A Dad for Denice
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Thin Ice free porn video
The first time Ivan saw her, his cock moved and his exercised body, which was warm to start with, turned hot. He forgot that he was supposed to be watching his ice dancing students practice their twizzles. In fact, he only stopped looking at her when his students skated up to him, waiting for his critique.
He struggled for something to say. "A little crisper," he finally offered.
They went back to the middle of the ice, which was usually clear of people even during public skate. Ivan forced himself to focus on them and not look away. Even so, when the skate-go-round brought the woman behind his students, his eyes snagged on her.
The rest of the half-hour lesson was tortured with distraction. He was grateful when he was free to really look at her. He wove through the slow and stumbling skaters until he was in front of her. Then, he skated backwards.
Her form was nearly perfect and her body tight. She was easily one of the two or three best skaters on the ice. Her brown-black hair was a flag behind her. He watched her for a while; then, he went to the middle of the ice.
In an uncharacteristic show, he performed a tricky set of turns that led into a blurry spin. She, among others, was watching him when he looked up. He met her dark eyes and smiled. Then, he skated off of the ice.
#
Kelly stood on her skates against the wall and watched the man leave the rink. He was an ice dancer. She was sure of it. In fact, he even looked a little familiar.
She was so engrossed in her thoughts, reliving his graceful turns and spins, that she didn't notice the little boys in hockey padding scuffling next to her. Not until one fell into her.
Her response was immediate: she broke out in a sweat. Her stomach rolled with nausea. The adrenaline hit her like a punch to the face. She cringed away from the boys, stumbling along the wall and barely saving herself from falling.
"Fuck!" she said. Her heart was in a flurry.
"Hey," the skate guard said, gliding over. "Watch your language around the kids."
"Sorry, sorry," she muttered, fighting the quick sting of tears, skating away quickly.
Anger and panic consumed her; she struggled to fight it back. Fuck her therapist for suggesting Kelly's passion for ice skating could be "real-world" therapy. Her revulsion at being touched wasn't just going to fade because she paired it with something she loved.
She was relieved five minutes later when the buzzer sounded ending the public skate.
She waited until last to leave the rink and changed into her shoes in a remote corner of the dressing area. She hurried out to her car, a feeling of intense relief rolling over her at the solitude of being locked, alone, in her vehicle. She put her head down in the steering wheel until her hands stopped shaking.
"It was worth it," she said aloud.
It was true. She hadn't been on skates in more than eight years, since her phobia got really bad. Kelly had forgotten how much she loved the sport. Besides that, she had the memory of the beautiful ice dancer to take home with her. His artful movements. His ice blue eyes. That smile that seemed to be for her.
She felt a stirring between her legs that she hadn't felt in years and laughed.
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, now," she said, starting her car, and leaving the rink.
#
A week later, when Ivan was teaching, he saw the woman again.
She sailed around the ice, first on her left foot and then on her right. Then, she skated backwards and forwards, executing perfect one-footed and two-footed turns. Her eyes flickered to him from time to time. It felt like she was showing off for him, as he had for her.
He had a momentary flash of kissing her, stripping her clothes away, and having her. It stole his breath.
He had to work to focus on his students. When his work was done he stood by the wall and watched her go around the ice once. When she went past again, he joined the crowd to catch up with her.
She looked up at him as he coasted beside her. She was prettier than he thought. There was a smattering of freckles over her nose. Her lips pouted on their own. She smiled a little; it emboldened him.
"Hello," he said. "I couldn't help but notice your skating." It was times like these that he wished he had managed to shed the guttural Russian that clung to his speech. If it had been French, it would have been different. Even Spanish....
"Thank you."
"I'm Ivan," he said. He pronounced it as his mother had, like the American name Yvonne. He hesitated once, then added, "Ivan Orlov."
He hadn't introduced himself with his Russian surname in years. It had been Ivan Owen since he came to the United States. But, his old name rolled off of his tongue like a marble.
Her eyes widened and her lips parted. "I thought you looked familiar."
"You know me from the news stories," he said. "It's so odd to be best remembered for my worst year."
Ivan Orlov became a household name because of the loss his ice dance partner and his wife more than ten years earlier. The car accident had been international news because the winter Olympics were only weeks away. Ivan and Irina Orlov had been the favorites for gold in ice dancing.
"That's not why I know you," the girl said softly. "I followed you and your wife when you competed. You were so good. I was still learning the basics. My name's Kelly, by the way."
The mention of Ivan's wife didn't pang the way it used to and he was grateful for that, at least. He did a quick turn, skating backwards so he could look at her while they talked. Synchronizing his stroke with hers was as easy as breathing.
"Are you an ice dancer?" he asked. He wanted it to be a casual question but his hope colored it.
"No. Not anymore."
His eyes measured her. Long limbs. Just a few inches shorter than him on her blades. He already knew how gracefully she moved. Her cross-overs were so low his knees ached.
"That's a shame," he said.
"I've been thinking about trying to get back into it, actually," she said, flushing under her freckles.
He let himself drift closer to her. She was so easy to skate with.
"Do you need a coach?" he asked.
She looked surprised. "I hadn't gotten that far thinking about it."
"I'm an instructor."
"I just...." She slowed her skating and they drifted apart. "I don't know if I can be coached, Ivan. I don't like to be touched."
When she said his name his heart swelled; when she said she didn't like to be touched, it broke.
"By anyone, in any way?" he asked.
"At all," she said. "I'm working on it, though. This," she said, gesturing around the rink, "is part of my therapy."
