Dance: The Collected Series Read online

  To my surprise I feel it connect with my racket in a satisfying hit, sending the ball rocketing back towards him, so fast that it takes him by surprise. And instead of hitting it, he dives out of the way.

  “Are you sure you’ve not played this before?” he calls, laughing and shaking his head.

  “Maybe I was a tennis pro in a former life,” I call back, grinning from ear to ear.

  And as we begin to play, I find I’m actually enjoying this. Dylan tells me I’m a total natural. Maybe he’s just being nice, but it does feel pretty good. I can totally see why people play it – and it helps that I already have a lot of stamina, plus my balance and fast instincts from dancing, all of which turn out to be extremely useful out on the court, too.

  Towards the end I feel like I’m even giving him a run for his money, making him really dive for the ball, satisfied when I see that his brow is just as sweaty as my own. By the time we’re finished, we’re both completely exhausted, flushed, and dripping with sweat.

  “I’d just love a shower,” I say as I catch my breath, hands on my knees.

  “Come on,” he gestures. “Let’s use the ones in the pool house.”

  The path back to the pool house is totally secluded, and besides, I’m not worried about anyone seeing me, anyway. It seems like we’re really alone out here now, since Isabella left, and Dylan’s darting hungry glances at me, so I decide to give him just what I know he wants. Wordlessly, I walk a little ahead of him and slip out of my white cotton sundress, giving him a playful look over my shoulder as I let it drop to the floor, stepping effortlessly out of it. I’m only wearing my bikini now, and I begin to reach behind my back to untie the top.

  I feel so free, uncovering my bare chest outside like this, the setting sun beating down on my whole body.

  Finally I step out of my briefs too, just as I pad into the cool shade of the pool house. Dylan’s right behind me. I can sense his intensity, his urgency, his heat, but I remain just out of his grasp as I lead him through the living room, through the bedroom, and finally into the large, rustic, wood paneled en-suite bathroom. I step into the walk-in shower and turn on the jets, sighing with delight as I feel the deliciously cool water spray out all around me, enveloping me completely. I close my eyes as I enjoy the water hitting my body, cooling me down.

  “What d’you say we turn up the heat a little?” a voice murmurs behind me.

  I feel his hand brush my side as he reaches for the controls, his body pressing against mine, the hardness of his cock against my buttocks, as he turns the dial on the shower and the cool water begins to turn warmer.

  And then, sure enough, I feel his other hand reaching around, cradling my stomach. I sigh, pushing myself back against him, as both his hands begin to explore my body, one moving to my left breast, the other slipping between my thighs, his cock pressing against my ass as I grind back against him, shivering with delight, my eyes closing and a soft moan escaping my lips as his fingers finally find my clit, toying with me in slow, expert circles, his other palm enclosing my breast, his mouth grazing against my neck, covering it with playful bites and kisses.

  I slip around in his arms to face him now, our bodies so slick and wet, our breath shivering past our lips as we push tight against each other, his hands moving to my ass, his cock nestled right between my legs, the hot length of him touching gently against the liquid desire that’s building right at the center of me, his mouth enclosing my own, his tongue pushing deep between my lips, plundering me with long sensuous licks, his lips bruising mine.

  As I reach down to take his cock in my hand, I tremble with delight as I feel him groan with pleasure, his mouth still pressed firmly against mine.

  I pull away from the kiss, but only so that I can take his hand, bringing it to my mouth, sucking on two of his fingers slowly and sensuously while I stroke him, as if to tell him exactly what I have in store for him. I gasp, as he in turn drives the fingers of his other hand so fucking deep inside me, stretching me wide, and I buck my hips in time with the motions of his hand as he moves his fingers, sliding them in and out of me, in and out, hitting a sweet spot deep inside me, causing me to shudder, the first shivers of my orgasm building powerfully but slowly inside me.

