Page 3 of Swallow Your Sorries

He cocks his head and deadpans, “An army of ants?”

My words catch in my throat as he stands directly behind me. He’s almost a head taller than I am and I can’t help but think how perfect he’d be to dance with en pointe. If Madame were here, she’d fawn over his lean, elegant frame.

I suck in a breath when his long fingers slide under my tutu and over my hip bones, his chin grazing the side of my head.

Suddenly my heart’s pounding in my throat so fast and hard I can’t swallow.

W-who does this boy think he is to just touch me like this?!

And yet, no protest leaves my lips.

My head swims as he traces the protruding ridges, causing goosebumps to rise beneath my leotard.

“Do you want children one day?”

“W-what?” Our eyes lock in the mirror and for one delusional second, I swear he’s asking me if I want to havehischildren.

We’re teens. What teen even thinks that far ahead?

That aside, I don’t even know this man, no,boy.

What the hell is wrong with me? Tell him to stop touching you. Tell him to get lost. Tell him to…

But then I freefall into those dark orbs again and all my thoughts scramble.

Breathe…

He repeats the question and his voice is so commanding, I’m compelled to answer.

“One day,” I repeat.

“Then take her words as a future compliment.”

His roving fingers span my pelvis and I grab his forearms as if to stop him from going any further, but my grip is weak. His muscles flex beneath my fingers, and all I can think about is how his bare skin must feel. Like silk over steel?

Butterflies erupt in my stomach, a tingle going straight through my core. My eyelids flutter, breaking our contact in the mirror, but his next words have me peering straight back into those black abysses.

“Safe. Protective. A precious cradle.” At the last word, he rocks us ever so slightly, his hardening front flushed against my back. “But their width serves other purposes, too.”

My mind’s suddenly foggy, my mouth dry as I murmur, “And what’s that?”

“Comfortably accommodating someone else’s hips.” His fingers curl around my upper thigh, dangerously close to my sex, as he presses against me for emphasis. “Right here.”

Instead of pushing him away, I find myself melting into him. Liquid heat pools between my jellied legs and I squeeze my thighs together, trapping his hand.

He smiles and I flush as I quickly free him, only for him to continue his exploration.

“And your breasts…”

I watch in the mirror as his hands slide up my ribs, his thumbs stroking the fabric beneath the creases of my breasts. He stares unashamedly down the front of my leotard, watching the swells rise and fall with each shallow breath I’m struggling to take.

“They match the softness of your frame.” He trails a finger up my throat, then down, stopping right above my leotard’s neckline. “A sign of supple health. Peaks to be sucked on, bit, and kissed. Pillows to lay against while listening to your heartbeat. But let me guess, Madame wants more sternum and less flesh?”

I swallow and nod as his stroking brings the heat pooling in my core to a boil.

“Well, that’s not happening, is it?” he asks, and his words are almost hypnotic as his fingers stop their motions to cling to my throat with a gentle squeeze. “You won’t ruin perfection for someone else’s beauty standards, will you?”

He’s asking me as if it’s a question, but the gentle pulses on my neck tell me that it’s not.

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