Page 44 of Dance Omega Dance

I nodded, not trusting my voice, trying to ignore the way his attention made me feel raw and unsteady. He explained what we’d be covering, focusing on techniques that anyone could use.“You ready to give it a try?” he asked, his voice both challenging and warm.

I nodded again, and he showed me the first move; how to break free from a wrist grab. “It’s all about leverage,” he said, demonstrating with easy precision. I watched him, my limbs stiff, mind racing with everything except the task at hand. He moved like a dancer... an athletic one, fluid and confident.

“Your turn,” he said, extending his arm toward me. I took a deep breath and hesitantly reached for his wrist. My movements were clumsy, awkward, like I was still learning to control my body.

“Don’t be nervous,” he teased, watching my every move. “I don’t bite.” He stepped closer, guiding me with his presence, his scent wrapping around me, grounding me. “Not unless you want me to.” He winked.

His fingers closed around my wrist, firm enough that my pulse stuttered. A spark shot from the point of contact, jolting straight up my arm and crashing into the center of my chest. My breath caught.

“Ready?” Zach’s voice was quiet, but it landed with weight, like a challenge and a promise rolled into one. His grip tightened, just slightly, grounding me in the now. I flinched, a reflex more instinct than thought, the old panic rising like bile.

I followed his instructions and pulled. A weak tug. Useless.

His hand didn’t move.

The floor might as well have opened beneath me, humiliation and memory crashing over me in an icy wave. I wanted to retreat, to disappear into the girl who used to freeze and fold. But Zach didn’t release me. He stood there, steady and unflinching, gaze locked on mine.

“Again,” he said. No judgment. Just calm, relentless belief.

I braced, heat prickling along my spine, then tried again and again.

Still nothing.

Sweat pooled at my lower back, frustration biting into my throat. My jaw clenched. I swallowed the scream, clawing to get out. Focus. Tune it all out, except him.

One breath. Another. I moved.

My wrist slipped free with a suddenness that made me stumble back a step, blinking like I’d broken something. For a heartbeat, I didn’t believe it had happened.

Then his smile cracked across his face, wide and proud. “That’s it.”

I stared, heart hammering, his touch still seared into my skin like a branding iron. My lips curved before I could stop them, answering his grin with a shaky one of my own.

A thin, electric layer of pride shimmered through me. He nodded once. “See? You can do it!”

I didn’t speak. Couldn’t. But I nodded back, my armor loosening just enough to let the light in.

Afterward, he walked me through the gym like it was his kingdom, pointing out each section with the casual authority of someone born to rule. “Punching bags are there.” He pointed. “And free weights over there.” His words were almost lost beneath the ongoing percussion of grunts and blows. I followed, my curiosity catching up with my fear. The place felt alive with movement, every corner holding the promise of a new challenge, a new test of my fragile resilience.

“Here’s a good spot,” Zach declared, stopping by an open mat. He showed me an arm lock, positioning himself behind me, his instructions a low hum in my ear. The world narrowed to the circle of his arms and the rhythm of our breathing. I focused on his words, on the shift of muscle and momentum. When it was my turn, I faltered at first, but I knew my body like an old friend and quickly found its rhythm.

“Not bad for a ballerina,” Zach quipped, his grin wide and easy.

“Better watch out,” I shot back, surprising even myself with the sass in my voice. “This ballerina might flip you.” We fell into a rhythm, dancing through the moves, until, eventually, I forgot to be afraid.

The heat of his breath brushed against my neck, and I bit my lip, refusing to give away the shiver it sent down my spine. My mind was a tangle, half consumed by the newness of his presence, half focused on the motions of the technique. I followed his guidance, my body beginning to absorb the language of holds and escapes.

“Leverage and body weight. That’s the trick,” he said, the words an intimate vibration against my skin. His arms encircled me, but the threat was absent, replaced by a trust I didn’t know I had.

The moment Zach let go, a flicker of something unexpected bloomed in the hollow of my chest... an ache, faint but sharp, like a tether had snapped too soon. I blinked hard, swallowing the feeling like a secret, and stepped back into position, fists clenched as if I could fight it off.

I ran the steps in my head, breathing shallow. My first attempt was a clumsy collision of elbows and hesitation, my body rebelling against the fluidity I imagined. My foot caught on nothing, and I stumbled.

“Almost had it,” Zach murmured, stepping in close again. His hands found my shoulders, nudging them into place with the kind of care that didn’t demand permission.

Instead of pulling away, I leaned, just a fraction, drawn to the steadiness of him, to the heat of his presence brushing along my skin. It was instinctive, that reach for balance. For him.

I closed my eyes and in the darkness behind my lids, I saw the movement... clean, sharp, and free. I exhaled and moved,letting instinct and memory guide me. My body turned, twisted, and slid out of an invisible grip with the grace of a dancer.

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