He should skate away. It was foolishness, teasing himself with a woman he could never have. Yet, the words were out of his mouth before he could suppress them. "I could still coach you. I could at least teach you some things without touching."
"Would you?"
His cock and heart ached together. But, God, he would. "I have time in my schedule."
"What do you charge?"
He mentally halved his rate. "Twenty-five a half hour."
"I could do that." She looked around at the circling people. "Maybe the Tuesday afternoon skate? There's less of a crowd."
He considered her for a moment. "I know you don't know me," he said slowly. "But I have a private rink. If you'd be willing--"
"You have a private rink?"
"Yes."
"Why would you ever be here?" she asked. She looked around at the motley crew of skaters, some going the wrong direction, some throwing hockey gloves back and forth.
He shrugged. "It gets me out of the house."
That was a lie. He didn't give lessons at home because he guarded his privacy carefully. But this woman was different; she was already under his skin.
"I would absolutely come to your private rink," Kelly said, looking eager for the first time.
They set a day and time. When the buzzer sounded for the end of the public skate, they had exchanged phone numbers and e-mail addresses. In three days she would be at his house.
She looked at him before she stepped off of the ice, her brown-black hair waving past her shoulder blades. She smiled. It wasn't a hug but it left him as warm. And his erection reminded him that it wasn’t platonic.
#
At his rink, without the threat of a crowd, Kelly was a different person. She smiled in an open, easy way. She played on the ice. She was fearless on skates but stayed at least arm's length away from Ivan.
He asked himself why he was doing this and had no answer.
All he knew was that he looked forward to Tuesday afternoons more than any other time of the week. He instructed her verbally and skated in example. She caught on quickly; for the first time Ivan felt like a real teacher.
After the third lesson, when she headed off of the ice, he called, "Would you like to stay for a while and practice?"
Her eyes were bright and her smile was the most honest thing he'd ever seen.
"Could I?" she asked.
"Of course. I practice until three. You can stay as long as I do; we'll share the ice."
She did a quick, graceful spin. "If you're sure," she said looking as happy as he'd ever seen her.
He started teaching her bits and pieces of his old routines. She practiced them over and over, making them look like poetry. He ached to match her with his portion of the program.
But, he didn't dare. Not yet.
#
Kelly loved her lessons with Ivan. Still, each one was like torture. Her body responded to him. His spare praise left her breathless. The way he moved over the ice made her throb. But, she still couldn't stand the thought of his touch.
She fussed over the pieces of dance routines that he taught her, shooting for perfection. One afternoon, she performed a pass and furrowed her brows. She was very sure she hadn't been deep enough into her edges.
"What are you frowning about?" he asked, skating up to her. "That was perfect."
"No--"
"I'm telling you, it's perfect." His accent harshened the complement. "Do it again."
She took the center of the ice and he skated out beside her. When she got into her starting position, he was no more than an arm's length away, striking the same pose.
"Ivan...." she said, a nervous tremble in her voice.
"I promise," he said, "I won't touch you."
She counted off and pushed away. He pushed with her. She did the quick series of turns and saw him, in her peripheral vision, mirror her in perfect synchronicity. He was very near her and perfectly precise. They did a series of quick, matched, hopping dance jumps, no more than a hand's width apart. She had a tingly, thrilling sense of sharing a sinewy body with Ivan.
When they skidded to a stop, she looked up at him, out of breath. She throbbed with want. For once, it overcame the revulsion.
"That part was designed to highlight pair's ability to synchronize," Ivan said. "If you hadn't done it perfectly, I couldn't have skated my part."
It was the most exhilarating thing she had experienced in years. "Can you teach me more?" she asked.
"I can teach you all of it, but...." He paused.
Kelly knew what he didn't want to say. "But you need to be able to touch me."
"I do."
"But you said you could--"
"I said I could teach you some things." He drifted forward on his skates "I wish I could teach you everything. Ice dancing is made for you."
He was so direct and his voice so wistful, her already aching want doubled. She backed off from him. "I can't, Ivan."
"I know."
Tears threatened and the panic pricked her. "I need to leave."
"Please don't," he told her. "I'll go. Use the rink as long as you like."
She couldn't read his expression. Somehow, it hurt her heart anyway. He skated away, leaving her alone.
#
Ivan didn't know whether to expect Kelly the following Tuesday or not. When she arrived, she wore a somber, serious expression. His heart sank a little.
She warmed up without looking at him. Then, she skated over, her arms half crossed and half hugging herself.
"My therapist thinks it would be very good for me to try ice dancing," she blurted.
"Your therapist?"
She flushed. "That came out wrong. I want you to teach me ice dancing. I'm scared to ask you to try. My therapist thinks I should."
He looked he her for a moment, beautiful and pink and vulnerable. "Ask me."
"You'll have to be really patient."
How patient had he been already, with no hope for more? "I can do that."
"I really want to dance with you, Ivan."
Every possible double and triple meaning flashed through his mind. His cock insisted upon itself for a moment. He had to struggle to maintain any level of composure.
"Then, let's start," he said.
"I don't know how."
He dismissed the idea of teaching her dance holds. There was no possible way, with the level of tension in her body, she could concentrate for a formal lesson.
"Stay here," he said.
He put on music. It was fun and upbeat and nothing that he would have ever used in a competition. Then, he skated to her and offered one hand.
She drew a deep breath and slipped her hand softly into his. Like a handshake. Not with the fingers twined the way he wanted to, but it was enough.
