Page 135 of Swallow Your Sorries

“Elle. Look at me.”

I crack an eye open to stare into my own green eyes. I’d smooshed my face against the cold glass, relying on the tiny amount of relief its cool surface gave me.

I close it again, scrunching my face to endure the pain, but Gant digs his knee into my spine.

“I said look at me.”

His commanding voice shatters the trance I’d lured myself into. My eyes snap open, and my spine straightens as I peer back at him in the mirror’s reflection. I don’t think I could resistanythinghe said in that tone.

“Don’t force it. Tell me if it hurts, if I’m pushing you too hard.”

I say nothing, biting my lip and trying to breathe to stop myself from screaming.

Yeah, right, like I’ll admit that anything’s too hard to him.

“We’ll go slow at first. Slow and easy so you can adjust.” Though I don’t tell him to, he eases the pressure and I sigh in relief.

“This won’t work if you aren’t honest with me.” He says, glancing down at me, his arms braced against the glass. “Don’t try to spite me by spiting yourself. You’ll just end up injured. If this is going to work, you’ll have to trust me.”

Trust that he wouldn’t be the one to injure me? Hard pass. But what choice do I have? I can bear all my suffering, all the bullying, all of Gant’s shenanigans for one year if I can stay in the advanced class. Right?

I manage a nod. “Fine, can you ease up a bit more?”

He relents and the fire burning at the apex of my thighs decreases.

“Was that so hard?” he coos. “I know when to be gentle, dove. I know when it’s too much for you, and I know when you can be a good girl and take it.”

Pleasurable warmth begins to overtake the burning in my core at his words as I follow his instructions to count down from thirty before he releases me for a fifteen-second break. We repeat the cycle five times, and each time he presses a smidge harder, opening me wider.

“There you go,” he says when on the final stretch I’m practically flat. “Just breathe through the burning and relax. Soon the pain will disappear and it’ll feel good.”

“I doubt that,” I squeak.

“I promise. The more you do it, the better it’ll feel. Pleasure and pain are only a hair away from each other. If you don’t endure the pain, you can’t get the pleasure.”

I tilt my head back and meet his eyes rather than peering at his reflection. He looks incredible even at this angle. The muscles in his arms as he braces himself against the mirror are flexed from the motion, his drying hair framing his eyes like a dark curtain.

We weren’t just talking about stretches.

Good.

“Up,” he says, releasing me and taking a step back. “Grip the barre.”

My mind and legs are like jelly as I follow suit.

“You’ve been dancing since you were eleven,” he says, noting my shaking. “A late start, but that’s still seven years ago. You should be used to all of this by now.”

He looks genuinely concerned as he grasps my ankle and rests it on top of his shoulder. My skin burns at the contact, but I try to keep my breathing even and my blush at bay as he shamelessly zones in on my sex.

The burning isn’t too bad, until he walks closer, pushing my leg until it’s almost touching the side of my head. My back leg begins to wobble, and he braces his leg behind it, his free hand wrapping around my ass and grabbing the back of my thigh, massaging it.

“Three years and this leg’s still weak.”

“I can’t believe you still remember that. Much less which leg it is.”

“Don’t you get it by now? I remember everything about you. I haven’t forgotten a single detail. I refuse to.”

Why?

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