Rebound: Chapter 23

I glance at the map on my phone, suddenly nervous. “Yeah. I bought you a pony, and we’re going to keep him in a stable in New Jersey and visit on weekends.”

“Yay! Just what I always wanted.”

Does she mean that? Like most girls with her background, she had riding lessons when she was a kid, and she loves animals. I’ve never known her to express a real interest in horses though. But fuck it—if she wants a pony, I’ll get her a goddamn pony. There’s just no way I can arrange that in the next five minutes.

By the time we reach our destination, I’m half worried she will be disappointed. I pause near the building we’re headed for and hold both her hands in mine. “Look, it’s not a pony.”

She tips her head back and laughs. “I didn’t think it was.”

I nod, trying to keep the relief from my expression. “Right. Well, I’m going to blindfold you now.”

“It’s going to be that kind of night, is it?” Her lips curve seductively. “I’m game if you are.”

Fuck. My dick is hard again. I’m going to develop some kind of medical condition if this keeps happening. “Maybe later.” I pull a blindfold from my coat pocket. “For now, it’s so the surprise isn’t ruined.”

She lets me tie the fabric around her eyes, and I inhale her shampoo as I lift her hair from her shoulders. Even that smells different, subtle with a hint of coconut. I lead her inside the building, telling her when there are steps and guiding her along the corridor. The room is shadowed when I open the door, and I remove the blindfold.

She keeps a tight hold of my hand and blinks a little as I flick a switch. The overhead lights buzz into action, and her eyes go wide when she sees where we are. Her hand goes over her mouth, and she spins around, taking it all in. I’m not interested in the room—I only have eyes for her. I want her to be happy, to see delight on her face. I want her to have everything she needs in life and more. This might not be a pony, but she looks pretty fucking thrilled with it anyway.

“Oh my god, Elijah! This is gorgeous.” She immediately slips off her high heels and coat and runs around the room, seeming to float across the blond wood floor. Stopping suddenly, she points at me. “You didn’t buy this, did you? Because I really don’t need my own dance studio.”

“No,” I assure her. “I just booked it for tonight. Thought you could get some practice in.”

She races back to me and throws her arms around my shoulders. “Thank you. I love it.”

I lift her up and give her a twirl, overjoyed at how excited she is.

As soon as I put her down, she gallops away. She spins and swirls and jumps, laughing like a little girl on Christmas morning. My heart cracks wide open, and I wish I could hit pause on this one perfect moment. There is nothing more miraculous than watching my beautiful wife act like the carefree young woman she was when I first met her. Before life dragged us both down like wounded animals.

She skips over to the barre, runs her hands along the polished wood, and immediately takes up a ballet position. Her toes point outward, and she drops down low, one arm gracefully stretching out beside her. She continues through a range of moves, and I’m content to look on as she flows and flexes from one position to the next. I pull up a classical music playlist on my phone, and she nods at me in thanks before putting her hands up high and performing a pirouette. She pauses and pulls the soft blue sweater over her head, revealing a strappy white tank underneath.

“I haven’t been in a place like this for years.” She does a little run and then leaps into the air, legs splayed and toes pointed. “It’s amazing how my body remembers all this stuff. I’ve done dance exercise classes and kept up with Pilates, but nothing beats this. Even if I look like a baby elephant, it feels wonderful.”

She looks absolutely fucking incredible—long, lean, and luscious as she dances around the room, reflected versions of her following every move like backup dancers. Her hair flies around her face in a golden tornado as she builds up speed in a spin, and she laughs as she rotates faster and faster. She does a spirited circuit of the whole room, takes another leap, then slides down onto the floor, landing in a split. Jesus. That should be illegal.

When I applaud, she looks up, face flushed, blond strands sticking to the sheen of sweat on her forehead. She climbs to her feet and gives me a little bow. The long silver necklace dips and touches the floor. Ballet is an art form, but looking at her like that, bent pretty much in half, her ass reflected in the mirror … Well, let’s just say that my mind doesn’t turn to culture.

“Come on, your turn.” She comes over and grabs my hands, then pulls me to my feet and drags me toward the barre.