They skated around the rink twice like that. Then he turned and skated backwards in front of her, offering another hand. She took it, paling; her lower lip trembled.
"Close your eyes," he said. She hesitated only a moment but then did as he said.
Ivan skated like he hadn't in a while: at top speed. Working the powerful backwards cross-overs to gather momentum. Using all of his leg muscles. Towing her with him. It blew her hair back.
A little smile gathered on her pouting lips; her eyes stayed closed.
When the room was a blue and white blur, he said, "Open them, now."
She opened her eyes and immediately burst into delighted laughter. "I can't skate this fast," she said breathlessly.
"I know," he replied. He was still accelerating.
She put her head back, not seeming to notice that she was squeezing his hands. In another lap, he started to slow. But now, her posture was easier.
"That was fun," she said.
He let go of one of her hands and turned to skate forward again.
"Will you do it again?" she asked.
"As often as you like."
#
It was the longest, slowest process of Kelly's life. From holding one of his hands, to holding two hands. From holding two hands to letting Ivan grip her body. She longed for and cringed against his touch in equal measure. Each day it got a little easier.
Kelly asked him if he would meet with her twice a week. The first touch each new day was the worst and she hoped to desensitize herself to it faster. Still, she felt guilty for using Ivan this way. She searched his face for hurt but it was never there.
After two months, she could turn pirouettes while holding his hand. After four, she could manage closer holds. It was in the fifth month, though, during one of the routines that she had so meticulously practiced, that she finally relaxed into his arms.
She knew he felt it. As they glided, he held her closer, her back against his chest, her head on his shoulder.
"That's exactly right," he whispered.
Even though his lips were right next to her ear, she didn't panic. His words thrilled her whole body. It may not last, but in that moment there was no disgust. In that moment, she felt normal.
She came out of the position and turned to face him. There was something in his expression that she hadn't seen before. Something in those cool blue eyes that still managed to convey heat. He directed her as she glided backwards, ever slower. Her back bumped into the wall. Her heart jumped and for once it wasn't panic.
He put his hands on either side of her. She looked up at him and knew what he wanted.
"Tell me to stop," he said.
"What if I do?" she asked, her voice both defensive and like a sob.
"I will. I promise."
He was so close, she could smell his skin. Soap and something tangy, like vinegar. Her sex throbbed in time with her heart. She wanted this. It was so simple. Why couldn't she have it?
"I don't mean to be so fucked up, Ivan," she said.
He closed the little space between them and pressed his lips against hers in an otherwise chaste way. There was adrenaline, but the shock didn't hurt her.
He pulled back a fraction. "All right?" he asked.
It was. Through some miracle, it still was. "Yes," she said.
He leaned in kissed her harder this time. His tongue brushed her lips but didn't press into her mouth. Aside from the kiss, he didn't touch her anywhere. He broke away before he became truly passionate. She knew he wouldn't try more unless she encouraged him.
Her throbbing body wanted her to. Her fear held her back. What if she couldn't? What if she panicked? What if he hated her for it?
"I'm so sorry," she breathed, lowering her face. She said that after every panic attack. After every failed attempt to break out of her shell. She was so tired of apologizing.
He drifted backwards on his skates just a bit. Still close enough to be intimate but it gave her room to breathe. "Don't apologize," he said.
"It's easier when we're skating," she said.
"Then, next time we'll just keep skating."
She giggled and looked up at him. He was smiling at her. There were tears in her eyes but they were already starting to dry.
That night, she called her therapist. They talked a long time.
#
Ivan watched for Kelly a half hour before she was due to arrive for her next lesson. She came ten minutes early, the same as she always did. She flushed and smiled as she put on her skates. He waited for her on the ice.
They warmed up and chatted about trivial things. He took her through her lesson. After six months of skating, her body had tightened and thinned; her flexibility had noticeably improved. Ivan tried not to see the swell of her breasts, the flair of her hips, and the high, tight firmness of her backside.
He reminded himself that a kiss may be all he ever shared with Kelly.
When the lesson was over, she looked at him hopefully. "Skate with me for a while?"
"Of course."
He noticed a change immediately. Her grip on his skin was firmer and more confident. She skated closer. In the first pass, when she fell into the position with her back against his chest and her head on his shoulder, she melted into him. He often had to remind her to reach back to put her hands on his hips, but not this time.
"You feel different," he whispered to her as they glided.
"I must," she said. "I want you to touch me."
His cock swelled and ached. He had never had such an immediate reaction to a statement in his life. His arms were folded around her midsection in support but she could hold the pose without it
He slowly unzipped her hoodie and let it fall open. He put a hand on her thigh and another on her ribs.
"Like this?" he asked.
"Yes."
He kissed her ear and heard her soft, little breath. He slipped his hand under her shirt. He laid it on her flat, bare belly and flexed his fingers into her skin.
"And this?"
"Yes." There was a tremble to her voice this time.
He brought his hand to her breast, under her shirt but over her unpadded sports bra, and stroked the nipple with his thumb. All the while they glided, still fast enough to have the breeze tickle his skin.
"Oh," she gasped aloud. But, he also felt the soft push of her breast against his fingers, encouraging him.
He slipped his other hand up the inside of her thigh, over the yoga pants she wore during practice. She didn’t stiffen or protest. When his hand reached her belly, he dipped the tip of his fingers just inside of the elastic waist band.
"This?" he whispered, letting his lips brush her ear. Letting his tongue glide over the same spot.
