Climb (Club Kitten Dancers Book 3) Page 2

  Elliott doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t ask permission. He doesn’t play the gentleman. He picks me up in his arms and holds me.

  “Yeah,” he whispers. “I’ll take you home.”

  Then Elliott looks at me. He really, absolutely, completely looks at me. I thought he wasn’t looking at me before, but maybe that’s a good thing. Now I’m wondering why I ever thought his eyes held anything but lust, but passion. Now I’m wondering why I ever doubted the two of us had some sort of chemistry between us. Now I’m wondering why I ever thought we weren’t perfect for each other.

  Totally, completely perfect.

  He holds me as he locks the front door to the studio, then he carries me to the hallway that leads to the back. He shuts off the front lights, closes the door to the hallway, and locks it.

  “You still live upstairs, Sassy?”

  “Yeah. I like to be close to work.”

  “Don’t I know it.”

  He carries me down the hallway, past my office, past the locker room, past the two dance rooms. He carries me past everything until he reaches the stairs.

  “You want me to keep carrying you?” He asks. It’s a spiral staircase. There’s not a lot of room for carrying.

  “I can walk,” I whisper, and he sets me down. I reach over and flick off the hallway lights. We’re cast into almost complete darkness, aside from the soft glow of light coming from upstairs.

  “You be careful going up these stairs.”

  “You, too.”

  I turn and begin to walk up the stairs. I try not to shake my hips. I try not to worry about how my ass looks or whether I’m moving seductively enough, quickly enough. Elliott has walked behind me many times, but somehow, this is different.

  I think we both know it.

  I hear him climbing the stairs behind me. The climb has never felt so long or so awkward or so tense, but then we reach the second floor of the building and my wide, open space greets us.

  He steps off the top step and smiles. I left the table lamp on, but the other lights are off.

  “How can you tell?” I ask. I walk to the wall and flip the switch. Soon the rest of the lights come on. Elliott just nods.

  “I had a feeling. Even before the lights came on, I just knew. Same old Sassy.”

  “I might be different now.”

  “Oh, you’re different all right. We both are. Not in the ways that matter, though,” he says.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well,” he says. “I’m a little bit scarred. You’re a little bit tougher. Ain’t that right, Sassy McMittens? Isn’t that what you make your students call you?”

  I nod. It’s a silly, silly nickname, but everyone likes it, including me.

  “Yeah,” I tell him. “They all call me Professor McMittens.”

  “Well, I know your real name, Sassy McMiller. I know your real name, Serenity.”

  “It’s Sassy now.”

  “You’ll always be Serenity to me,” he says.

  Something in the air changes. I can’t quite put my finger on it. Something about the way he says I’ll always be Serenity sounds less like an observation and more like a promise.

  Elliott is in the middle of the room and I’m by the wall, but he closes the space between us quickly and he wraps me up in a hug.

  “I missed you, Serenity.”

  “I missed you, too, airman.”

  He holds me for a long time and for just a moment, I allow myself to forget about the day. I allow myself to forget about the time we were apart, about the way our reunion didn’t go as planned, about the guy who harassed me and my girls.

  For just a moment, I allow myself to feel safe.

  For just a moment, everything else floats away.

  Then Elliott kisses me on the forehead and pulls back.

  “I know I was early,” he says. “Why don’t you go take your shower, sweetie? I know you like to take one after work. I’ll make us some drinks.”

  “Drinks? Like tea?”

  “If you like.”

  “Maybe…maybe something stronger?” I suggest.

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “There’s whiskey on top of the fridge,” I say, then I quickly hurry out of the living room and into the bathroom, closing the door behind me.

  Something tells me the night is going to go a lot differently than I expected it to.

  Something tells me everything is about to get real.

  Chapter 4

  Elliott

  Whiskey.

  Fucking whiskey.

  That’s what she wants?

  Good dragons, this woman is going to be the death of me. I got in this morning and went back to my apartment. I showered, changed, and took a nap before coming to Sassy’s. It’s a good thing, too, because I don’t know if I’m level-headed enough to figure out how to get my sneakers off: much less a pair of boots.

  Somehow, I manage to get out of my shoes and I pull my jacket off. I throw it over the back of the couch before heading into the kitchen to find this whiskey. As promised, it’s on top of the fridge, and I take a long swig before pouring it into two glasses.

  I hear the shower turn on, and I allow myself to relax a little. Just a little. Sassy looked tense and stressed from the moment I laid eyes on her, and it’s no wonder: her day was shit.

  All she wants to do is teach her classes and empower women, but that didn’t get to happen today.

  Nope.

  Today she didn’t get to focus on helping her students, on working to improve their self-esteem, on creating a comfortable learning environment. Today she had to focus on keeping Bailey and Paige safe. Today she had to work on keeping herself safe.

  Today she had to worry.

  Does she often deal with problems like this? I can’t imagine she does because Sassy has never mentioned it before. I like to think we tell each other almost everything. Maybe that’s just me being naïve, but I like knowing we’re close. I like knowing the two of us are a team. I like knowing there’s nothing she can tell me that will shock, scare, or freak me out.

