I open my mouth to tell him what I think about that declaration since I can’t sign to him with my back pressed to his chest, but when his hand slides inside my jeans, the words die on my lips.
“Wet already?” he asks, and I feel his finger entering me. “I like that. I like that very much, Bianca.”
He bites my shoulder and adds another finger, making me gasp.
“What do you think, how much time will it take me to make you come, hmm?” He makes a slow circling motion around my clit. “Five minutes?”
I close my eyes and nod my head.
“I doubt it, baby.” He whispers, then pinches my clit lightly. “You won’t last more than two minutes.”
I lean back onto his chest and open my legs slightly wider. The things this man can do with his hand . . . it’s madness.
“Eyes, Bianca.”
I open them and watch our reflections in the mirror above the sink—Mikhail’s hand between my legs and a wolfish smile on his face. He removes his finger and I want to scream, but then he thrusts it back all the way in and presses my clit with his thumb, and I shatter instantly.
“Barely a minute and a half, baby.” He kisses my shoulder. “We’ll try again later. See if we can make it in under a minute.”
Wicked, wicked man.
Epilogue
Six weeks later
“I have a surprise for you.” I sign and place my hands on Mikhail’s chest.
“Oh? What is it?”
I let my lips widen in a smug smile, take a hold of his tie, and take a step backward, pulling him toward me. Mikhail’s eyebrow lifts, but he follows me, taking one step forward for every two of mine as he allows me to lead him across the living room to the gym. Without letting go of his tie, I turn the knob and drag him inside, waiting for his reaction when he sees the setup I’ve prepared. He stops at the threshold to look at the blinds I pulled all the way down over the floor-to-ceiling windows. The only light in the room is from two lamps I moved from the living room and placed in opposing corners. His lips lift when he spots the chair I placed in the middle of the room, but he doesn’t comment. Curling my finger at him, I draw him into my makeshift theater, leading him until we reach the chair.
“Sit down,” I sign and push lightly at his chest.
Mikhail lowers himself to the chair and cocks his head to the side, pursing his lips as if trying to read my intentions.
“Close your eyes. And no peeking.”
“Alright.” He smiles and leans back in the chair.
I place a light kiss on his lips, then rush toward the corner, where I left my tulle skirt and ballet slippers hidden under a towel. It takes me less than two minutes to get out of my dress and put on the slippers, cropped top, and skirt. At first, I planned on wearing a leotard but that would get in the way later. After debating for a few seconds, I take off my panties and throw them over the discarded dress. With a glance over my shoulder at Mikhail, I smile in anticipation as I set the PA system to play at max volume. In the pause I included before my playlist begins, I assume an open fourth position with one arm outstretched in a soft arc.
The opening sounds of Chopin’s Nocturne No.9 fill the room, and Mikhail’s eye snaps open. I smile, blow him a kiss, and begin. I draw myself into a pirouette, slowly extend my leg in a suspended developpé, my opening sequence from Swan Lake, then continue into a series of different choreographies. Mikhail’s eye watches me without blinking, following my every move. I grew accustomed to having men looking at me, both on stage and off, but no one ever looked at me the way Mikhail does. Like I am something precious, and he is afraid that if he moves his eye from me, I might disappear. Such a silly man, my husband. No one will make me let go of him. Ever. I perform an arabesque and a few smaller steps until I am standing right in front of him, then do a fouetté and stop at the same moment when the Chopin piece ends.
There are a few seconds of silence, during which he just watches me with a small smile on his lips. He probably thinks this was all I’ve prepared, and when the sound of John Legend’s All Of Me fills the room, he quirks his eyebrow . I smile and step forward, coming to stand between his legs. The first verse passes with us staring at each other without even touching, but when the choir sings, I place my left palm over his right cheek and, without breaking the eye contact, remove his eyepatch with my free hand.
“All of me,” I whisper and place a kiss on his lips. “All of you . . . baby.”
He regards me as his hand comes to the back of my neck, threading my hair through his fingers and squeezing. I remove his tie and unbutton his shirt. Mikhail doesn’t say a word, only watches me while his grip on my hair keeps my head unmoving. As if he wants to keep my face in sight.