Dancer's Body

Chapter 24

"If you're even a hair as good as you were last night, it will be smashing," Professor Bernard told her from behind, her arms resting on Olivia's shoulders. From the wings, she could make out a sliver of the audience. Her mom, Nyla, Roman—wait, Roman?

Her palms begin to sweat as she watches Roman lean down to say something to her mom, who looks up at him like she's welcoming the sun to shine across her face. What's he telling her?

Olivia stalked away from the wing, wringing her hands. The latex suit didn't let her breath. She focused on steadying her breath. There's no way there would be time to re-do her stage makeup if it sweated off.

In the farthest reaches of the back stage, she sat on a crate and leaned her forearms on her thighs.

"Stage fright?"

She looked up, and Roman was before her.

"What are you saying to my mom?"

He laughed. "Nothing much," he said.

"It didn't look like that."

"Oh, are you the jealous one now?" he teased, sitting next to her.

"It's not funny," she said.

"Olivia, honestly. I take the seat next to the most important audience member of any lead. I always do. It's just niceties. Small talk. Though I did brag about you a bit."

"You did?" she asked, turning to face him.

"Of course! That's not so strange."

"What did ... what did you say?"

"Fishing for compliments, are we? Don't worry, it was all highly professional." He lowered his voice. "She doesn't need to know everything you excel at."

She elbowed him. "That's not funny."

"It wasn't meant to be. Snap out of it," he said. "You'll do masterfully."

"Okay, you're right."

"Break a leg," he said, standing up and holding his hand out to her.

As they walked down the dark passageway towards the blinding lights of the stage, he kept her hand—and squeezed it tightly.

Olivia embraced the hands of the dancers on either side of her for the final bow. Just barely, she can make out that the audience is standing. The roar of cheers and clapping is deafening.

It had been simultaneously easy and the most difficult ninety minutes of her life. The easy part was blocking out the crowd, letting the professional lighting be her audience. Eyes closed, or at times blindfolded, and it was simple to imagine her partner's hands were Roman's. That his body had such control over her.

Still, the demands on her body were intense—and there were times her imagination was too strong. During the sixth scene, seeing nothing but the faint outline of light at the edge of her blindfold, there was a moment she'd never forget.

Her partner used his body as a lounge for her, and she was draped with an intensive elegance across his legs. His hands barely skimmed over her, but she felt the electricity from the gentle brushing of his fingertips at her knees all the way up. He grazed her center, if that, and barely glanced over her breasts. Or maybe she imagined it all. But as he leaned towards her to fake a kiss, a gentle orgasm rocked through her body imagining dress rehearsal all over again.

Professor Bernard was beaming, gesturing at Olivia to step forward from the line. Bowing by herself, surrounded by the whistles and cat calls, she soaked it all in. This is what you're meant to do.