  I close my eyes, sucking on his fingers, stifling my moans as he finger-fucks my pussy, faster and faster, until with a final gasp I come, my muscles clenching tight around his fingers, my whole body shivering and bucking as the sensations flow through me, my mind splintering, my body slicking with the delicious warm water, Dylan’s muscular form pressed so tightly against me.

  Just as I’m returning to my senses, he scoops me up in his arms so easily, carrying me out of the shower stall and through to the bedroom, both of us still dripping wet, our tanned bodies shining. He throws me playfully onto the bed, and I squeal from the surprise of it. But when he joins me, I feel overcome with the urge to cover him in kisses – knowing this will probably be my very last chance.

  So I climb over him, pushing his slicked wet shoulders back hard against the white cotton sheets, my nipples grazing against his broad tanned chest as I steal a quick hungry kiss from his lips, before working my way further downwards, over his taught pecs, his abs, towards his cock. And this time, I don’t want to tease him.

  I take him in my mouth with an urgent gasp, both hands caressing him, cupping his balls, stroking his shaft, as I suck him as deep into my mouth as I can, wanting to feel myself so full of him. And as I do, I feel his hands begin to toy with my tender nipples, tweaking and thumbing them, each motion of his fingertips causing fresh shivers of pleasure to ripple through me.

  I pull my mouth away from his cock, but only for a moment.

  I quickly turn around, still on all fours above him, but this time I’m throwing my leg back over his shoulders, and after a suggestive glance at him, I bring my head back down between his legs, eagerly taking him once more into my mouth, just as I feel his hands close over my hips, urging me back towards his mouth, too.

  I moan loudly, gasping around his cock as I feel his lips touch against my sex, his tongue quickly plundering me, his rough hands parting my buttocks wide as he drives his tongue even deeper inside me.

  I try to focus my attention on his cock once more, pumping his shaft with my fist as I kiss and nuzzle the swollen purple head, but each time I’m distracted by the amazing things he’s doing to my pussy in return, his tongue taking me in slow sensual laps right to the edge of pleasure.

  I draw as much of him into my mouth as I can, so deep that he’s nudging right at the back of my throat, my lips clamping tight around his shaft in a stifled moan as he sucks my clit hard between his lips, flicking it playfully with his tongue, finally pushing me over the edge.

  As I come for the second time, it’s like my whole body explodes in a crescendo of pleasure, my limbs trembling, my muscles clenching, and even as I’m still coming, I feel Dylan come too, pumping his warmth deep into the back of my throat, his mouth finally breaking its tight seal on my cunt as he cries out in a low, manly groan.

  I gulp him back, still moaning and trembling with my own pleasure, our bodies so slicked and shiny with a mixture of water and sweat.

  “Looks like we could do with another shower, what do you say?” I murmur when I can finally speak again, my voice trembling a little, and to my relief, he laughs warmly in reply.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I wake up, and the first thing I realize is that it’s Monday, which means the week is finally over.

  The thought races through my mind: I’ve got to pack. But then I remember that I don’t have anything to pack, just the dress I came in, now washed and dried and folded in a neat little square by the bed. I put it back on and look myself over in the mirror. Damn, I think. Why did I wear such a tight little black dress for that meeting a week ago?

  Because this does not look like a Monday morning dress. This looks like a walk of shame dress.

  I wasn’t planning on taking any of the outrageously expensive
clothes from the closet home with me, but I feel too awkward leaving the house in just this dress. And luckily, nestled among the sportswear, I find a plain gray American Apparel hoodie and zip it up over the dress. I doubt anyone’s gonna miss it, and besides, it’s nice to have a souvenir of what a crazy week this has been.

  Finally I pick up my handbag and my purse, reminding myself that Dylan still has my cell phone.

  As I walk down the corridor and that huge sumptuous staircase for the final time, I think to myself: You did it, Julia Tate. You signed a contract giving Dylan Campbell everything he wanted from you, for a whole week, and somehow you’re leaving with your virginity still intact ...

  I find him in the breakfast room a few minutes later, drinking coffee.