"Please," she whispered. Her hands tightened on his hips.
He placed his palm on her pelvis and accelerated, pulling her into another glide. Then he slid his hand inside her pants and over her panties. Her legs were shoulder-width apart; it gave him plenty of room to move.
He brushed his fingers over her covered crotch. The material was damp through. Her breath hitched. He stroked over the dampness, feeling the swollen flesh underneath. He teased her hardened nipple through the material of her bra with soft pinches.
"Ivan..." she breathed.
"Do you know how I want you?" he asked.
"Then...take me somewhere."
"Are you sure?" he asked, still stroking her.
"Don't let me think about it."
He guided her off of the ice, reluctantly removing his hands from her. They each took off their own skates and pulled on shoes. Then he led her to his house. They had been alone during much of their time together. Nonetheless, this was a frisson like he'd never felt.
She followed him through his living room, up the steps, and into his bedroom. Once inside, he slipped her hoodie off of her shoulders. He let it fall to the floor and stood very close.
"Can you trust me?" he asked.
#
Kelly's eyes met his. His want and admiration just made her arousal more insistent.
"I trust you, Ivan," she told him.
He kissed her. Not like he had the night before but harder, with more need. His tongue darted experimentally into her mouth. His mouth urged hers open. Her body tingled with pleasure. With pleasure.
She opened her lips and kissed him back, hoping he would accept her awkward effort. She let him strip her shirt away; he only broke his kiss off long enough to pull it over her head.
Then, he brought his hands to her breasts over her sports bra. Both of them at the same time, gently chafing her until both nipples were stone hard. The pleasure nearly undid her. She stepped back.
"Kelly?" He asked. Her name was sweet in his mouth. Keely.
She pulled her bra over her head. Then, she stripped away her yoga pants. Her panties came next. White cotton with white iolet and a bow. She stood before him naked, as vulnerable as she'd ever been
"I don’t just trust you," she said. "I need you."
He was only a step away, but he took it in a quick stride. One hand went on her bare hip and the other on her face. He kissed her, open mouthed, invading tongue. He drew back a fraction, took her hand, and pressed it to his erection.
"All right?" he asked, his voice tense.
"Yes," she breathed, hoping it conveyed so much more.
He stripped his shirt off; he was as beautiful as she had dreamed. Muscle and cut and sinew. She squeezed his swollen cock and he moaned. It was foreign, using her hands on another person. Knowing that he loved it. Hearing his pleasure.
He put her hands in her hair and pulled her head back, tugging a little. It distracted her from the feel of his teeth on her throat. But that was satisfying too.
She closed her eyes and his lips went to her breasts, kissing, licking, and teasing. Sucking, drawing. The pleasure she remembered from adolescence, when she could still accept pleasure. Before the phobia got so bad that it cut her off from intimacy.
"Lie down," he told her.
She did as he said, expecting his weight on her next. Hoping that wouldn't be the thing that broke her calm.
But, he didn't. Instead, he knelt at the edge of the bed, his fingers light on her inner thigh, his head between her legs, watching her. He opened her and kissed her most aching spot.
"Touch your nipples," he told her, his voice husky.
It was a strange, sensual experience, touching yourself when someone else was already pleasuring you. She mimicked what Ivan did to her nipples and they obediently responded. He watched, his eyes growing hotter and hotter.
He reached up for her hands and brought them down to her sex.
"Hold yourself open for me," he said.
She obeyed, feeling her slickness. At first, he licked only her fingers. She moaned and spread her legs further. Then he kissed and licked softly around her need. By the time he brought a soft tongue to where she wanted him, her whimpers were breathless.
Back in her late teens, a boy had tried to do this for her. He had been eager, but fumbling. There had been no possibility of orgasm, though the sex that followed had probably been one of her better experiences. This already eclipsed that.
His lips and tongue found the rhythm she needed. As she accepted his touch, there wasn't any fear; there was only want.
Her orgasm bloomed; she cried out. Her legs flexed and she had to concentrate on not writhing against his mouth. His tongue played with her, even as she moaned, until she stopped him with a light touch.
He stood, his eyes still intense on her, slipping out of his pants and underwear. His body was beautiful. He was beautiful. He lay on the bed, on his back, his erection solid, thick, and ready and rolled on a condom.
Kelly didn't feel a moment of hesitation. She sat up, knelt, and crawled to straddle him. His cock was too thick to be eased into her, but she was wet. She worked him in and out until she could take his whole shaft, hearing his growling moans the whole time. Her sex clenched him.
She rocked on him, enjoying the feel of his flesh, the untainted pleasure. He put his hands on her hips lightly; she placed hers over his, helping him manage her movement.
She leaned forwards to kiss him, her breasts brushing his bare chest. His hands dared to wander, but eventually found a grip on her ass.
Their movement grew more intense. His hands pushed and pulled on her hips. Her aching pleasure ignited and spread. She cried out again as her orgasm pulsed from her womb out.
His cock grew even more solid; his fingers pressed into her skin as he came. His hips made slow circles when he was buried in her, as if to sheath the last millimeter. When he was done, she fell onto his chest without even remembering it should have frightened her.
He put his arms around her and she snuggled against his chest.
"I never thought I'd like anything better than skating. If anything could get me past my fear, I thought it would be that," she said.
"It was that," he told her.
"No," she said, drawing a line on his chest with her finger. "It wasn't skating that got me past it. It was you."
He pulled her up to his mouth to kiss her. She put her hands in his hair. Her mouth opened to him willingly and not a single part of her was tempted to pull away.