“Uh, no way,” I say firmly, shaking my head. “Ballet’s not for me.”

“Oh. Too much of a chicken, are you?” She flaps her arms at her sides and makes squawking noises. “I suppose ballet is only for the strongest of men.”

“Stop goading me. I grew up with four brothers. I’m ungoadable.”

“Okay, but are you unconvincible? Because I’d really love it if you gave it a go. I’m doing all these new things for the first time. You should try one too. Or don’t you think you can lift me?”

I know exactly what she’s doing. She’s getting her own way, something she’s very good at. Her big eyes maintain their innocence, and her chest heaves a little as she recovers from her exertions. The white cotton top clings to her breasts, her erect nipples clearly visible through the flimsy fabric. She isn’t wearing a bra, for fuck’s sake. That should also be illegal. She sees me staring and gives me a flirtatious smile. “What can I say? Ballet makes me horny.”

“Okay. I’ll give it a go.” There’s a rasp to my voice that has nothing to do with wanting to dance.

“Fabulous. Warm up a little first, though. I don’t want you to pull a muscle. Try to copy what I do, but don’t worry if you can’t. Do your best, and if anything hurts, stop.”

She runs through a few basic dips and stretches, nothing I wouldn’t do at the gym or during a sparring session, then leads me to the barre. I try to mirror her movements with limited success. There’s no way I can get my leg as high or as straight as her, and she knows it. I swear, she is on the verge of laughter all the way through.

“You know,” I say as she effortlessly swoops her hands down to the floor and I only make it part of the way there, “this isn’t fair. I should get you in the boxing ring and see how you cope with that.”

She slowly rolls upright again, her arms reaching high, and I do the same. My back tweaks and spasms, but I ignore it. “I’d love that,” she says enthusiastically. “Name the date and I’ll be there. Okay, are you ready for a lift?”

“Are you? I could drop you on your head. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.”

“Yeah you do. I’ve danced with you before. You’ve got moves. Besides, you’re a big, strong guy, and I trust you. You won’t drop me.”

She’s still limbering up, and her top keeps riding high, flashing her smooth abdomen and the bottom of her rib cage. I want to lay my hands on her right now. I want to run my fingers along every inch of exposed skin and kiss those perky nipples and grab her perfect round ass in both my palms. But first, it seems, I must dance. She picks up my phone and changes the music.

“Really?” I groan, protesting her song selection as I unbutton my shirt and roll my shoulders in preparation. Her eyes graze appreciatively over my bare torso, which makes me feel a damn sight better about the whole thing.

“Really,” she replies.

“Okay, fine. But which one of us is Patrick Swayze?”

She places both hands on my shoulders, and as she leans in and kisses my chest, she slides my shirt all the way off. I can see us in the mirror, and fuck, it’s so hot watching her touch me. Her hands run up my arms and trace the outline of my pecs. “You,” she says huskily. “You are most definitely Patrick.”

“So.” She pulls away, eyes blazing. “We won’t do the run. Maybe next time. You hold the sides of my hips, like this.” She guides me as she speaks, checks the positioning, and then places her hands on my shoulders. Her touch is soft and warm, her expression full of trust. “Now, the key to this lift is for you to get down low—let your legs give you extra power. Then as I jump into you, on the count of three, you simply … make me fly. Once I’m up, lock your elbows, and I’ll do the rest. Come on. We can do this.”

Fuck. I really don’t want to, but I guess this is what happens when you rent a dance studio for your soon-to-be ex-wife. A soon-to-be ex-wife who is currently going through a “doing it for the first time” stage of her life. The blatant joy she’s exhibited since we got here is a painful reminder of all the dreams she had back when we were in college. The dreams she gave up to become the perfect corporate wife I needed. She was going to change the world, that beautiful wide-eyed Amber who was so full of hope and promise. I failed her in so many ways. She lost herself, and I failed to notice.

The music builds up to its familiar crescendo, and I give her a nod. “Yeah. Of course we can.”

She grins and counts. As she hits three, she seems to levitate from the ground, upward and forward, saying, “Now now now!”