  “Good morning,” he says when he sees me, pushing himself out of his seat, dressed as usual in a sharp suit, his thick black hair shining in the morning light, his cufflinks glinting, too. “Let’s go.”

  §

  On the plane on the way back, there’s a strange atmosphere between us. Both of us remain quiet, as if there’s no point in conversation anymore, and it’s as if the cabin crew know to leave us alone, the awkwardness growing with each second that we remain silent.

  I suppose now the week’s over, he’s done with me, isn’t he? No more contract, so I guess we just have to get on with our lives as if we’d never even met.

  I look over at him. I’m not sure just what he’s thinking, but me? I’m busy wondering what happens next. I mean, for starters, how do I even get paid for something like this? Do I send him an invoice? After all, I’ve not exactly been in a situation like this before ...

  “I know what you’re thinking,” he says, meeting my gaze for the first time since we took off. “And don’t worry. Just write down your bank details and I’ll arrange a transfer for the money. You don’t have anything to worry about in that respect. However,” he adds with a pause, darting me a look I can’t quite read, “I’ve been intrigued by your ... performance over this past week, Julia. You’ve piqued my interest in a way that not many girls have managed to. I want to see more of you, and what you can do. So I’m proposing an extension to the contract ...”

  I’m genuinely blown away when I hear these words. The way we’ve always spoken about it was that once this week was over, the deal was off. I know I’ve surprised myself by the ways I’ve started to enjoy his company, but I never let myself hope that he was starting to feel the same way about me.

  But is that what he means? Does he really want to get to know me better? Or does he just mean another week, another hundred grand, and another chance to try and fuck me?

  “I could be interested,” I say, examining my nails in an attempt to try and hide my mounting curiosity. “Tell me more.”

  “It hasn’t escaped my notice that we haven’t fully explored all the possibilities of working together yet. If you know what I mean?”

  Oh, I know exactly what you mean, Dylan Campbell.

  “So for that reason, I’m willing to extend the contract for another month at the same rate per week,” he says, shifting a little in his seat to turn and face me directly. “But I want you available at my beck and call, Julia. You will have no other duties except to be available for me. What do you say?”

  “No,” I reply, my voice trembling, almost unable to believe what’s coming out of my mouth.

  Am I really doing this? Am I really turning down four hundred thousand dollars?!

  “This is a very good deal, Julia,” he says sternly. “I strongly suggest you reconsider before throwing a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity like this away.”

  “Maybe,” I say, surprising myself with the confidence in my voice and the conviction in what I’m about to say. “But let’s get this clear. I’m certainly not available to be at your beck and call, twenty-four seven. I’m not a possession, Dylan. I’m a busy woman with responsibilities. And next week, as you well know, I’m starting my place at the Eldridge School of Dance. As you remember, I’m a dedicated student and a hard worker, right? So no, I won’t be there just to please you whenever you wish. But all that said, I’m still interested in negotiating further.”

  He raises an eyebrow, and I can tell he’s surprised that I’ve turned him down. And I understand why. It’s a crazy amount of money, and if I’ve said yes to this first week, why not extend it for another month?

  “I see,” he says, nodding to himself, obviously enjoying the back-and-forth of our little ‘business deal’. “In that case, let me make a counter offer. You’re free to attend to your studies, from 9-5, Monday to Friday ...”

  “And one evening a week,” I cut in.

  He considers my interjection for a moment then nods again. “And one evening a week,” he repeats. “ You will live in one of my apartments, and we can come to some sort of arrangement regarding the salary. I was thinking somewhere in the region of ...”

  “Counter offer,” I say firmly, interrupting him again. He falls silent, letting me speak. “The dates and times are acceptable to me,” I say. “I accept on those conditions. However, I will not be accepting any kind of ‘salary’ for this. I don’t need any more money, and certainly not from you. Perhaps you can make a donation to one of your charities instead ... I’m sure you support many.”

