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“God, Ana, there’s no fucking better feeling in the world than your mouth.”
I moan softly, sliding my lips down, wanting to take all of him. I love the feeling of my lips stretching around his girth, the taut flesh sliding over my tongue, into my throat. I love feeling him pulse in my mouth as I go all the way down, the warm scent of his skin as my nose brushes against the dark reddish hair on his abdomen, and I choke slightly as he slips into my throat. The muscles convulse, tightening around him, and Liam groans again.
“Are you going to make me come, little lass? Like I did for you, just now?”
I nod eagerly, feeling him twist my hair around his hand, his palm against the back of my head gently as I start to slide up and then down again, lips and tongue reaching to caress every inch of his straining flesh, the taste and scent of him filling my senses. I slide all the way down again, choking on the thickness of him deep in my throat, and Liam’s hips arch upwards as he groans again.
“Fuck, Ana—” I feel his hand tighten in my hair, his cock twitching between my lips as he pushes himself deeper. “Fuck, I love when you swallow my fucking cock,fuck—”
I want more. I want all of him. I slide my hand between his legs, cupping his taut balls in my palm, fingers stroking the tight skin as I come up for air, panting before I take his cock down my throat again. I can feel him tensing, the muscles in his thighs flexing, and I know he must be close.
“Ana, Ana,god—” Liam is panting now, trembling with pleasure, his hand knotted in my hair as I increase my pace, sucking his cock fast and hard. I want him to come, want to taste it, want him to fill my mouth, and I think he knows that, because I hear him groan again, this time loudly enough that there’s no way the driver doesn’t hear, but I think he’s past caring.
“I’m going to come, Ana—fuck, Ana, I’m,shit—” The sound he makes is one of pure, strangled pleasure as I feel him throb between my lips, his cockhead rubbing over my tongue as the first hot spurt coats it, filling my mouth with the salty heat of him as I swallow convulsively, wanting to catch every drop. I tighten my lips around him, sucking harder, my other hand at the base of his cock, stroking every inch that I can’t force down my throat as he keeps coming, his head thrown back now, hips pushing himself into my mouth as his cum fills it.
“Ana, Ana—” He moans my name repeatedly, his hand loosening in my hair, stroking the back of my head. “Oh god, Ana, that’s enough. I can’t take anymore—”
I come up slowly, licking away the last drops of cum on my lips as Liam tucks himself away. The look of half-astonished pleasure on his face sends a ripple of desire through me.
“God, Ana—” he murmurs, and then his hands are on my face, pulling me in for a kiss as if he didn’t just fill my mouth with cum, his lips seeking out mine as his hands slide into my hair.
He kisses me, long and slow and deep, until I’m breathless and the car pulls up to the curb, and we finally slide apart.
“Where are we?” I ask when we’ve both fixed our clothes, and Liam opens the door for me, giving me a hand out.
“The Boston Opera House,” he says with a smile, his fingers linking through mine. “Come on, I have our tickets.”
Tickets to what?I want to ask, but I also want to let him surprise me. It could be anything—a concert, the opera, a play, and I lean into him as we walk in, savoring the feeling of my fingers laced through his, the warmth of his palm against mine, the scent of his cologne in my nostrils, the taste of him still lingering on my tongue. I’d imagined us so many times now as a couple, being together for real, doing all the things that couples do. Still, it’s never felt as real as it does now.
This night, this date, has given me hope and assurance for us, for our future, like never before. I feel closer to Liam than I ever have, warm and happy, light as a feather, as he hands over our tickets without me really hearing what he says. I glide up the stairs next to him to our box seats overlooking the stage. I lean in close to him, feeling his fingers in my hair as we wait for the curtain to go up, tracing the back of my neck, his lips seeking out mine again as we sit there in the darkness, and I feel like I’m in a dream.
My dream, his dream.Our dream.It feels magical, better than anything I could have imagined. As the curtain rises on the stage, I turn eagerly towards it, wanting to know what Liam picked out for us to see together.
And then the first notes ofSwan Lakefill the air, and I freeze in place.
No.No, no.
The music feels like it’s assaulting my senses, the sight of the ballerinas on stage cutting into me, as if every one of them individually held a knife and drove it into my chest. I haven’t been to the ballet since Franco, haven’t listened to an orchestral soundtrack, haven’t watched it or looked at my old videos, or so much as touched the pile of pointe shoes and tulle that was still in my closet before I left my old apartment.
I haven’t been able to bear it, not any of it. Just the opening notes feel like a slap to the face, a searing reminder that the thing I once loved above all else, that I gave my heart and soul to, is lost to me forever. That no matter how healed I am, how far I move past it, how much acceptance I find, I willnever, neverdance on a stage like that again. I’ll never slip my foot into a pair of satin shoes because they’ve been warped beyond anything that dance could have ever done to them. I’ll never wind satin ribbons around my ankle, never feel the crush of tulle between my fingertips, the stretch of a leotard over my carefully honed body. Even the worst parts of it—the pain, the exhaustion, the anxiety, the backstabbing for parts, I’ll never experience that again either.
I was meant to be on a stage like that by now. I’d be graduated, in New York, taking the place that I’d been told I was a shoo-in for as prima. I’d be dancing the part of Odette on a Manhattan stage, the crowd a blur as I danced, leaped, pirouetted, spun, as hands lifted me into the air, as the music overtook me, and Ibecameher, just for a little while, lost in the magic of it all.
Never again. Never again. Never, never never, never—
“Ana? Ana!” Dimly, I hear Liam’s voice, and I realize that I’ve clapped my hands over my ears, turning my head away from the stage so that I don’t have to see them. He reaches for me, but I twist away, feeling my heart tear like paper as I look at his earnest, worried face and realize that he didn’t do this on purpose. He didn’t mean to hurt me. He simply—didn’t know that it would. And somehow, that feels just as awful.
“I can’t,” I whisper. “I can’t, I can’t—” I push myself up from my seat, stumbling blindly towards the curtain leading out of our box, my feet suddenly aching in the strappy shoes. I nearly fall as I reach down to yank them off, clutching them in my hand like Cinderella fleeing the ball as I run from the box, down the steps, and out into the red-carpeted lobby, feeling eyes on me as I bend over, panting and trying not to burst into sobs and not caring.
“Ana!” I hear Liam’s voice behind me, breathless, and I know he’s caught up to me. I can’t turn around to face him, not yet, but he’s not giving me a choice. I feel his hands on my waist, turning me, and I feel the tears starting to come as I look up at his handsome face.
“How could you?” I whisper, the words breaking as they slip out. “How could you do that, Liam—”
“What?” He looks genuinely confused. “Ana, what’s wrong?”
“What’swrong?” I stare at him, my heart suddenly hammering in my chest. “If you have to ask that, Liam—then there’s no point.” I swallow hard, pain and heartbreak and anger welling up all at once. It suddenly seems clear to me how little we know each other, how we couldn’t possibly be in love, not if he couldn’t grasp this one simple thing without me having to say it out loud. “You don’t understand me,” I whisper brokenly, backing away from him. “You don’t know me at all—”
“Ana, that’s not true!” Liam’s eyes widen with alarm, and he reaches for my hand, the one holding my shoes. “Look, just put your shoes back on. You can’t be barefoot out here. It’s not good for your feet. We’ll go home if that’s what you want. We—”
