Fever Dream (17 page)

“I’m not quitting ballet because of him,” said Petra.

The two men turned. She and Ashleigh stood in the doorway, still dressed in their pajamas. “You don’t have to stop,” said Ash, putting an arm around her. “You shouldn’t have to rearrange your life because of him.”

“I never said she should stop.” Liam made a helpless gesture. “I just wish you were something a lot less flashy, like a dry cleaner or a pest control technician.”

“A pest control technician?” Ashleigh echoed, giving him a look.

“Petra cannot stop being who she is,” said Mem in his low, clipped voice. “It will be important for Paulsen to discover his arrival does not impact her life at all.”

“Yes,” agreed Liam. “You have to keep dancing, Petra. You have to keep going to the theater as if nothing’s changed.”

“What about staying at my apartment?” Petra asked as she and Ashleigh took seats at the table.

Liam shook his head. “Sorry. That, I can’t let you do. Not alone anyway. I have guys there, if you want to—”

“You have guys in my apartment?” asked Petra at the same time Ruby made a protesting sound.

“She’s not staying there with your ‘guys,’” he huffed.

“My guys are trustworthy,” Liam said. He turned to Petra. “And they’re only there to protect your property. I wouldn’t put it past Paulsen to break in. They can also monitor how often he stops by to knock on the door, and whether he leaves additional notes.”

“Additional notes?”

Liam touched the folded-up missive on top of the papers. “He went straight to your place from the airport last night, which we expected. He snuck upstairs and slid this under the door when you didn’t answer his knock. You don’t need to read it. It says the same stuff all the others say.”

Ashleigh gave Petra a sympathetic look. “Don’t give him the satisfaction of listening to his words. I have no patience with men who do asshole stuff to women. Put me in a room with this guy and I’ll shear off his shriveled nuts with a rusty saw.”

Ruby’s lips twisted into a smile. Ash was so sweet and cute until she lost her temper—then all bets were off. He’d had that temper turned on him more than once in their dancing career.

“Ash, honey.” Liam pulled her into his lap. “It’s too early in the morning for your graphic imagination. But if I remember correctly, Mem, we have a rusty saw down in the garage.”

“Yes,” said the old man. “We do.”

“I have to go in today,” Petra said. “We have rehearsals, and
Giselle
tonight. I’m also expecting a shipment of shoes. I can go to work, can’t I?”

“Of course you can go to work,” Mem said. “You must continue with your life while we endeavor to fix this problem. Mr. Rubio will be with you,” he added, nodding in his direction.

Mr. Rubio would definitely be with her. Until this crazy man left the country, Rubio wasn’t letting Petra out of his sight.

*** *** ***

Petra swept across the stage, her expression blank and grim. In Act One she danced happy, vibrant Giselle, but in Act Two she danced dead Giselle, drifting aimlessly about the Kingdom of the Wilis. The Wilis were an army of bitter, ethereal bitches, all the heartbroken women who’d been jilted by their true loves. Her mother could have been a Wili. With Rubio in her life now, her mother was on her mind all the time.
I’m sorry, mom. I’m sorry Grigolyuk didn’t love you, but you have to be happy for me. Rubio’s a wonderful man.

A week had passed since they’d moved in with Liam and Ashleigh, and like
Giselle
, Petra’s life had split into two acts. Act One was normal, busy daytime and Act Two was the dark night, dying in Fernando Rubio’s arms. Not literally dying, but something like it.

She glanced over to find him watching her from the wings. It didn’t escape either of them that Rubio, as Albrecht, spent a good part of the second half kneeling at Giselle’s grave. It was creepy for both of them, a constant reminder of the very worst that might happen.

They dealt with the danger in their own ways. Petra funneled her energy into dance, and Rubio hovered constantly, all over her. Since her stalker showed up in London, Rubio literally didn’t let her out of his sight. They woke together, ate together, roamed the halls of City Ballet together, performed together, and left through the stage door to go home together.

All this togetherness translated into very unhelpful tabloid headlines.
City Ballet Romance! From Enemies to Lovers! Wedding in the Wings!
As a result, Paulsen’s notes became angrier. He started calling her cell phone twenty or thirty times a day, until she turned it over to Liam’s people and got another one. It was a hassle but she wasn’t willing to stay away from Rubio just to keep Paulsen happy. If anything, she wanted to rub her happiness in the man’s face. Her fear had long since turned to fury. She wanted to annoy him in any way she could. She hated Gary Paulsen.

