Amour Amour (26 page)

He shouts something and growls in irritation. He repeats a couple of the same words, over and over, and then he shuts off the phone and rises quickly, pulling out his wallet. My pulse throbs in worry. Our food hasn’t even arrived, the date ending early.

“What’d you say about Luka—being generous?” He shakes his head, tossing a few bills and then extending his hand for me. “He’s
generously
wearing on me.”

“He stole something,” I assume, as I rise and take his hand.

He leads me out of the restaurant, in such a hurry that I have trouble keeping up with his lengthy stride. “He’s sitting in jail,” he says, so lowly that I wonder if I heard wrong.

“What?” My eyes bug.

He hails down a cab. “He’s in jail.”

Okay, I heard right. My pulse kicks up—and I wonder what he could’ve stolen. Or if it was something worse. We slip into the taxi together, and Nikolai leans close and suddenly kisses me.

It’s a new kind of kiss.

Soft, gentle but more full. His hand is lost beneath my hair, clutching me, and I inhale with him, my arms on his. His lips brush my cheek, then my ear, to whisper, “In case I forget, know that I loved tonight, with you. No matter what happens from here.”

He’s about to turn on his protective setting, the one where he’s all severe. The warm sentiments buried low beneath.

I touch his rough jaw, my hand small. “What happens from here?” I ask softly, my words sounding more sexual than I ever believed they could.

He tucks my frizzy strands of hair behind my ear. “I’ll tell you a truth myshka,” he whispers, his lips closing over my cheek before touching mine. And very lowly, he breathes, “It’s all a mystery to me.”

* * *

I stand with Luka by the jail’s tinted glass, double doors. He hardly says a word, his gaze literally planted on the ugly brown carpet. We wait for Nikolai, who fills out paperwork at the front desk, out of earshot. Apparently Luka tried to shoplift a four-hundred dollar snow globe.

“Who sells snow globes in July?” I ask aloud.

Luka finally smiles, albeit a weak one. “It was a collector’s item or something.” He’s not even sure what he stole? He inspects my outfit for the first time: the teal dress, the glitzy necklace and my mascara and pink lipstick. His face contorts with remorse, especially as he looks to his brother. “You were on a date?”

“Sort of,” I say, trying not to make him feel worse.

He buries his face in his hands. “Shit…I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He’s really lucky that he only has to pay a fine this time. “Why the snow globe?”

“Huh?” he frowns in confusion.

This can’t be an odd question. Right? I mean, everyone would ask this. “Out of everything you could steal, why that?”

“Oh…” He sighs and shrugs, his shoulders tense. “It just seemed harder to steal than the deck of cards.”

I guess he takes things for the thrill and excitement, the adrenaline rush maybe. Which is strange, considering he’s surrounded by death-defying apparatuses. “A television would’ve been hard to pocket,” I ponder. “Way more useful than a snow globe.”

“Hey,” he says with a growing smile. “That snow globe is
four-hundred
dollars.”

“Totally overpriced.”

He laughs, for real, and Nikolai glances back with a withering glare like he should in-no-way be cracking jokes. This is probably true, but my strong suits aren’t giving punishments. If Tanner was ever in trouble growing up, I baked him cookies.

“You’re a porter for Russian bar, right?” I ask, remembering that he’s in Viva with his sister. I wonder if it’s not all that exciting for him.

“Yeah.” His smile fades. “I was supposed to be in Amour, you know. But they found out that Timo was turning eighteen around the show’s premiere, so they switched us.” He stays quiet for a second.

“Why would they do that?”

“Have you seen Timo?” He raises his brows at me, stuffing his hands in his jeans. “He’s so good at what he does. And he picks up new disciplines in half the time as everyone else.” He shrugs again. “Look, I’m not jealous or anything. He deserves that act in Amour. I’m just, honestly, bored.”

“Do you like any of the other apparatuses?”

He shakes his head. “It takes so fucking long to learn a new one. It sucks.”

I mentally scroll through all the disciplines while we wait. “I wish they brought back the Wheel of Death.” I’ve seen YouTube clips, and it looked like the most terrifying metal structure that only crazies would jump on. But I heard they retired the act from Infini.

“Timo used to do that.”