Thank you to G, who helped me rethink the point of view and sharpen the piece throughout.
He struggled for something to say. "A little crisper," he finally offered.
They went back to the middle of the ice, which was usually clear of people even during public skate. Ivan forced himself to focus on them and not look away. Even so, when the skate-go-round brought the woman behind his students, his eyes snagged on her.
The rest of the half-hour lesson was tortured with distraction. He was grateful when he was free to really look at her. He wove through the slow and stumbling skaters until he was in front of her. Then, he skated backwards.
Her form was nearly perfect and her body tight. She was easily one of the two or three best skaters on the ice. Her brown-black hair was a flag behind her. He watched her for a while; then, he went to the middle of the ice.
In an uncharacteristic show, he performed a tricky set of turns that led into a blurry spin. She, among others, was watching him when he looked up. He met her dark eyes and smiled. Then, he skated off of the ice.
#
Kelly stood on her skates against the wall and watched the man leave the rink. He was an ice dancer. She was sure of it. In fact, he even looked a little familiar.
She was so engrossed in her thoughts, reliving his graceful turns and spins, that she didn't notice the little boys in hockey padding scuffling next to her. Not until one fell into her.
Her response was immediate: she broke out in a sweat. Her stomach rolled with nausea. The adrenaline hit her like a punch to the face. She cringed away from the boys, stumbling along the wall and barely saving herself from falling.
"Fuck!" she said. Her heart was in a flurry.
"Hey," the skate guard said, gliding over. "Watch your language around the kids."
"Sorry, sorry," she muttered, fighting the quick sting of tears, skating away quickly.
Anger and panic consumed her; she struggled to fight it back. Fuck her therapist for suggesting Kelly's passion for ice skating could be "real-world" therapy. Her revulsion at being touched wasn't just going to fade because she paired it with something she loved.
She was relieved five minutes later when the buzzer sounded ending the public skate.
She waited until last to leave the rink and changed into her shoes in a remote corner of the dressing area. She hurried out to her car, a feeling of intense relief rolling over her at the solitude of being locked, alone, in her vehicle. She put her head down in the steering wheel until her hands stopped shaking.
"It was worth it," she said aloud.
It was true. She hadn't been on skates in more than eight years, since her phobia got really bad. Kelly had forgotten how much she loved the sport. Besides that, she had the memory of the beautiful ice dancer to take home with her. His artful movements. His ice blue eyes. That smile that seemed to be for her.
She felt a stirring between her legs that she hadn't felt in years and laughed.
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, now," she said, starting her car, and leaving the rink.
#
A week later, when Ivan was teaching, he saw the woman again.
She sailed around the ice, first on her left foot and then on her right. Then, she skated backwards and forwards, executing perfect one-footed and two-footed turns. Her eyes flickered to him from time to time. It felt like she was showing off for him, as he had for her.
He had a momentary flash of kissing her, stripping her clothes away, and having her. It stole his breath.
He had to work to focus on his students. When his work was done he stood by the wall and watched her go around the ice once. When she went past again, he joined the crowd to catch up with her.
She looked up at him as he coasted beside her. She was prettier than he thought. There was a smattering of freckles over her nose. Her lips pouted on their own. She smiled a little; it emboldened him.
"Hello," he said. "I couldn't help but notice your skating." It was times like these that he wished he had managed to shed the guttural Russian that clung to his speech. If it had been French, it would have been different. Even Spanish....
"Thank you."
"I'm Ivan," he said. He pronounced it as his mother had, like the American name Yvonne. He hesitated once, then added, "Ivan Orlov."
He hadn't introduced himself with his Russian surname in years. It had been Ivan Owen since he came to the United States. But, his old name rolled off of his tongue like a marble.
Her eyes widened and her lips parted. "I thought you looked familiar."
"You know me from the news stories," he said. "It's so odd to be best remembered for my worst year."
Ivan Orlov became a household name because of the loss his ice dance partner and his wife more than ten years earlier. The car accident had been international news because the winter Olympics were only weeks away. Ivan and Irina Orlov had been the favorites for gold in ice dancing.
"That's not why I know you," the girl said softly. "I followed you and your wife when you competed. You were so good. I was still learning the basics. My name's Kelly, by the way."
The mention of Ivan's wife didn't pang the way it used to and he was grateful for that, at least. He did a quick turn, skating backwards so he could look at her while they talked. Synchronizing his stroke with hers was as easy as breathing.
"Are you an ice dancer?" he asked. He wanted it to be a casual question but his hope colored it.
"No. Not anymore."
His eyes measured her. Long limbs. Just a few inches shorter than him on her blades. He already knew how gracefully she moved. Her cross-overs were so low his knees ached.
"That's a shame," he said.
"I've been thinking about trying to get back into it, actually," she said, flushing under her freckles.
He let himself drift closer to her. She was so easy to skate with.
"Do you need a coach?" he asked.
She looked surprised. "I hadn't gotten that far thinking about it."
"I'm an instructor."
"I just...." She slowed her skating and they drifted apart. "I don't know if I can be coached, Ivan. I don't like to be touched."
When she said his name his heart swelled; when she said she didn't like to be touched, it broke.
"By anyone, in any way?" he asked.
"At all," she said. "I'm working on it, though. This," she said, gesturing around the rink, "is part of my therapy."
He should skate away. It was foolishness, teasing himself with a woman he could never have. Yet, the words were out of his mouth before he could suppress them. "I could still coach you. I could at least teach you some things without touching."
