Page 72 of Jump on Three

I didn’t feel bad about getting to dance tonight, though. Not just in my bedroom but in a real club surrounded by other people doing the exact same thing. Who loved the music I loved. Who wanted it to be so loud that even their bones were dancing.

Engaging my other senses, I let myself flow like lava, winding and unfurling with no discernible pattern, the need to go the driving force.

A hand slid along my waist. Gasping, I opened my eyes to find Ivan still in front of me, but his scowl had melted into something more intense. It wasn’t anger, but I couldn’t really place it.

His big hand engulfed my side. He wasn’t stopping me from moving. Quite the opposite. He had chased down my rhythm so he could ride it, dancing with me.

My lips parted as I watched him follow the beats thrumming through the warm, humid air. I wasn’t a judge of dancing. I had no idea what was good or bad, but I liked how he moved. There was grace in his long limbs, an effortlessness in the slide of his feet. He rolled his hips toward mine but didn’t touch me there, only on my waist. It was the perfect amount of pressure, letting me know he had me but wasn’t controlling me.

I moved with him, focusing on his arms, shoulders, his throat when he swallowed. Eventually, I closed my eyes again, and when I did, I drifted toward him. By then, I didn’t mind the front of me brushing the front of him.

One song turned to two, then three, and eventually, I forgot to count. That wasn’t like me. I lived for concrete numbers. Limits were freeing since I knew where my boundaries were. But it was easy to give all of that up with Ivan keeping me grounded with his warm body so very close to mine.

My eyes flickered open when he squeezed my waist with both hands. He was watching me, something tight behind his expression.

I smiled at him.

His lips trembled, but he didn’t smile back. Then he bent down, putting his mouth beside my ear. “It’s late, angel. We have to go home now.”

I shook my head. I was wound up, nowhere near ready to leave. How did I stop dancing when I didn’t remember how to be still? My arms and legs were buzzing, electric currents running to the tips of my toes.

I drew my hands to my chest, twisting my fingers in a ragged knot. He couldn’t feel it? I had to dance this out. “I don’t—”

“Come on, Evelyn. I’m tired and I don’t want to fight you anymore.”

He didn’t understand. He thought it was easy, but it wasn’t. I could leave, but I needed a minute or two. My body was dancing. My brain was on fire from all the perfect sensations. And he wanted me to stop without any warning. To go somewhere where it was quiet and his front was no longer brushing mine. He’d want me to talk and sit and stop moving.

But I loved it here.

“Not yet.” My voice got lost in the music. My need to stay and dance and think about leaving before I actually did became lost with it.

Ivan took my elbows, gently pulling me forward. My feet dug into the ground, and I shook my head harder.

Not ready. Not yet.

“One minute,” I cried. “Just—”

He got that serious look on his face, but I couldn’t quite focus on it. Now that he’d popped my perfect bubble and had removed me from my isolated corner, we were surrounded. I was jostled by people walking by or dancing nearby. A man yelled something, maybe at me, but the music was too loud, so I stared at him, trying to read his lips. Then he was gone and someone else was there.

Laughter, a splash of something cold on top of my foot. Ivan pulled me forward. I was bounced around like a pinball, my shoulders, my arms...where had all these people come from? They were blurs of scents and voices, of poking elbows and sharp feet.

The stairs were ahead of us, and he kept pulling me. I stumbled. He caught me. I stumbled again, and he groaned. Then my feet were off the ground and Ivan’s arm was braced under my butt as he carried me down the stairs like it was effortless. I closed my eyes again, but now I was dizzy. This no longer felt good.

The music was too loud. My dress was much, much too tight. It was strangling me, the straps digging into the back of my neck and shoulders. I wanted it off, but I didn’t have control of my body. Ivan had me. He was in control. I knew he was holding me, but with each step, every second that ticked by, I felt him less and less.

God, why was my dress so tight?

When had the music gotten so loud?

My nails dug into Ivan’s biceps, but I couldn’t tell how hard. He kept walking, walking, all the way to the front door.

Outside, in the crisp night air, I shoved my face into the side of his neck. More voices came at us, closer now, deep like thunder. I flinched, covering my ears, pressing into Ivan.

He stroked my back. Too lightly. I couldn’t feel it, and I wanted to. Pressure. I needed him to push against my spine, compress my limbs, make this way-too-big world smaller, tighter, softer, dimmer.

A few more steps and we were in the back of his black car. Ivan placed me gently on the bench seat, and I immediately gathered my limbs, wrapping my arms around my knees.

Ivan pressed the button to close the partition between us and the driver, then slid next to me, cupping my face, but not firmly enough.