“Really?” My eyes widen.

“He said it was easy.”

Damn. “He must be really good.”

“No kidding.”

I sigh. “Well, whatever you end up doing, it has to have a hell of a lot better view than this.”

He scans the holding room, where a few guys sit in plastic chairs, handcuffed and waiting to be booked. It also smells like stale cheese in here.

Luka’s gaze lands on Nikolai, and that regret floods his features again. “Don’t break up with him because of me, okay?”

The panic in his tone actually freezes my muscles. I swallow a rock. “I won’t,” I assure him.

He nods a couple times, trying to believe me.

Act Twenty-Four

I have extra practice tonight, so I can’t go :( BUT I’VE SENT THE BEST REPLACEMENT!!!!
– Katya

I click into the text as soon as I arrive at our meeting spot in The Masquerade, beside the enormous fountain of Dionysus: god of wine, and loosely, carnivals. I planned to head over to Coco Roma to buy lingerie. Roger keeps pointing out my “excessively over-worn” costume, and spit flew when he yelled this time.

Since the wires have poked out of all three corsets I own (and tried to impale my boobs), I knew it was time anyway. I just haven’t mentally prepared for a new shopping companion.

Please not Dimitri
, I keep chanting the phrase, hopping up and down some as I wait. I’d rather spend an hour with Dionysus, the
fountain
, than share Dimitri’s company. I try to extinguish the nervous jitters, but they flap around incessantly.

“You ready?” That voice emanates from behind me. I spin on my heels, already recognizing the deep tone.

Nikolai has on nice slacks and a gray V-neck that matches his eyes. The nervous flapping never dies.

He’s going lingerie shopping
with me
.

Nikolai.

I’ve been on a few dates with him by now. Slow. We’ve been going very slow at my request. And the gym has been a pool of tension, both of us probably needing a release. This seems like a bad idea.

You’re going lingerie shopping with Nikolai Kotova.

“No,” I accidentally say.

His brows rise, knowingly. “You’ll be fine.”

I’m so not ready for this.

* * *

I sift through the corsets on a circular rack of mostly burlesque items: feather boas, umbrellas and
tons
of lingerie. But I’m so distracted. Nikolai towers behind me and massages my constricted shoulders. Honestly, he can’t be real. Although, he did point out my nervousness, so his kindness also came with unleashing my anxieties.

I have no idea why I’m internally running in circles and shrieking in alarm. Maybe because Phantom is a temporary part of my life that I’d like to close off from him.

And because it reminds me of the never-ending night. The one where he untied my corset and my drunken-self slept in his bed. “I don’t even know what I’m looking for,” I say softly.

“What’d he say you needed?”

“Something sexier, I guess.” Now he’s thinking about me, wearing close to nothing for an audience. I’m thinking about it too.
Everyone
is thinking about it.

I am a frozen waterfall. With no hope to unthaw.

He easily reaches over me and pulls out two hangers, my heart thumping too hard. “Try these.”

Try these.
What are these…oh. Wow. The first is a white one-piece, that laces in the front, no wires, stretchy enough to move in. It’s not overtly sexual, but the low cut will be more than enough. The second is a rouge lace panty-set, also no wires. It’s pretty, actually.

I slowly turn around to face him, clutching the lingerie pieces to my chest. Should I try them on
for
him? Or invite him in the dressing room? Or just…I lose my thought as his gaze strokes me in one wave.

“When you’re at Phantom,” he says, “you need to be careful.”

“I’m always safe on the hoop—”

“I’m not talking about the hoop. I don’t trust some of the people there, and I honestly hate that you work when I work.” His whole body is a rigid, stiff fortress. If I was tall enough, I would even contemplate giving
him
the massage, but in my Toms, my head reaches his shoulders.

Little mouse.

Yeah, it fits alright.

“I’ll be fine,” I tell him.

His intensity barrels through me. I love it more than he knows and more than I ever realized, his concern only flushing me more. 

I add, “Don’t worry about me.” My sweltering body disagrees.

He gives me a look like that’s just not possible. “I’ve worried about you since you first showed up in Vegas and could barely drink a shot.” At The Red Death, when he said the city would swallow me whole.

“Really?”
That long?
He’s naturally protective, but still, I smile.

