Dance: The Collected Series Read online

  One woman, with long black hair and a toned pale body, strips down to just a tiny purple g-string, while the other gets completely naked, apart from her killer stilettos. And then both take sparkling silver masks – the same kind the woman on the door was wearing – and put them over their heads, covering their faces.

  Still laughing and talking amongst themselves, they turn and head over to a large door on the far wall, pushing it open and stepping out into what sounds like a busy party, the music and voices rushing into the locker room for a moment before the door swings closed again, leaving me here in the silence, except the sound of my heart pounding.

  Oh my fucking God.

  What the hell have I let myself in for ...

  §

  I stand transfixed, hiding in the shadows, unable to believe what I’m seeing. It’s like some kind of screwed up anxiety dream. Because here I am, totally fucking naked, at some crazy swingers party. This is completely insane. Everywhere I look, I can see people. Naked people. Some of them are chatting happily, drinking from champagne glasses, and some ... well, some are fucking. Right here in this room, in full view of everyone! The moans and sighs float in the air, along with the pumping beat of the music. I’m scanning the crowd, trying to find Dylan – hoping I recognize him soon. I feel so vulnerable, and I take a further step backwards into the shadows, until my back is pressed right up against the coolness of the wall.

  The place itself is huge. The walls are painted black and the furnishing is all done in plush purple velvet with shining gilt edges, the room lit by flickering candles set into alcoves in the walls. And it seems like this club, or whatever you’d call it, is even bigger than this one main room. I watch people – naked people – coming and going from the doorways that seem to lead off into the darkness, to God-knows-what.

  Right in front of me, I watch with a mixture of horror and amazement as a girl drops to her knees and starts giving head to a guy as well-built and stacked as Magic Mike. In embarrassment I pull my eyes away, but now I’m watching two girls writhing around on a chaise longue, their hands and mouths exploring each other’s bodies.

  “Drink madam,” the voice says in my ear.

  I turn in shock, but to my relief it’s Dylan, holding two glasses of champagne.

  He hands one to me and I gulp it back, downing almost the whole thing in one.

  “How did you recognize me?” I ask. “I’m completely naked and I’m wearing a mask.”

  “Simple,” he relies. “I’d recognize that ass anywhere. So, I take it you’ve not been to something like this before then?”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” I blurt out, louder than I was planning.

  “Well?” he continues. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

  I shake my head, but even as I’m doing it, I have to admit to myself that secretly there is something about this that I’m enjoying. It’s totally depraved, totally crazy, but yeah ... I guess there is something kind of hot about being in a dark room, completely anonymous, my identity hidden by a mask, while all around me people are just giving in to their desires –doing exactly what turns them on.

  “This isn’t exactly my kind of thing,” I mumble.

  But he turns towards me, pressing his body into mine, and I gasp when I feel his hand move between my legs, his fingers pushing easily between my lips, tracing the hot wetness that’s seeping out from the center of me.

  “Is that so?” he whispers playfully in my ear. “Because your body is telling me a very different story ...”

  I try to speak, but all I can do is moan, as his fingers move to my clit, sending a crackle of sparks through me as he works me just the way I like.

  He pulls away, just long enough to take the glass from my hand and put it along with his down by our feet. Then he turns back to me, his cock jutting upwards from between his muscular thighs.

  “I really don’t think I can do this ...” I murmur, my voice trembling.

  But even as I’m saying it, I feel my hands moving towards his perfect body, my fingers slipping around the rock-hard shaft of his cock, masturbating him, feeling another shiver of pleasure as his hand moves back between my legs.

  When we kiss, I close my eyes, pushing my tongue deep into his mouth, the moans and sighs and pounding drums swirling around us as we push our yearning bodies together, my sensitive breasts grazing against the broad firmness of his chest, my nipples tightening and tingling, the wetness growing between my legs as he works me with his fingers, my own hands caressing his pulsing cock, needing it inside me, even if we are here ... here in public ...

  Before I even know what’s happening, he’s urged me down with him onto the floor, so that he’s lying on his back and I’m on top, straddling him.

  We’ve come away from the wall now, away from the shadows, and all around us I can see people – people who are even watching us.

  Again I say it: “I don’t know if I can do this ...”

  “Just let yourself go, Julia,” he says, keeping his eyes locked onto mine. “You can do this.”

  And somehow, even though I’m totally out of my depth, the way he speaks to me makes me feel completely safe.

  Just then the head of his cock grazes against the inside of my thigh, my whole body prickling with goose bumps and that urgent need to feel him deep inside me overpowering any reservations left in me.

  Before I can change my mind, I reach between my legs, and with trembling fingers I guide him inside me, moaning softly as I feel him stretching me wide, his hardness pushing so deep into me as he bucks his hips, his hands on my ass, urging me even further onto him.

