Amour Amour (Aerial Ethereal #1)(62)

“Use your core, Thora,” he says again.

It’s natural to want to use my arms as the force behind my power. I shut my eyes, exhale again, and try to focus on my abdomen, flexing and extending my body outward. In a curved line. You need to be horizontal, I tell myself.

I have to lift more of my weight. And I need to release one of my hands.

It seems impossible.

Try.

I will.

Two more breaths. My muscles constrict as I raise my body another degree. Every tendon burns. Sweat beads off my forehead.

No longer vibrating, I dig deeper and channel strength in my quads, in my core.

I am horizontal. Then I slowly release one hand. And I immediately grab the pole again. My legs drop like someone poked a balloon, busting whatever helium kept me afloat.

I feel heavier. Sagging in defeat, I slide down the pole, careful the friction doesn’t burn my bare thighs. I touch the blue mat and finally meet Nikolai’s narrowed gaze.

“You look upset,” he says.

“I just thought today I’d be stronger.” I feel like I’m wasting your time when I fail. It’s not a good feeling.

His eyes smile. “Today you were much stronger than yesterday. And tomorrow you’ll be even stronger. That’s the great thing about practice, myshka, you can only go up.”

I’m weightless again. It’s rare that someone else boosts me more than I do myself. “Thanks. I’ll try again tomorrow then.” I figure he’ll want to do some sort of workout: dead lunges, crunches, sit-ups, pull-ups—

“No.” He fractures my thoughts.

“No?”

“We’re moving on.” He nods to the aerial silk.

My shoulders rise, and I’ve already begun to smile. “But I didn’t—”

“You held your weight with one hand. Even for a millisecond, it was a millisecond more than most can do.” He studies me for a second, and I realize that I’m rocking on the balls of my feet, too excited to stay completely still. “You know the basics?” he asks.

I nod rapidly. “Yeah. I can do a Half-Moon and Back Walk-Over and other…stuff.” He’s trying to contain a smile of his own. “What?”

“Nothing.” He places a hand on my shoulder, but his fingers caress my neck, so subtly that chills prick my arms. “This way.”

My heart beats quicker, curious about what he’ll have me do. We reach the red silk, rigged to the high ceiling. But we don’t immediately start. He makes me stretch my arms first.

After that, I slip off my acro-shoes and Nikolai leaves my side. He pulls the fabric apart, displaying two silks. “I need to see your skill level. Show me the splits, a Back Walk-Over, and a simple single-foot-tie-in.”

Before he passes me the nylon material, he grabs a bottle of resin nearby and approaches, the aerial silk skimming my cheek as a foot of space separates us. The fabric opens up, and we’re almost cocooned within the crimson, wispy material.

His intimate gaze cuts through me for a second. He pauses and soaks in my features.

My breath shallows.

“Hold out your palms,” he whispers lowly, the words sounding like sex.

I flip my hands over, and he sprays resin on them, which’ll help my grip on the silk. When he sprays some on his palms, I realize that he may demonstrate later on.

He passes me the silk. “Show me.”

The material is more elastic than what I used in my garage, a higher difficulty, but I’m determined to perform these few tricks and poses. I climb up the silk with my hands, my muscles burning from the earlier routine. I wrap one foot, recalling the technique.

“Where’d you learn this?” he asks, watching me closely.

“Am I doing it wrong?” I wonder, my eyes popping out. I look at my foot, secured in the fabric, to the point where I can stand up with ease. My heel and toes aren’t covered with the red material.

“No, it’s right. I’m just curious.”

“Don’t laugh when I tell you.” I remember when Shay went through my DVDs in my dorm room and snickered like you can’t be serious? Then he actually said, “At least it’s not pole dancing.” I didn’t have the heart to admit to studying YouTube clips of pole dancers and being envious of their tricks.

Nikolai’s brows pinch in more confusion. “I wouldn’t, Thora.”

“I learned from videos. There were more when I got older though, when YouTube existed.” While he digests this, I grip the top of the silk and extend my body, my spine curving inward and creating a shape like I’m flying. Instead of just dangling my other leg, I bend my knee and point my toe.

“You’re self-taught,” he says. “That’s not something anyone should laugh at you for.”

My cheeks heat. And I climb higher on the silk. Then I break it apart and wrap my foot in each. I let go, dropping upside-down. The blood runs to my head, and I easily do the splits by stretching out my legs. Climbs. Wraps. Drops. It’s the bread and butter of this apparatus. That, I do know.

Nikolai is silent for the rest, and after a few more minutes, I finish and drop down. I can’t read his expression well enough to figure out if I’m better than average. So I just ask. “How’d I do?”

“I thought you’d be worse.”

I nod with my hands on my hips, breathing a bit heavier. “That’s good. I’ll take that.”