"Would you?"
His cock and heart ached together. But, God, he would. "I have time in my schedule."
"What do you charge?"
He mentally halved his rate. "Twenty-five a half hour."
"I could do that." She looked around at the circling people. "Maybe the Tuesday afternoon skate? There's less of a crowd."
He considered her for a moment. "I know you don't know me," he said slowly. "But I have a private rink. If you'd be willing--"
"You have a private rink?"
"Yes."
"Why would you ever be here?" she asked. She looked around at the motley crew of skaters, some going the wrong direction, some throwing hockey gloves back and forth.
He shrugged. "It gets me out of the house."
That was a lie. He didn't give lessons at home because he guarded his privacy carefully. But this woman was different; she was already under his skin.
"I would absolutely come to your private rink," Kelly said, looking eager for the first time.
They set a day and time. When the buzzer sounded for the end of the public skate, they had exchanged phone numbers and e-mail addresses. In three days she would be at his house.
She looked at him before she stepped off of the ice, her brown-black hair waving past her shoulder blades. She smiled. It wasn't a hug but it left him as warm. And his erection reminded him that it wasn’t platonic.
#
At his rink, without the threat of a crowd, Kelly was a different person. She smiled in an open, easy way. She played on the ice. She was fearless on skates but stayed at least arm's length away from Ivan.
He asked himself why he was doing this and had no answer.
All he knew was that he looked forward to Tuesday afternoons more than any other time of the week. He instructed her verbally and skated in example. She caught on quickly; for the first time Ivan felt like a real teacher.
After the third lesson, when she headed off of the ice, he called, "Would you like to stay for a while and practice?"
Her eyes were bright and her smile was the most honest thing he'd ever seen.
"Could I?" she asked.
"Of course. I practice until three. You can stay as long as I do; we'll share the ice."
She did a quick, graceful spin. "If you're sure," she said looking as happy as he'd ever seen her.
He started teaching her bits and pieces of his old routines. She practiced them over and over, making them look like poetry. He ached to match her with his portion of the program.
But, he didn't dare. Not yet.
#
Kelly loved her lessons with Ivan. Still, each one was like torture. Her body responded to him. His spare praise left her breathless. The way he moved over the ice made her throb. But, she still couldn't stand the thought of his touch.
She fussed over the pieces of dance routines that he taught her, shooting for perfection. One afternoon, she performed a pass and furrowed her brows. She was very sure she hadn't been deep enough into her edges.
"What are you frowning about?" he asked, skating up to her. "That was perfect."
"No--"
"I'm telling you, it's perfect." His accent harshened the complement. "Do it again."
She took the center of the ice and he skated out beside her. When she got into her starting position, he was no more than an arm's length away, striking the same pose.
"Ivan...." she said, a nervous tremble in her voice.
"I promise," he said, "I won't touch you."
She counted off and pushed away. He pushed with her. She did the quick series of turns and saw him, in her peripheral vision, mirror her in perfect synchronicity. He was very near her and perfectly precise. They did a series of quick, matched, hopping dance jumps, no more than a hand's width apart. She had a tingly, thrilling sense of sharing a sinewy body with Ivan.
When they skidded to a stop, she looked up at him, out of breath. She throbbed with want. For once, it overcame the revulsion.
"That part was designed to highlight pair's ability to synchronize," Ivan said. "If you hadn't done it perfectly, I couldn't have skated my part."
It was the most exhilarating thing she had experienced in years. "Can you teach me more?" she asked.
"I can teach you all of it, but...." He paused.
Kelly knew what he didn't want to say. "But you need to be able to touch me."
"I do."
"But you said you could--"
"I said I could teach you some things." He drifted forward on his skates "I wish I could teach you everything. Ice dancing is made for you."
He was so direct and his voice so wistful, her already aching want doubled. She backed off from him. "I can't, Ivan."
"I know."
Tears threatened and the panic pricked her. "I need to leave."
"Please don't," he told her. "I'll go. Use the rink as long as you like."
She couldn't read his expression. Somehow, it hurt her heart anyway. He skated away, leaving her alone.
#
Ivan didn't know whether to expect Kelly the following Tuesday or not. When she arrived, she wore a somber, serious expression. His heart sank a little.
She warmed up without looking at him. Then, she skated over, her arms half crossed and half hugging herself.
"My therapist thinks it would be very good for me to try ice dancing," she blurted.
"Your therapist?"
She flushed. "That came out wrong. I want you to teach me ice dancing. I'm scared to ask you to try. My therapist thinks I should."
He looked he her for a moment, beautiful and pink and vulnerable. "Ask me."
"You'll have to be really patient."
How patient had he been already, with no hope for more? "I can do that."
"I really want to dance with you, Ivan."
Every possible double and triple meaning flashed through his mind. His cock insisted upon itself for a moment. He had to struggle to maintain any level of composure.
"Then, let's start," he said.
"I don't know how."
He dismissed the idea of teaching her dance holds. There was no possible way, with the level of tension in her body, she could concentrate for a formal lesson.
"Stay here," he said.
He put on music. It was fun and upbeat and nothing that he would have ever used in a competition. Then, he skated to her and offered one hand.
She drew a deep breath and slipped her hand softly into his. Like a handshake. Not with the fingers twined the way he wanted to, but it was enough.
They skated around the rink twice like that. Then he turned and skated backwards in front of her, offering another hand. She took it, paling; her lower lip trembled.
"Close your eyes," he said. She hesitated only a moment but then did as he said.