  He locks eyes with me, and it finally dawns on him that I’m serious about this.

  “However,” I continue, “I will gladly accept your offer of the apartment. The rent on my rat-infested fifth-floor walk-up is astronomical, and I’d be a fool to turn you down on that.”

  “Deal?” he says, offering his hand.

  “Deal,” I reply, grabbing his hand and shaking it.

  PART THREE

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  I look around me nervously at the sea of new faces, reflected in the mirrored wall that runs along one side of the dance studio. Young men and women, all dressed in brand new dancewear. It’s kind of like the equivalent of when you bring in a new pencil case for the start of a school year: everyone’s proudly showing off their sparkly new kit, for once even me. I’m wearing all brand-new dancewear: a really great peach sports bra and a crisp white t-shirt that shows off my tan. I even went to Lululemon myself and bought some of their insanely expensive yoga pants. In the past, I’ve always thought pricey clothes like this were a total waste of money. I mean, hundred dollar workout pants don’t exactly make you any better at dancing. But at the same time, they’re really comfortable to wear, they don’t fall apart in the wash, and shopping for them was actually kinda fun, as long as you ignored the snooty sales girls, looking you up and down. I knew they were just jealous of my figure. And I’ve got to admit, it’s nice not to have to worry about money for the first time in my life.

  Just then the door opens. It’s Maurice Ryman.

  “Good morning, fresh meat,” he says as he struts confidently into the room, clapping his hands as he takes his place in front of us. “Enough gossiping. Enough checking out the competition. Let’s get dancing.”

  He nods to the assistant in the corner, and a moment later music bursts from the large speakers in all four walls of the studio, filling the room with a pulsing, insistent house beat.

  “Let’s start with some warm ups,” Maurice calls from his place at the front of the class, clapping his hands in time to the rhythm of the drums. “Okay, and ... go, two three four, one, two, three, four ... Very good. Very good!”

  He leads us through a fast, intense series of warm-up steps, never letting up for a moment, and wow, it feels so great to be back in a real dance studio. And this time, I remind myself, I’m not only in the best, but I’m learning from the best, too.

  The rest of the day speeds by in a blur of dancing, orientation, and trying to remember a million and one new names, as Maurice and the other teachers all guide us through the different courses we’ll be taking over the first semester, everything leading towards our first production – the end of term recital.

  As the tired class streams ou
t through the double doors and onto the campus, the talk turns to the idea of a trip to a local bar for a getting-to-know-you drink. And I do really want to get to know my fellow students, but I sadly have to decline. You see, before I make some new friends, there’s an old one I’ve been neglecting ...

  §

  “Holy shit, Jules. You didn’t tell me you’ve got a doorman now!” Nat squeals as I open the door to my new apartment. “Oh my God. You’ve got to be shitting me. You’re telling me this is really your new place?”

  “I guess it is, and come in,” I say with a sheepish grin.

  I step aside to let her pass, watching her as she gazes in awe at my totally enormous new pad, situated right here in the center of downtown Manhattan. It’s got highly polished oak floors, loads of windows, exposed brick all along one wall, and a huge tan suede corner sofa, so comfortable you could live in it, so comfortable in fact that you don’t even really need a bed. But of course there is a bed, too: a massive king-sized one, as well as an en-suite with a shower and a bath.

  “Oh my God,” Nat says as she takes in the apartment. “This is amazing! This is everything!”

  She’s running around it, as excited as a kid on Christmas morning, while I lounge on the sofa letting her explore.

  From the bathroom, I hear her squeal. Then she comes running back through.

  “Sweet mama!” she says, throwing herself down on the sofa. “You’ve got a tub? You don’t know how long I’ve been dreaming of having a soak in a tub. You’ve gotta let me come round here for a few hours to soak. Pleeeeease?”

  “Of course,” I laugh. “It’s incredible, isn’t it? Before I moved here, I can’t remember the last time I actually had a bath either. Sometimes I wonder why we put ourselves through all this ...”