I power up through my bent knees and lift her. She zooms up into the air, and her arms and legs straighten out. Her core strength is astonishing, and she actually giggles while holding herself rock steady, defying gravity. An angel in flight. I manage to move around on the spot for a full turn, and she maintains her balance, laughing the whole time. I smile up at her although I’m feeling the strain. My wife is slender, but she is also tall, and she does not weigh nothing. My arms start to protest, but a stubborn part of me refuses to show any weakness.

Eventually, it’s her who wobbles. “I’m coming down,” she says, sliding down my body. She props her hands on my shoulders, and I wrap my arms around her ass and hold her pressed against me. Her breasts are right there in front of my face, her breath making them rise and fall temptingly. Fuck it, I’m only flesh and blood. I suck one nipple into my mouth and can feel every rigid line of it through her top. She groans and buries her hands in my hair, pulling me closer. I suckle hard, moving from one nipple to another, loving the sounds she’s making. After a few moments of torture, I slowly lower her onto unsteady feet, and she holds onto me, her eyes full of need as I peel her tank off and let it fall to the floor.

When I glance down, I can’t help my smug smile. Her pale gray leggings highlight a dark spot between her legs, her pussy already so wet it’s seeping through. She blushes slightly. “Don’t be embarrassed. Just let me take care of you.”

I grab her big fur coat and lay it on the wood floor before I lift her into my arms and gently place her down on top of it. Her hands don’t leave my body. They explore my muscles, stroke my chest hair, toy with my nipples. I nestle above her, push her damp hair away from her face, then pause to simply look at her, to glory in her disheveled beauty, her perfect tits, the light sheen of sweat on her body. I really am having the time of my life.

I drop soft kisses on her eyelids, her cheekbones, her exquisite neck. I kiss my way down her breasts, her belly, and she writhes beneath me. “Elijah,” she murmurs, her husky voice going right to my balls.

“I’m here, baby. Exactly where I should be.”

I hook my fingers in the waistband of her pants, and she lifts her ass to make it easier for me. Her panties come off at the same time, and she lies before me naked apart from that tantalizing necklace of hers, dangled onto her faux-fur coat. Jesus fuck. I’ve never seen anything so sexy in my entire life. I run my hands along her legs, sliding in the moisture at the top of her thighs. Pushing them apart, I stare down at her pussy. Pink, perfect, pearled with creamy fluid. Growling, I slip one finger inside her. Her pussy walls contract, and I can tell it won’t take much to push her over the edge.

“Fuck, Amber. Ballet really does make you horny. I’ve got to taste you.”

She squirms and sighs as I lean my face down between her legs. The smell of her is mind-blowing, all that desire, all that need. All for me. I lap at her slit, slow and smooth, eating her up as I trail my tongue along her seam, opening her up and exploring. Then I flick the swollen bud of her clit and suck it into my mouth, gently pulsing it until her moans deepen. Her hips grind into my face, and I hold her down while I lick her into a frenzy. “Come for me, Amber.”

She screams my name, and her back bows as ecstasy shoots through her. I keep my face exactly where it is, arousal rushing from her and onto my lips, my beard, my nose. Her body quakes while I sweep my tongue all over her pussy, cleaning her up and savoring every last drop. With trembling thighs bracketing my head, I nuzzle her damp curls and smile. “Fuck. Can I stay here forever?”

She props herself up on her elbows and laughs, a big, dopey smile on her face. “Well, you could, honey, but I’m not sure it’d help swing that South Korean deal in your favor.”

I wipe my face clean and crawl up to join her. She waits until I’m lying flat on my back and then straddles me. My cock is fucking delighted when she rubs herself against me, and she sighs and squirms some more. “Oh, honey, we really need to do something about this swelling.”

“Yeah, we do, don’t we? How about you go and stand by that barre for me?”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “You want to fuck me while we watch in the mirror?”

“I’ve wanted to do that since the moment we walked in here. That is what the mirrors are for, right?”