  I like knowing there’s trust between us.

  I take another sip of the whiskey and head back to the couch. I bring her glass, too, and set it on the table. Then I sit down and lean back on the sofa while I wait for her to finish her shower.

  Sassy’s place is sweet and comfortable: like her. It suits her. When she bought the building, she knew she wanted to create a dance studio, but she also wanted to live nearby. I actually worked with her and several of our friends to remodel the place from the inside out and I have to say that it looks great. Sassy spent weeks picking out the perfect furniture and décor for her home, and it truly suits her.

  The couch is black and so is the coffee table. They contrast with the blonde laminate flooring and give the room an edgy look. Sassy doesn’t have a television, so the wall behind the coffee table has three black-and-white photos of Sassy dancing with her friends. There’s one of her hanging off the pole by her ankles, one of her and Bailey posed with their backs to the pole, and one of the first class she ever taught to do inversions.

  Yeah, she’s proud of her place, and I am, too.

  Sassy has worked hard to get where she is.

  It’s part of why I love her.

  Fuck.

  Love.

  I do love her.

  I have to tell her tonight, but suddenly, I’m starting to feel nervous. The shower shuts off and she walks out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel.

  “Oh,” she says, spotting me. I think she was trying to sneak quietly into her bedroom without being noticed. Fat chance of that. I always notice.

  “Oh,” I echo her word.

  “I just forgot to bring clothes with me,” she says. “You know, force of habit and all.”

  “I think you look great,” I tell her.

  “Thanks,” Sassy says, and then something happens I don’t think I’ve ever seen before. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was blushing.
Her cheeks turn a bright pink and she smiles almost shyly.

  Sassy?

  My Sassy?

  She’s always gone after what she wants. She’s always been bold and determined and blunt as all hell, so for her to blush?

  That’s something I’ve never seen, something I didn’t even know was possible.

  “I’ll be right back,” she says, and vanishes into her room. A few minutes later she emerges wearing black booty shorts and a thin tank top with no bra. I can tell because her nipples are hard and poking the fabric, giving me a lovely view.

  “You look nice,” I say.

  “Funny,” Sassy sits next to me on the couch and reaches for the whiskey. “Mmm,” she groans as she takes a sip. I must be a complete pervert because I’m almost immediately hard thinking about her making that sound while she’s beneath me.

  I’m hard thinking about her groaning, thinking about her writhing.

  Oh, I could make her fucking writhe.

  Sassy has been my only sexual fantasy for months, maybe even years. She’s the one I think about when I’ve had too much to drink and I’m jerking off alone, at home, in my room. I don’t need the porn or the erotica. I don’t need the dirty movies or books. I just need a vision of her. That’s all it takes.

  When I stroke my cock, I’m picturing her little hands wrapped around my dick. I’m thinking of her biting my neck while she jerks me off, while she rubs my cock like it’s the only thing that matters. I think of her stroking me like it’s the most important job in the world, like she won’t be able to rest until she makes me come.

  But my fantasy has more to it than that.

  I think about what comes next, what comes after me blowing my load in her hands. I think about her lifting her messy fingers to her mouth and then licking them until they’re clean. Then, in my imagination, in my dreams, Sassy straddles my lap and she kisses me.

  She kisses me until everything else fades to grey.

  She kisses me until the world goes dark.

  She kisses me until there’s nothing left in the universe but me and her and the moment we’re sharing.

  She kisses me until that’s it.

  Then I take her to the bedroom, and I spread her out on the bed like a fucking feast. I lay her on the comforter and I kneel between her legs.

  In my dreams, I take my time with Sassy because she’s a succulent dish to be savored. She’s not something you can rush through. She’s not something you can hurry.

  A lot of people make the mistake of thinking sex has to be rushed or hurried. It doesn’t. It shouldn’t be. Sex is something that should be enjoyed slowly and sweetly. No, there’s nothing wrong with going hard and fast and good, but sometimes it’s the slow moments that matter the most.

  Sometimes it’s the slow moments that make the best memories.

  I want to kiss Sassy.

  I want to kiss her mouth before I move down her neck and bite her gently. I want to run my hands up and down her sides as I kiss her. I want to give her goose bumps. I want to make her squirm, make her fidget. I want to make her fucking mine.

  Then I’ll kiss her skin, slowly making it come alive, until I reach her breasts. Then she’s all mine. I’ve been thinking about Sassy’s breasts for years. I haven’t forgotten the time we went skinny dipping as teenagers or my first glimpse of her perfect little nipples. I haven’t forgotten the way I hid in the water and she thought I was scared or shy, but I was just worried she’d see my reaction to her. I was worried she’d know how much I liked what I saw. I was worried she’d think I was a pervert.

  Still, although I got a lovely view of her tits, I never got to taste them.

  In my dreams, I always taste them.

  She’s like ripe strawberries and sweet icing on top of a perfect cupcake. When I’m thinking about Sassy, I always lick her nipples. I always circle them with my tongue. I always suck on them until she’s squirming, thrusting up at me. I always bite and nip at her breasts until she’s begging me to finger her, begging me to slide my hand between her legs and just make her fucking come.