And she was falling in love with Rubio a little more each day.

Later, after the final
reverences
, after her tutu and black wig were put away and they returned to their room at Liam’s, she trembled naked against him.

“Beautiful girl,” he whispered, stroking between her legs. “My good girl.” He punctuated the “my” with a squeeze of her slick pussy lips. “You’re so wet for me. You’re mine, aren’t you?”

He captured her moan of assent in a kiss. She couldn’t bear the thought of Paulsen wanting to own her, but Rubio...totally different story. When he turned her around to face the wall, she obeyed with a delicious pang of fear. He gave her two sharp slaps on the ass and she hopped onto her toes. He gave an appreciative chuckle and began to grope her again, pinning her to the wall so she couldn’t move. She bucked her hips as he teased her clit, drawing moisture from her pussy up over the aching button.

“Oh, please,” she whined.

“Please? You do what
I
please,” he taunted her. “It feels good, no?”

She whined again, at an even higher register. He was killing her and they’d just gotten started. “It...yes...it feels good.”

He hummed as his fingers found the opening of her sex and drove inside. She tensed and skittered sideways when he probed her asshole with the pad of his thumb.

“Don’t pull away,” he said. “Let me do it, if it pleases me.”

“I’m embarrassed.”

“Of your asshole? Jesus, girl, I’m going to fuck it some day. Soon. You won’t be embarrassed much longer, not when I’m done with you.”

Now she’d gone from embarrassed to terrified.

Is okay to be scared.

She repeated the words to herself like a mantra, whenever he did scary stuff she’d never experienced before. “Relax,” he said sharply, spanking her ass again. “Don’t be a naughty girl.”

That was easy for him to say as he worked his thumb all the way into her ass. She squirmed at the unfamiliar sensation. It felt uncomfortable. Invasive. There wasn’t a chance in hell of his cock ever fitting in there but if he wanted to threaten her with the possibility, she’d play along. His other fingers still pumped in her pussy. She rode his hand, wishing she had something to rub her clit against. When she tried to grind the wall, he stilled her hips.

“No, not yet. No coming yet.”

“I can’t help when I come.”

“You’ll learn how to help it. I’ll teach you. But not now.”

He drew his fingers out of her body, leaving her feeling empty and horny. “Stay here against this wall,” he said. “Don’t move and don’t dare come. Don’t touch your pussy. You understand?”

“Yes.”

“
Yes, Sir.
Say it.”

“Yes, Sir,” she cried, not even thinking twice about it.
Yes, Sir. Whatever will make you let me come.

He went into the bathroom to wash his hands, then came out and moved around the room, doing God knew what. She turned to peek and was rewarded with a reproachful glare. “When I told you to stay still, I meant to face the wall. Stay there while I think what to do with you tonight.”

She turned back with another anxious shiver. She heard a swatting, slapping sound of something against his palm. He crossed to her and shoved it into her hand.

“Here. Hold this.”

It was a thick black leather strappy thing. She breathed fast, in and out. When she tried to turn around he made a sound that stopped her. He started spanking her ass with his palm, not single spanks like before, but a steady, allover distribution. She squirmed at the sustained, stinging pain. After a few minutes, her squirms turned to protests as she danced around to avoid the smacks.

He put a hard hand on her shoulder. “Stop that,” he said. “This is just the warm-up. You’re going to need it,” he added on a dire note.

“Just the warm-up?” Her ass was already throbbing hot. “I don’t know how much more I can take.”

“I do,” he said. “But you have your safeword. Use it if you need it.”

Oh God!

“Give me the strap.” He held his hand out. “It’s a hard spanking for you, little girl. Brace your hands on the wall and stick your ass out.”

He slapped her burning cheeks again as soon as she did, then ran his hands over the sting. Her knees shook with fear and longing. She was terrified she’d collapse into a heap before he even got started.