“They are tonight,” she replies, getting to her feet. Her legs are still a little wobbly from her orgasm, but she soon steadies, and I look on as she saunters, completely naked, to the wooden barre. She holds onto it with her palms and bends over, presenting her ass to me. She glances over her shoulder. “What are you waiting for, sir?”

Fuck. For a second, I was so mesmerized by the sight of her that I lost the ability to move. I jump to my feet, get rid of my shoes and pants, and stand behind her. I’m desperate to get inside that tight pussy, especially when I see it’s still glistening, but I take my time. I run my hands over her juicy, round ass. “Some other night, Amber, I’d love to fuck this ass as well. It could be one of our firsts.”

She gulps but sways her backside more firmly into my hands. She had a bad experience with anal before she met me, and that stopped her from being open to trying again. Now, though, she’s a very different woman.

“I’d like that, Elijah. I really would.”

There’s a slight catch in her voice. She’s still nervous about it—nervous, but willing to try. Fuck, she is incredible. I make a vow that I will make it as pleasurable as it possibly can be for her when I take her ass. I will show her a whole new way to fuck.

I lean down and plant two smacking kisses on her backside—one for each cheek—and she giggles. For now, I’m more than happy to fuck her pretty pink pussy. I hold her hips and dip my rock-hard cock inside her. With all the buildup, she expects me to take her hard and fast, so I take it slow instead, enjoying the look of confusion on her face. It’s torture for me as well, but I ease myself in inch by leisurely inch. She grips the barre, her knuckles going white as I fill her, and I watch her face in the mirror. Her eyes close, her tongue flicking out to lick her lips. Yeah, she’s enjoying this. She’s going to come again, and I’m going to enjoy every second of it.

I run my hand over her hips and slide it around to her clit. My dick is all the way inside her now, completely buried in the soft velvet of her pussy, and I keep it there while I stroke her swollen bud. She doesn’t protest about being too sore anymore. She knows that won’t stop me, and she’s learned that she’s capable of tolerating the sensitivity until she climaxes again. “I think we should do an experiment.” I watch her face change in the mirror as she gets closer. “We should see how many times in a row I can make you come. How many times I can build you up and break you apart.”

“Mmmm … okay …”

I smile at her mumbled reply. I wouldn’t be doing my job properly if she were capable of coherent speech. “Open your eyes, Amber. Look at me while you come.”

She does as she’s told, and it melts me. She looks so beautiful, so trusting. So completely at my mercy. “Good girl.” I speed up my fingers. It’s killing me to not slam my dick in and out of her, but it’s worth it. The feeling is fucking spectacular. She keeps her eyes on mine in the mirror, and I see and feel the moment her climax starts. Her full lips part, she calls out my name. The contractions of her inner muscles around me are so strong it’s like she’s jerking me off. Unfuckingbelievable. I wait until her orgasm runs its course, and then I put my arms around her, pulling her upright. She leans into me, the back of her head resting against my shoulder as our eyes meet in the glass. We’re still and silent for a moment.

“Fuck me, Elijah,” she demands.

I don’t need to be told twice. Keeping one arm wrapped around the front of her body, I put the other on the wooden barre and rail into her like there’s no tomorrow, listening to her cries and moans and watching her tits bounce in the reflection. Her thighs glisten with cum, her nipples stand at attention. The necklace jiggles between her breasts. She’s trapped between my thrusting body and the barre, leaning into me. Strands of her hair stick to my chest and back, and her huge eyes never leave mine. I slam into her two, three more times, then fall apart. My climax rockets through me, and the pleasure is so fucking powerful that I see stars. I groan her name, my mouth falling to her shoulder as I come. She reaches back and places her hand on my neck.

“I fucking love you, Amber,” I murmur.

“I know. And I love you too, Elijah.”

I look up again, and her reflection gives me a small smile. One moment of pure, perfect connection. In its own way, that shared look is more intense than the orgasms.

Then she slips out of my grasp and starts to get dressed. The moment is gone, our connection shattered. She moves around the room, hiding behind her hair, her shoulders shaking.