  And soon I’m riding him, grinding myself against him, both of us moving in time, my hands on his shoulders, my hair falling in my face, my breasts bouncing as I feel the electricity intensifying. I have my eyes closed, lost in the moment, but then I moan, as a jolt of pleasure catches me off guard, and I open my eyes, looking around me, realizing that the whole room seems to be watching us now.

  I can feel all those eyes, travelling over my skin, watching me as I shudder and moan, Dylan’s cock driving deep into me from beneath, and I find I actually get even more turned on at the thought of all these people watching, some of them playing with themselves, some just drinking us in ...

  I ride him even harder and faster, as he places his thumb against my clit, stroking me there sensuously as I grind myself against him, feeling him so deep inside me. With a final gasp and a shudder, I come, clenching tight around him. A moment later I feel Dylan come too, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me tight against him as he thrusts his hips, all those eyes still burning into us as his cock twitches and pulses, buried deep inside me ...

  §

  In the car on the way home, there’s this uneasy silence between us. Maybe Nat’s right, I think. Who even am I anymore? I feel like I’m changing so fucking much. And is it really all for the better? How am I even supposed to know?

  Right now, sitting here on this plush leather seat next to Dylan, I still feel so alone. Because I can’t talk to him about this – about anything. I want to tell him my problems, to tell him all about my argument with Nat, to ask him for a hug maybe. But I know I can’t. Because that’s not what our ‘arrangement’ is about.

  So instead I stay quiet and look sadly out of the window, as the plush limo drives me back towards my beautiful apartment.

  CHAPTER twenty-THREE

  “Is everything okay?” Maurice asks me during our one-on-one on Tuesday evening. “You seem a little ... distracted.”

  I let out a big sigh. He’s totally right. I am distracted. Distracted as hell. I’ve been distracted all damn weekend, ever since that ride back from the club in Dylan’s car on Friday night, no, ever since my argument with Nat.

  I didn’t see Dylan all weekend – he said he was ‘busy with family’, and I knew not to push it any further than that. Because that’s a privilege reserved for girlfriends, right? And on top of that, I had no one to even talk to about any of this. So
many times, I picked up my cell, typing out a message to Nat and then deleting it again, knowing she wouldn’t want to hear from me either.

  So yes, Maurice. I have been ... distracted, if you must know. Distracted with a capital D.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, trying to loosen up.

  But I just can’t. I’ve always been able to throw myself into my dancing before – to lose myself in the music, to shake off any problems or doubts I’ve had about the rest of my life. But tonight? It just doesn’t seem to be working, and on top of that, I’m getting this weird vibe off Maurice, too, and there’s something about it that casts my mind back to our last session, when he kind of asked me out for coffee.

  No, Julia. He’s just your teacher, and it was just coffee. You’re being stupid and over-thinking things, as usual ...

  “You know what I do when I’m distracted?” he says, shutting off the music then taking a step back towards me.

  I shake my head.

  “Take a break?” I offer innocently.

  “Kind of ...” he says with a strange expression, taking another step towards me, close enough to envelop me in that strong aftershave he’s always wearing.

  Oh God, is he making a move on me?!

  “You need to relax, Julia,” he says, circling me now, way too close to me.

  He stops right behind me. I’m frozen to the spot as I feel his hot hands on my shoulders. He begins to massage me.

  “See?” he murmurs, his breath warm on my neck. “You’re all tensed up ...”

  “Shall we go through the routine one more time?” I croak, hoping he takes his hands off me soon.

  But instead he slides them down my back and then through my arms, his palms travelling up my sides, right up towards my breasts.

  No, he can’t be ...

  I don’t know why I don’t just pull away from him. Maybe it’s the shock of what’s happening. But instead I just stand there, rooted to the spot like some stupid mannequin as his hands actually slide right up and over my breasts, his palms cupping them, sending a pang of shock straight to my brain.

  Is this actually happening?

  Because even though his hands are all over my breasts, a strange part of me is still trying to tell myself that it’s somehow fine, and he’s just giving me a massage. But then I feel his lips on my neck – a horrible, slobbering wetness – and it’s too much.

  This is actually happening.

  I pull away, turning to face him, and before I even know what I’m doing, I’ve slapped him hard across the face, hard enough for that sharp crack to echo all around the studio.

  His eyes widen and his chest heaves. There’s this awful pause and then he speaks. “Oh, that’s it,” he says, lifting his hand to his cheek.

  “Please, Maurice, I didn’t mean to ...” I stutter.

  “You are done at this school, you talentless fucking bitch.”

  And as his words pierce my heart one by one, the gravity of this situation is only just starting to sink in.

  “Talentless?” I plead. “I don’t understand. But you said ...”