Ivan skated like he hadn't in a while: at top speed. Working the powerful backwards cross-overs to gather momentum. Using all of his leg muscles. Towing her with him. It blew her hair back.
A little smile gathered on her pouting lips; her eyes stayed closed.
When the room was a blue and white blur, he said, "Open them, now."
She opened her eyes and immediately burst into delighted laughter. "I can't skate this fast," she said breathlessly.
"I know," he replied. He was still accelerating.
She put her head back, not seeming to notice that she was squeezing his hands. In another lap, he started to slow. But now, her posture was easier.
"That was fun," she said.
He let go of one of her hands and turned to skate forward again.
"Will you do it again?" she asked.
"As often as you like."
#
It was the longest, slowest process of Kelly's life. From holding one of his hands, to holding two hands. From holding two hands to letting Ivan grip her body. She longed for and cringed against his touch in equal measure. Each day it got a little easier.
Kelly asked him if he would meet with her twice a week. The first touch each new day was the worst and she hoped to desensitize herself to it faster. Still, she felt guilty for using Ivan this way. She searched his face for hurt but it was never there.
After two months, she could turn pirouettes while holding his hand. After four, she could manage closer holds. It was in the fifth month, though, during one of the routines that she had so meticulously practiced, that she finally relaxed into his arms.
She knew he felt it. As they glided, he held her closer, her back against his chest, her head on his shoulder.
"That's exactly right," he whispered.
Even though his lips were right next to her ear, she didn't panic. His words thrilled her whole body. It may not last, but in that moment there was no disgust. In that moment, she felt normal.
She came out of the position and turned to face him. There was something in his expression that she hadn't seen before. Something in those cool blue eyes that still managed to convey heat. He directed her as she glided backwards, ever slower. Her back bumped into the wall. Her heart jumped and for once it wasn't panic.
He put his hands on either side of her. She looked up at him and knew what he wanted.
"Tell me to stop," he said.
"What if I do?" she asked, her voice both defensive and like a sob.
"I will. I promise."
He was so close, she could smell his skin. Soap and something tangy, like vinegar. Her sex throbbed in time with her heart. She wanted this. It was so simple. Why couldn't she have it?
"I don't mean to be so fucked up, Ivan," she said.
He closed the little space between them and pressed his lips against hers in an otherwise chaste way. There was adrenaline, but the shock didn't hurt her.
He pulled back a fraction. "All right?" he asked.
It was. Through some miracle, it still was. "Yes," she said.
He leaned in kissed her harder this time. His tongue brushed her lips but didn't press into her mouth. Aside from the kiss, he didn't touch her anywhere. He broke away before he became truly passionate. She knew he wouldn't try more unless she encouraged him.
Her throbbing body wanted her to. Her fear held her back. What if she couldn't? What if she panicked? What if he hated her for it?
"I'm so sorry," she breathed, lowering her face. She said that after every panic attack. After every failed attempt to break out of her shell. She was so tired of apologizing.
He drifted backwards on his skates just a bit. Still close enough to be intimate but it gave her room to breathe. "Don't apologize," he said.
"It's easier when we're skating," she said.
"Then, next time we'll just keep skating."
She giggled and looked up at him. He was smiling at her. There were tears in her eyes but they were already starting to dry.
That night, she called her therapist. They talked a long time.
#
Ivan watched for Kelly a half hour before she was due to arrive for her next lesson. She came ten minutes early, the same as she always did. She flushed and smiled as she put on her skates. He waited for her on the ice.
They warmed up and chatted about trivial things. He took her through her lesson. After six months of skating, her body had tightened and thinned; her flexibility had noticeably improved. Ivan tried not to see the swell of her breasts, the flair of her hips, and the high, tight firmness of her backside.
He reminded himself that a kiss may be all he ever shared with Kelly.
When the lesson was over, she looked at him hopefully. "Skate with me for a while?"
"Of course."
He noticed a change immediately. Her grip on his skin was firmer and more confident. She skated closer. In the first pass, when she fell into the position with her back against his chest and her head on his shoulder, she melted into him. He often had to remind her to reach back to put her hands on his hips, but not this time.
"You feel different," he whispered to her as they glided.
"I must," she said. "I want you to touch me."
His cock swelled and ached. He had never had such an immediate reaction to a statement in his life. His arms were folded around her midsection in support but she could hold the pose without it
He slowly unzipped her hoodie and let it fall open. He put a hand on her thigh and another on her ribs.
"Like this?" he asked.
"Yes."
He kissed her ear and heard her soft, little breath. He slipped his hand under her shirt. He laid it on her flat, bare belly and flexed his fingers into her skin.
"And this?"
"Yes." There was a tremble to her voice this time.
He brought his hand to her breast, under her shirt but over her unpadded sports bra, and stroked the nipple with his thumb. All the while they glided, still fast enough to have the breeze tickle his skin.
"Oh," she gasped aloud. But, he also felt the soft push of her breast against his fingers, encouraging him.
He slipped his other hand up the inside of her thigh, over the yoga pants she wore during practice. She didn’t stiffen or protest. When his hand reached her belly, he dipped the tip of his fingers just inside of the elastic waist band.
"This?" he whispered, letting his lips brush her ear. Letting his tongue glide over the same spot.
"Please," she whispered. Her hands tightened on his hips.
He placed his palm on her pelvis and accelerated, pulling her into another glide. Then he slid his hand inside her pants and over her panties. Her legs were shoulder-width apart; it gave him plenty of room to move.