  Just make her come undone.

  Just make her explode.

  And now I’m here, sitting on her couch, sipping whiskey like there’s nothing wrong. I’m sitting here, pretending that this is a perfectly normal conversation, pretending that I’m quite all right just being friends with the girl of my dreams, pretending that I’m all right being buddies with the most perfect woman in the world.

  No.

  No more of that.

  No more friend zone.

  No more.

  Tonight is the night that everything changes.

  Tonight is the night I show Sassy what she really means to me.

  Tonight is the night I win her heart.

  Chapter 5

  Sassy

  Elliott is different.

  There’s something about him that’s not quite the same. I can’t put my finger on it because to me, he’s still the badass I’ve been in love with since I was a teenager.

  Oh, it was childish dreams, I know.

  We both dated other people and lived our lives. We both went our separate ways, then found ourselves back in the same city. We never lost touch, never broke our friendship, never gave up on each other.

  Through bad relationships and terrible breakups, hopeful dates and failed app hook-ups, Elliott and I have always been there for each other.

  Can we really be more?

  It’s time to stop being a wimp.

  I know that.

  I get it.

  I’ve been a huge pussy about telling him what I want, what I feel, what I think. I’ve been scared and timid and shy and that’s never been my MO. I’ve always been bold and blunt and terribly honest with people. It’s something some people love and some people hate, but it’s who I am. It’s how I operate.

  Now I’m sitting just inches from Elliott on my couch and we’re sipping whiskey.

  Whiskey.

  We’re sipping whiskey and all I’m thinking about is how he’s only a couple of inches away and I could reach out and grab his leg. He’s only a couple of inches away and I could slide my hand up. He’s only a couple of inches away and if I kissed him, he couldn’t run away.

  But that’s wrong, right?

  It’s weird.

  It’s aggressive and a little bit slutty and oh, the whiskey must be kicking in because suddenly, my hand is on his leg.

  “Serenity?” His voice sounds deeper, huskier.

  “Yeah?” I don’t look at Elliott, but I don’t move my hand, either.

  “How you doin’ over there?”

  “Good.”

  “You like the whiskey?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You like something else, too?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Serenity?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Look at me.”

  I’m not used to people using my real name. It’s not often that I give it out. I’ve gone by “Sassy” since college and at this point, only a handful of people know that’s not my legal name.

  Somehow, when Elliott says my name, I forget everything but him.

  I forget everything but the fact that he’s here with me.

  I forget everything but the way my name sounds on his lips.

  I forget everything but the way I want to taste him.

  Forcing myself to look up at Elliott, I’m once again caught off-guard by how big he is. He really is giant. He’s tall and muscular and wide and safe.

  He’s safe.

  I don’t feel scared or worried with him. I’ve never been afraid he was going to hurt me or break me or damage me. That’s just not his style. It never has been. No, my concern with Elliott has always been something else.

  My heart.

  He could crush it.

  I’ve only been on the couch with him for a few minutes and already, my self-control is fading. Half of me wants to scream out that I love him and half of me wants to run off into my room an
d hide. I can masturbate alone one more night. That’s all right. No harm, no foul, right?

  “What?” I ask. His eyes are gentle.

  “I want to tell you something.”

  He carefully removes my hand from his leg and holds it in his own. Oh, shit. This is it, then. This is the part where he tells me we’re only going to be friends. This is the part where he tells me I’m out of line, where he says he doesn’t want me.

  This is the part where he doesn’t want me.

  I force myself to stay calm. I force myself to breathe and stay calm and to relax. Just relax, I tell myself. Relax.

  Elliott doesn’t say anything right away and my determination to stay chill vanishes completely.

  “What?” I repeat.

  “I love you.”

  “What?” I screech, dropping his hand.

  Fuck, I heard him wrong.

  What the fuck did he just say, because I heard “I love you” and I know that’s not what he said.

  “What did you just say?” I ask again. I hear the desperation in my own voice. I hear it, and I sort of hate it, but I don’t know what to do.

  I jump up and stand, looking at him, suddenly aware of how little I’m wearing, suddenly aware of the fact that Elliott, my fucking childhood dream, is sitting on my couch and I think he just said he loves me.

  “You heard me,” he says, and I wonder how he can be so calm right now. If anything, Elliott looks the most relaxed I’ve seen him all day, and I can’t help but wonder if I’m going a little crazy.

  I pinch myself.

  “What are you doing?” He asks.

  “This can’t be real.”

  I pinch myself again.

  “Stop that.”

  “Are you real?”

  “Sassy,” he says, and Elliott stands up, too. He walks around the coffee table and I back up as he approaches me.

  My feet move on their own until I’m backing up and up and up and then my ankles hit the kitchen island. I’m in the kitchen. I’m away from Elliott.

  Only I’m not.

  I’m not away because he’s fucking following me.

  “Stop,” I say again.

  “No.”

  “Why did you say that?”

  “Because I meant it, sweetie.”