Paradise Fought (Abel) (18 page)

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” The concern in Lindee’s voice told me I had better not think I deserved Abel’s assistance. In my heart, I knew it was true. In my head, I couldn’t contain the debt I felt I was owed. I’d been cheated out of my life because of a Callahan.

I took another deep plie, let out a long breath, and tried to let my anger rest. It wasn’t happening. I needed to dance. I returned to my iPad near the speakers and shuffled to a different playlist. The music flooded the studio. Under dim lights, I let the rhythm surround me, caress me, and tease me. It was the arms of Abel wrapping around me. It began with the crush of his chest against mine. It was the warmth of his kiss on my lips. And I danced. My neck twirled, my hips thrust, and my legs kicked. I leapt then crashed to the floor to roll, spreading my legs in longing for him. I’d clamp them shut then split apart again, fighting my growing desire to feel him touching me. I watched myself in the mirror, on my knees, as my hands cascaded down my sensitive breasts, across the flat of my stomach, to the valley of my yearning heat. I wanted his touch on me like his kiss had been. Tender, wanting, and intense. My hands separated my thighs and the rhythm pulsed deep against my core. The music worked me and my hands flattened on the floor. I lowered to press against the hard wood, but my hips could not rest. I squeezed in needy tension and cursed Abel’s name when I heard a pounding on the door.

I fell limp for a moment, panting in aggravation as my body hummed with repressed desire. I waited a beat, hoping whoever was at the door would leave.

“We’re closed,” I muttered, as my sweaty cheek lay on the wood surface. My phone binged, then the door rattled. I went for the phone first, reading a text as I walked to the front of the studio.

Elma. Open the damn door.

I looked up in time to see Abel trying to peer through the glass that was shadowed. I stepped back into the darkened hall, hoping he hadn’t seen me. I couldn’t face him. My mind was a jumble; my body a hot mess. My phone binged again. and I jumped as it vibrated in my hand.

I saw you. Let me in.

I exhaled deeply. That was my problem. I
had
already let Abel in.

I crossed the entryway and turned the lock, which let off a loud crack. The door pulled outward as Abel yanked it with force. I stepped back at his haste and he relocked the door behind him.

“You weren’t planning to open that for just anyone, right?”

“What?” I stared at him, blinking in astonishment as I gripped my phone.

“You’re alone here. You shouldn’t be opening that door for just anyone.”

“I…I don’t see how that’s your concern.”

“You’re my concern, Elma,” he said, stepping into my space and forcing me back. His words surprised me. I stared at him as his bright eyes sparkled in the dim light and scanned my face. He did look concerned, for the wrong reasons.

“I’m not your concern, Abel. We are through,” I bit, turning my back on him and heading toward the studio to collect my things.

“We aren’t anything, so we can’t be through,” he said behind me, his hand suddenly wrapping around my arm as I entered the dim studio. A typical dance space, the room was wide, one wall of mirrors, another filled with ballet barres; yet I felt trapped despite the open area.

“Exactly,” I spit as he spun me to face him. We were both panting heavily as I crashed into his chest. His sweaty appearance made me assume he had run here. I was worked up from my dance, minutes before his arrival, but I was further fueled by my anger. And desire. I was breathing him in and cursing myself for wanting the fresh air of him.

“You want to fight, Elma. Fine. Pretend this is the ring, and let’s fight. Let’s get this over with once and for all.”

He wore an open zippered sweatshirt, but he removed it hastily. The zipper practically sang as it came apart from the catch and he tossed it to the floor. I stepped back, but he stepped forward. My hand raised and he forced it to his chest. Holding my palm hostage over his heart, I could feel the rapid beat. He walked backward, keeping his eyes focused on mine. The blue: glowing like that iridescent fish in his tank. He was the fighting fish and we were about to spar. He stopped short of the speakers on a shelf.

“Turn on the music,” he demanded. He still held me captive with his hand over mine on his left pec. The warmth of his skin was seeping into mine. I found the song I wanted on my iPad and hit play. The wireless speakers filled and music projected into the room. The song could go either way: seductive or street fight. Too late I realized what the soft groans and mutterings were within the song. Abel had already pushed me back to the center of the room. When I stopped walking, he paused. He released my hand, let his own drop to his sides, and clenched both closed to fists.

“Fight me, Elma.”

I stared at him. He couldn’t be serious. I could see by the way he was holding himself: his chest high, his breaths deep, he was bracing for a punch, and he didn’t intend to fight back. He was willing to let me kick his ass. I cursed myself, for catching a glimpse of his ass, firm and rounded in the loose material of his shorts. I determined there was another way to fight Abel. I danced.

The music played and I spun away from him. He moved like the fighter he is and turned with me, following my lead. I continued to twirl around him, adding in pirouettes at rapid speed. He only rotated as I circulated; pivoting in the direction I twirled, but never leaving his spot. His eyes danced with me as they followed every sashay and leap I made around him. I circled him like he was prey, a cat toying on the edge of a pond, anticipating the movement of an unsuspecting fish. I prowled around him, drawing closer, and at times his hand came out to touch me. His palm graced my stomach. His fingers cascaded down my back. I kicked up and landed down in a crouch, ready to pounce.