He came around the side of her, grabbed a handful of her hair, and drew his arm back.
Thwack!
The strap connected with her ass, sounding almost as awful as it felt. The leather left a rectangle of pain across both cheeks and she jerked, causing his hand to tug at her hair. Tears sprang to her eyes. Another blow fell, and another. Oh, God, it hurt so bad, like fire across her bottom. She reached back with a cry.

“No. Hands on the wall,” he said. “Don’t move them again.”

The strapping resumed. It was so tempting to end it, to say her safeword and make the pain stop, but then she wouldn’t get the reward of sticking it out. She knew her suffering turned him on, just as his power and force excited her, but she could barely keep her hands still on the wall. He paused just as she was about to throw in the towel.

“So hot and red,” he murmured, leaning closer to inspect the damage. “You like it?”

She blinked away the sheen of her tears. Did she like it? Yes and no.

“Answer me,” he prompted.

“Yes, Sir, I like it.”

“Bend more,” he said, nudging her downward. “I want to see your pretty pussy.” He made a pleased sound and knelt behind her, spreading her cheeks and running his tongue over her exposed cleft. She shivered, three seconds from melting to oblivion. He laved her clit, flicking through the hot wetness there. She was instantly transported from aching, stinging pain to sweet bliss. “Please don’t stop,” she begged.

He pulled away, pinching her labia. “Not time to come yet. Put your hands back on the wall.”

She moaned as he straightened and began strapping her again. “Ah,” he said to the accompaniment of her stifled cries. “Your ass is so tempting when it’s red like this. When you’re tensing away from me. When do I get to fuck that ass?”

“I—ow—I don’t know!”

“Wrong answer,” he said, with another sharp crack. “Try again.”

Petra pressed her forehead against the wall, working to put together a complete sentence. “Whenever—whenever you want. Sir,” she added, remembering.

“Oh, very nice.” He paused and tilted her head back for a kiss. “Good girl,” he breathed against her lips. “For reward, I lick your pussy again.”

She almost cried from the relief of his lips on her, and the questing pressure of his tongue. He made sounds like her pussy was the most delicious thing in the world, avid, sucking sounds and hums of approval. When he stopped, she barely suppressed a cry of protest. He responded by pulling her up and covering her mouth with his palm.

“You know Liam and Ashleigh and Mem can hear you.” She squirmed against him, feeling shamed and excited. “They hear you being spanked like a bad girl and they hear you groaning like a slut. How does that make you feel?”

She knew it was a rhetorical question, since his hand was still over her mouth. But if he’d prompted her to answer, she would have told him it made her feel the same as when he talked about fucking her ass: part horny and aroused, and part horrified. She squealed against his palm as he trapped her against the wall and resumed the strapping with the most intense strokes yet.

She danced on her feet, danced to the choreography of erotic pleasure and pain. She didn’t want it to end, but oh, it hurt so much. When she shied away from the blows, he let go of her mouth and trapped her around the waist. Now, no matter how much she bucked and twisted, she couldn’t get away.
Crack! Thwap! Crack!
The pain was awful, but it was tempered by the warmth of his closeness, and his enigmatic power melting her inside.

His pace increased, along with the intensity of the smacks. Her cries of protest became real crying, tears trailing down her face and into her mouth and nose. She clutched at the arm trapping her, not the graceful ballerina now, but the frantic submissive enduring an ass-beating she wanted but could barely tolerate. As much as she wanted to please him, she would have to stop him soon. She shuddered through another stinging stroke and let her legs go limp. Down. She wanted down. She’d taken all she could stand...perhaps a little beyond what she could stand. He stopped at once, releasing her so she could fall to her knees in surrender.

“Romeo,” she whispered. “I want more, but—”

“It’s okay,” he said, tipping up her chin. She stared into approving black eyes. “I’ll give you more. Something else, nicer. Kneel up straight and open your mouth.”

She obeyed without the slightest hesitation, even though a month ago, a year ago, she would have said she despised giving blowjobs. Somehow that was no longer the case. He left her to go for a condom, then returned to stand with his thick cock jutting in front of her. Without prompting, she opened wider.

“That’s right,” he said. “Serve me. Let me fuck your pretty face.”

Serve me.
He’d said that to her in one of her sordid dreams. She remembered the exact words, and fought a sudden feeling of disequilibrium. Was this another dream or was it really happening? She made some small sound of panic and he touched her face as if to soothe her.