I want to go to her, to drag her face out from behind that curtain of hair. I want to force her to look at me and tell her again that I love her. These emotions are so strong, so powerful, they threaten to overwhelm us. This isn’t just sex, and we both know it. I should scoop her up, carry her home with me. Tell her I won’t ever let her out of my sight again.

Instead, I do exactly what she’s doing. Burying my emotions deep, I gather up my clothes and get dressed. I hear her on the phone asking Sanjay to come get her, and when she finally turns around, she’s managed to compose herself. She tidies her hair, refusing to look at herself in the wall of mirrors. “He was visiting his sister in Hoboken while he waited,” she explains. “He’ll be here in five. Do you … Uh, do you want a ride?”

The situation is so awkward, but she is polite and calm, not at all aggressive, and that only makes it hurt all the more. Her shutters are down. Playful, passionate Amber has left the building. The woman I unraveled with my tongue and fingers is gone to hide behind her impenetrable walls.

“No, that’s okay,” I answer. “I’ll get myself home. Before you leave, though, I have a gift for you.”

I’m not sure it’s the right move now, but what the fuck—I arranged for it to be left here, so I might as well give it to her. “Oh?” She attempts a grin. “Is it a pony?” The effort she puts into her attempt to restore the lightheartedness from earlier seems to drain her completely. Shoulders slumped, she looks like a breeze could knock her off her feet.

I go to the corner of the room, find the box, and pass it over. New life comes into her when she sees what’s inside, and she lifts the white satin ballet shoes to her face. With eyes squeezed tightly shut, she rasps, “Thank you,” then clears her throat. “They’re beautiful. I need to build up my strength before I’m back en pointe though.”

“Well, if there’s one thing you’re good at, it’s building up your strength. And you’re welcome.”

She kisses me on the cheek, thanks me again, and turns to leave. After switching off the lights, I follow her out and wait in the doorway until she’s safely in Sanjay’s cab before calling an Uber.

The journey back to Manhattan passes in a blur, the Uber driver playing loud music and singing along the whole time. It all feels surreal, like it’s happening to a different person.

On autopilot, I enter our home—the townhouse we moved into together when we were full of youthful optimism. Over the years, it became less of a home and more of a battlefield. Our optimism was replaced by cynicism, our hope wiped out by mutual frustration. I fucking hate it here now. She had the right idea when she got out. I imagine her in Brooklyn, safe and warm in Amelia’s little house. Maybe she’s trying on those ballet shoes. Or maybe she’s curled up in a ball, crying, which is exactly what I feel like doing.

I pour myself a large Scotch and head up to the rooftop garden. It’s a cold, beautiful night, and I sink into one of the chairs and gaze out at the incredible view. Central Park is spread out below, and the curves and spikes of the iconic Manhattan skyline are as familiar and as stunning as they’ve ever been.

I don’t care about any of it. I don’t care what I can see or how stunning it is. All I care about is what I can’t see. Her. Amber. My wife. What the fuck are we doing? Our marriage isn’t over. A divorce? I don’t want a divorce. I want to start again. I want her at my side, in my bed, in my home. She’s already in my heart, and I realize now that she always will be.

Tonight might have ended abruptly, but it showed the depths of emotion still running between us. It showed me that our love story is still being written. We can’t give up on it now. I love her too much, and I know she feels the same.

The way we chatted over dinner, the way we held hands as we walked along the river. It was perfect. Everything I am is alive and radiant when I’m around her—mind, body, and soul. Everything about her calls to me. She is the person who completes me. Who completes my life.

Our relationship won’t be easy to rebuild, but we are worth the effort. Few people are lucky enough to meet someone who makes them feel like this, and it would be criminal to throw it away.

I sip my Scotch and gaze at the city lights. I love my wife. I love her, and I want her back. I don’t care what compromises I have to agree to or how many changes I have to make. Amber is mine, and I’m determined to keep her.

Tension flees my body once I’ve made that decision, and I smile to myself. I have a goal, and I am not the kind of man who fails to achieve his goals.

I pull the burner phone from my pocket and type out a message to the only contact in there.

After an interminable, torturous wait, one word arrives.