He lifts my chin. “I don’t lie.”

“That’s good to know.” My face tightens, realizing that response sounded flat on my account. “So…”

He kisses me, and I almost drop the hangers in a daze. If his eyes are hell, his tongue is heaven, and I would gladly return. I walk backwards with him, my lips stinging and my body aching. His hand falls to my hip, and it crosses my mind—he’s guiding me.

Leading me.

Somewhere.

My legs move of their own will, my brain no longer attached. I hold onto his waist, succumbing to wherever he’s taking me. The backs of my knees hit a bench. And he breaks apart to shut the dressing room door behind him. It’s tiny with a mirror, a wooden bench against the wall and a hook.

“Did anyone…see us?” I pant.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says lowly, his eyes devouring me. He steals the lingerie and hangs it on the hook. I look up. He stares down. A foot of space separating us.

I remain stationary, allowing him to dictate what happens next. The mystery pumps blood through my veins.

Nikolai fingers the hem of my green tank top, and he lifts it over my head, my dirty-blonde hair draping over my bare shoulders, only in jean shorts and a simple blue bra.

My breasts rise and fall with my heavy breath, especially the longer he studies my motions. I remember back to the first night at The Red Death, when he could tell so much about me from so little.

He kisses me again, my lips swollen with the pressure, and his hand slips to my shorts. He skillfully unbuttons them, lowers them, and I step out of the fabric. Now in a bra and white cotton panties. Had I known he would be coming here with me, I wonder if I would’ve chosen a less innocent color.

When he studies me again, I’m careful about appearing relaxed, my arms at my sides, not covering my chest. I want him to touch the barest parts of me—and my nerves shall not stop him. I won’t let them.

“Breathe,” he instructs as he steps near again, his hands on my hips. His tough skin along my soft.

I blow out my usual trained breath. His eyes only say
I want you closer to me.
In one swift motion, he lifts me up to his abs, my legs split apart around him. I’m too short to even cross my ankles.  He kneels on the wooden bench and pushes my back up against the wall.

This is…happening.

I’m uncertain what
this
is but I’m not opposed to finding out.

He gauges my reaction. “Breathe, myshka.”

“I am,” I whisper. Am I?

He kisses me, and he forces oxygen into my lungs, one of the most intimate moments of my life. Right now. Then his fingers brush along the clasp of my bra. When he breaks the kiss, I pant, “I can’t…believe you’ve already seen them.” I pause. “I mean, my boobs.” I would face-palm myself if I wasn’t clutching his arms.

His lips curve, so close to mine. “You’ve already seen my cock.” He kisses me again, a slow, unhurried one.

In between, I whisper, “That is true.”

He unclasps my bra, the straps sliding down my arms until its all the way off. The cold air bites me and almost instantly hardens my nipples. I can see myself in the adjacent mirror, of how heavy I breathe, of how small I am in his arms. More than half-naked.

It’s one of the most visually stimulating things I’ve ever laid eyes on—and it involves
me.
The unsexy friend. The girl who doesn’t know passion.

He follows my gaze, and the desire in his movements amplifies. Times a million. He lifts me higher on his body, my breasts lined with his mouth. He tongue flicks over the barbell piercing, sensations bursting in lower places.

“Nik…” I gasp, and as my clutch tightens, so does his. Each finger scalding against my skin.
You’re in public, Thora.
Dear God.

I rest my forehead on his broad, muscular shoulder, biting my gums to keep these pleasured noises at bay. The spot between my legs
throbs
now. He drops me some, my forehead now to his chest. He places a hand on the back of my neck and the other rubs the inside of my thigh, teasing.

I rock into him, subconsciously craving a hardness that he can give me.

His teasing hand shifts my panties, and the moment he rubs my clit, my body shudders. His hand tightens on my neck, holding me in place, warming me, protecting me. My lips part, a noise stuck in my throat, as the sensitivity escalates.

I need something hard—

His finger slips inside of me while his thumb creates circular, rhythmic motions over my clit. I shut my eyes, blinded by a new fullness. A sheen of sweat builds across my skin.

He presses his body harder, pinning me more to the wall. I reach down to feel his hand between my legs, and he kisses me again, my head floating away.