Abel lowered himself to the floor, as I continued to roll and split on the hard wood. My new dance was taking on moves of the one prior to his entrance. My legs scissor kicked as I lay on my side, then twisted to plank over the floor. I crawled toward Abel, forcing him onto his back. I lowered myself over him with several deep thrusts of my hips, but withholding a connection to his body. I slowly stood, still straddling over him, then lowered as my hips moved side to side. Abel’s hands reached up to touch me, but I shimmied upward and away from him again. I repeated the motion, once he realized he could watch the show, but not reach out to be part of it yet. Abel exhaled heavily and groaned. Control: he was exerting it, but I had it in the moment. I jumped and spun, landing with both feet on opposite sides of him. In this position, I faced away from him. He hadn’t flinched and he suddenly had a delicious view of my backside.

While I continued to shake from left to right over him, I sensed Abel’s movement. He was slowing rising behind me. My dance moves took on some of those used at Carrie’s as I rolled my hips from one side to the other, ran my fingers into my hair to lift the weight, and glanced over my shoulder at Abel. His hands covered my hips, and instantly I was pulled back against him. I swiped from left to right against the obvious length of him. To my surprise, he met my moves and began to sway in the direction I led. He held me firm to him, though. My backside was grinding against him. Within seconds, Abel’s hands began to roam. Upward they spread over my stomach, making their way to my breasts. The anticipation was exhilarating and a warm rush pulsed through me. His hands cupped each breast and he moaned into my ear. His cheek was next to mine, from behind me, and he breathed, “Look at you. You are so beautiful.” His words made me peek at the mirror. We were a vision in the dull light. Abel behind me, hands covering my breasts, working the nipples that were already hard points. My arms went up to circle his neck from behind me, and the front of my leotard was pulled down. Hot hands met cool flesh, and I groaned in desire watching Abel fondle me in the reflection.

I was wanton, a sex kitten, balled up and ready for play. My hips moved in time with his. His hands caressed and squeezed heavy globes. I rubbed my fingers through his hair. Suddenly, his hands took a new course. Downward they traveled and the warm rush rippled through me again. I moved my hands forward to return the leotard to cover me. Abel’s arms went over mine and trapped them under his. It almost looked like a fighter’s hold: my arms wrapped around his back and his pinned mine to his sides. This was not a fight, though. Abel had taken the lead in our dance, and I was willing to let him guide me.

Fingers slid over the covered mound and paused to cup the core of me. I was damp with desire and I ground into the palm of his hand. His other hand gripped my hip, while fingers delved under the elastic band and into slick folds. It was Abel’s turn to grind forward, the length of him so firm, the thought of him inside me so overwhelming. The rhythm of his fingers matched the music, stroke for stroke. I glanced at us in the mirror again. Abel’s head was lowered to my neck; his concentration on his fingers. As I arched my back, forcing my ass against him, I shattered at his touch and Abel’s eyes met mine in the mirror.

“Were you watching us?” he breathed huskily. His voice was water over pebbles. I couldn’t answer but my eyes didn’t lie. Abel moved us awkwardly forward with giant steps. My hands braced for the mirror. As soon as I made contact, a second finger slipped into me. Abel began his ministrations again with the increased tempo of another song. My eyes closed, but the hand at my hip came up under my chin.

“Watch us,” he demanded. “I like to watch you.” The free hand slid to the nape of my neck and scooped up some on my hair. Those tempting lips met my neck with a soft sucking motion, and I instantly imagined what it would feel like to have that warm mouth someplace else. Abel was a multitasker, anticipating my need. His fingers hadn’t lost a beat inside me. His tongue tickled my neck. His eyes observed my response to all the different ways he was touching me. With the insertion of a second finger, I was so slick, I had lost control. My body moved with no regulation. His hips moved in a slow rhythm, separate from me. It was as if his fingers were an extension of him, and he rocked his body to the beat of mine. It was hot to watch him. He wanted me and his length was reaching for me, despite its confines. He groaned as he worked me, and I wondered if he’d come without actually touching me. The thought alone was going to push me over the edge a second time. I imagined Abel coming just from watching me move, and it brought me down hard. I gripped his wrist as we rolled our hips. I didn’t want the sensation to stop and I rocked on his fingers. Another wave was coming and I warned him. I was losing my fight with Abel. My back arched; I purred. Then I fell apart again.

My mind caught up to me and pushed on Abel’s wrist to remove his fingers as my release slowed.

“Elma, I…” he started, as panicked eyes met mine through the reflection of the mirror. I startled him when I spun, so my back hit the glass. Then I slid down the mirror, taking his shorts and boxer briefs with me. Like the crazed kisser in the stairwell, I needed at him. I tugged his shorts to find black boxer briefs, similar to the ones from earlier in the week. I struggled to yank the tight material over the long protruding length of him. He was more than ready for whatever I wished to give him.

“Elma, you don’t…” He was silenced the second my lips hesitantly kissed the head of him. He was thick as I knew he would be. I’d seen how he hung after the fight. Tight skin was stretched and I gripped him firmly with my fingers. I pumped hard, letting the dribble of moisture dampen his head. Ragged jerking motions increased his breathing, and I glanced up at him from where I knelt before him. I steadied the rhythm, matching the rapid music that thumped around us. His hands fell forward, to the mirror at my back, holding him steady. I imagined what he’d feel like inside of me. I wondered if he’d fit. My enthusiasm increased, and in seconds, seed spilled out of him over my tight fist. His hands curled on the mirror, one softly hammering as he pulsed forward in tiny thrusts.

“You don’t fight fair, my rúnsearc,” he breathed.

When our hearts calmed, Elma gathered her things and I escorted her to the door.