeze it. “Why are you still wearing these?”
“It wasn’t a full peep show,” she kisses my cheek softly as she starts unbuttoning my shirt.
“What are you doing?” I lift my hand from her hip and cup her breast, squeezing her nipple between my thumb and index finger. My cock twitches at her shaky gasp and the way her hips grind down on my thigh.
