The new semester was almost here, and while all my other classes will switch to new ones, my dance class only gets bumped up a level. We had begun working on the final routine for the semester, and (to everyone’s great shock), Aaron and I were paired up for the finale. We got to pick our own music, so naturally I chose something I thought he would hate.
We were alone in the studio. Everyone else had finished practice, already gone to get food or sleep, leaving Aaron and me alone. Together. Fuck.
“Alright gummy bear, this is what our finale will be. You don’t like it, tough.” I had my back to him. I didn’t expect him to put up a fight—he never did, just standing and smiling and nodding like a bobblehead at everything I said. He may be cute, but he was boringly agreeable. As Greensleeves filtered over the speakers, I turned back to him and sighed softly. “Alright. Let’s do this.”
My stomach clenched when I finally realized how intently he was staring at me, but I mentally shook myself. I was nuts.
Two and a half hours later, we were both drenched in sweat. I was bent over, hands on my knees, while Aaron sprawled across the floor with a groan. “It’s so cool down here… Can’t we dance on the floor?” Despite my earlier irritation, I chuckled at his almost childish whine. He was a damn good dancer, indeed.
Exhausted, I slumped onto my back on the floor, arms spread apart and staring up at the ceiling. I remembered the first time I ever stepped foot on a dance floor, thirteen years old and ready to try something new. I had loved dance from the start, smiling and closing my eyes as my first recital played through my head, surrounded by little girls in frilly tutus, then there was me, in a simple pink leotard and playing a boy’s part with lifts and spins.
I felt more than heard Aaron move closer, on his hands and knees, then one hand cupped my cheek, tilting my head up. My eyes opened again, widely, to see his lips barely an inch form mine. “Anja… You’re so difficult to corner, but this victory is sweet.”
Trying to keep my cool, I squinted at him in confusion. “Victory? You make it sound like you’ve captured something.”
His mouth twisted into a grin, and my blood ran ice-cold. That sweet, slightly aggravating boy from ten minutes ago was gone, magically replaced with a wicked monster. When I tried to push myself away, he grabbed my wrists and pinned them over my head, his hand big enough to hold both my wrists one-handed, the other sliding down and running over my breast, protected only by my thin leotard.
Ohshit ohshit ohshit.
His mouth brushed my neck, trailing down until he bit the bustline of my leotard and tugged it playfully, making me shudder. “Anja, Anja… The more you fight, the less fun you’ll have. Don’t make me drag you to the basement for our fun.” Then his teeth sank into my skin, drawing out a whimper.
So lost were we, him in his conquest and me in trying to deny it was happening, we almost didn’t hear the footsteps approaching. Giving me that devious smirk once more, he pulled me off the floor and pinned my back against his chest, my arms now forcefully folded over my chest, and his free hand covered my mouth as he dragged me toward the locker room.
Heavy bootsteps kept coming.
I was doomed.
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