He brushed his fingers over her covered crotch. The material was damp through. Her breath hitched. He stroked over the dampness, feeling the swollen flesh underneath. He teased her hardened nipple through the material of her bra with soft pinches.
"Ivan..." she breathed.
"Do you know how I want you?" he asked.
"Then...take me somewhere."
"Are you sure?" he asked, still stroking her.
"Don't let me think about it."
He guided her off of the ice, reluctantly removing his hands from her. They each took off their own skates and pulled on shoes. Then he led her to his house. They had been alone during much of their time together. Nonetheless, this was a frisson like he'd never felt.
She followed him through his living room, up the steps, and into his bedroom. Once inside, he slipped her hoodie off of her shoulders. He let it fall to the floor and stood very close.
"Can you trust me?" he asked.
#
Kelly's eyes met his. His want and admiration just made her arousal more insistent.
"I trust you, Ivan," she told him.
He kissed her. Not like he had the night before but harder, with more need. His tongue darted experimentally into her mouth. His mouth urged hers open. Her body tingled with pleasure. With pleasure.
She opened her lips and kissed him back, hoping he would accept her awkward effort. She let him strip her shirt away; he only broke his kiss off long enough to pull it over her head.
Then, he brought his hands to her breasts over her sports bra. Both of them at the same time, gently chafing her until both nipples were stone hard. The pleasure nearly undid her. She stepped back.
"Kelly?" He asked. Her name was sweet in his mouth. Keely.
She pulled her bra over her head. Then, she stripped away her yoga pants. Her panties came next. White cotton with white iolet and a bow. She stood before him naked, as vulnerable as she'd ever been
"I don’t just trust you," she said. "I need you."
He was only a step away, but he took it in a quick stride. One hand went on her bare hip and the other on her face. He kissed her, open mouthed, invading tongue. He drew back a fraction, took her hand, and pressed it to his erection.
"All right?" he asked, his voice tense.
"Yes," she breathed, hoping it conveyed so much more.
He stripped his shirt off; he was as beautiful as she had dreamed. Muscle and cut and sinew. She squeezed his swollen cock and he moaned. It was foreign, using her hands on another person. Knowing that he loved it. Hearing his pleasure.
He put her hands in her hair and pulled her head back, tugging a little. It distracted her from the feel of his teeth on her throat. But that was satisfying too.
She closed her eyes and his lips went to her breasts, kissing, licking, and teasing. Sucking, drawing. The pleasure she remembered from adolescence, when she could still accept pleasure. Before the phobia got so bad that it cut her off from intimacy.
"Lie down," he told her.
She did as he said, expecting his weight on her next. Hoping that wouldn't be the thing that broke her calm.
But, he didn't. Instead, he knelt at the edge of the bed, his fingers light on her inner thigh, his head between her legs, watching her. He opened her and kissed her most aching spot.
"Touch your nipples," he told her, his voice husky.
It was a strange, sensual experience, touching yourself when someone else was already pleasuring you. She mimicked what Ivan did to her nipples and they obediently responded. He watched, his eyes growing hotter and hotter.
He reached up for her hands and brought them down to her sex.
"Hold yourself open for me," he said.
She obeyed, feeling her slickness. At first, he licked only her fingers. She moaned and spread her legs further. Then he kissed and licked softly around her need. By the time he brought a soft tongue to where she wanted him, her whimpers were breathless.
Back in her late teens, a boy had tried to do this for her. He had been eager, but fumbling. There had been no possibility of orgasm, though the sex that followed had probably been one of her better experiences. This already eclipsed that.
His lips and tongue found the rhythm she needed. As she accepted his touch, there wasn't any fear; there was only want.
Her orgasm bloomed; she cried out. Her legs flexed and she had to concentrate on not writhing against his mouth. His tongue played with her, even as she moaned, until she stopped him with a light touch.
He stood, his eyes still intense on her, slipping out of his pants and underwear. His body was beautiful. He was beautiful. He lay on the bed, on his back, his erection solid, thick, and ready and rolled on a condom.
Kelly didn't feel a moment of hesitation. She sat up, knelt, and crawled to straddle him. His cock was too thick to be eased into her, but she was wet. She worked him in and out until she could take his whole shaft, hearing his growling moans the whole time. Her sex clenched him.
She rocked on him, enjoying the feel of his flesh, the untainted pleasure. He put his hands on her hips lightly; she placed hers over his, helping him manage her movement.
She leaned forwards to kiss him, her breasts brushing his bare chest. His hands dared to wander, but eventually found a grip on her ass.
Their movement grew more intense. His hands pushed and pulled on her hips. Her aching pleasure ignited and spread. She cried out again as her orgasm pulsed from her womb out.
His cock grew even more solid; his fingers pressed into her skin as he came. His hips made slow circles when he was buried in her, as if to sheath the last millimeter. When he was done, she fell onto his chest without even remembering it should have frightened her.
He put his arms around her and she snuggled against his chest.
"I never thought I'd like anything better than skating. If anything could get me past my fear, I thought it would be that," she said.
"It was that," he told her.
"No," she said, drawing a line on his chest with her finger. "It wasn't skating that got me past it. It was you."
He pulled her up to his mouth to kiss her. She put her hands in his hair. Her mouth opened to him willingly and not a single part of her was tempted to pull away.
Thank you to G, who helped me rethink the point of view and sharpen the piece throughout.
Vera
- 18.02.2021
- 36
- 0
- Category:
- Seduction
