He looks torn, clearly debating something. Then he says, “Would you mind if I watched? I’ll be quiet.” He points to the corner. “I’ll sit there and not say a word unless you ask me to.” I raise an eyebrow. “Why the fuck would you want to watch?” “Because I like watching you dance? Why else?” Fuck. I hate the little surge of something that sends through me. Which, for the record, has absolutely nothing to do with the person who’s saying it and everything to do with my exhibitionist nature. I like being watched. Of course I do, I’m a ballet dancer. I like seeing the look of desire and want on
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