  “You were only in this school,” he interrupts, “because you were a hot piece of ass, you fucking cock-tease. And nothing you can say will change my mind,” he hisses, his voice trembling with venom. “Now be a good little girl, won’t you, and get the fuck out of my dance studio. And don’t you even think about coming back ...”

  §

  I stumble out onto the sidewalk, shivering from the shock. Did that really just happen? I stand there frozen for a moment, my head still reeling, before instinct kicks in and I find myself flagging down the nearest cab. I tell the driver my address automatically, then sit back on the seat, my hands shaking as I fumble my cell phone from my bag. I’m too shaken up to call, so instead I just send a text. To the only person who might be able to make me feel better right now. To Dylan.

  I need to see you.

  And then I wait, each second feeling like an hour, unable to do anything but fight back the tears and stare at the screen of my phone until, about a minute later, he finally replies.

  I need to see you too. Where are you?

  Come to my apartment, I reply. I’ll be home in about 20 minutes?

  I’ll be as quick as I can.

  §

  I take the elevator up to my floor, where I find Dylan lounging in the hall outside the door to my apartment. A thought crosses my mind that he probably has a spare key, and could easily have let himself in, but I’m glad he’s waited here like this instead.

  “That was quick,” I call out to him as I approach, immediately feeling a tiny bit better just by seeing him again, feeling my body unwinding slightly, a little of the stress and white-hot rage melting away.

  “What can I say?” he replies with a lustful glance. “I got your message and I needed to be here as fast as I could.”

  He takes a step towards me just as I reach the door, confidently slipping his hand into the small of my back and pulling me towards him, his other hand taking my chin, tilting my face to meet his, just as his lips touch against my own.

  I feel myself melting in his arms, glad to forget about that horrible scene with Maurice, if only for a few seconds, Dylan’s touch seeming to have some magic ability to push that crap to the very farthest reaches of my brain, his lips somehow able to fill me with hope and desire, rather than the frustration and pain I was feeling just a few short moments ago.

  And I push back against him, my own hands moving into his hair, my kiss becoming more urgent, my tongue slipping between his lips, as I just need him so fucking badly right now – need to feel him, to touch him, to fuck him, hard and wild enough that it lets me escape myself, if only for a few moments ...

  We break the kiss just long enough for me to fumble the key card from my purse, pushing it into its slot with shaky fingers, my whole body trembling in expectation, the door flying open behind me and then a moment later, I feel myself being swept up in Dylan’s arms, lifting me right off the floor.

  He deftly kicks the door closed with one foot behind him, before carrying me in the direction of the large leather couch in the middle of the living room, lowering me gently down onto it, his body covering mine once more.

  It’s like we can’t get each other undressed fast enough. I’m pulling at his clothes in a frenzy, even tearing at them now, covering each fresh new inch of his skin I expose with a flurry of kisses. And soon, he’s got me undressed too, pulling my panties down over my thighs, his head quickly moving between my legs, his tongue already lapping at my clit before he’s even pulled them over my feet and flung them onto the floor behind him.

  I arch my back, moaning as his tongue encircles my swelling clit, grinding myself hard into his face, wanting to fuck his mouth, my fingers moving roughly into his hair, gripping it so tightly it probably hurts him, pulling him even more roughly between my spread legs.

  His tongue moves even faster in reply, flicking downwards now, grazing the slick wetness of my shaved lips for a moment before spearing deep inside me, causing me to cry out as the stabs of pleasure flare out, ricocheting around my body. And before long, I’m coming hard, thrashing and bucking like some wild thing, thrusting my hips, his head clamped tight between my legs, my hands in his hair, as I ride out the last of my pleasure on his face.

  As soon as I’ve finished coming, he hurriedly slips off his own unbuckled pants and boxers, so that he too is totally naked – his cock so fucking big and hard-looking I just can’t tear my eyes from it.

  But when he moves himself between my legs, guiding his dick towards me, I reach out to stop him, laying my palm flat on his muscular chest and shaking my head.

  “No,” I say, my voice trembling. “Like this ...”

  I slip out from under him, then turn onto my front, bringing myself up on my knees, spreading my legs slightly, arching my back, and pressing my ass back against him, offering myself to him that way. He doesn’t need any more instructions.

  I hear the shiver of his
own breath as he moves his hand roughly between my legs from behind, his middle finger tracing my wetness backwards, over my swollen lips, then further back, grazing my asshole for a moment, causing me to shiver as he moistens me there with my own juices.

  I feel him cup my ass tenderly with his hands, and then he surprises me with a playful spank – surprisingly hard too.

  “Hey!” I squeal, looking over my shoulder at him.

  But he’s not playful now. He’s urgent, even animalistic.

  His muscular body shines in the soft glow of the lighting, his eyes burning, as he guides his cock towards my asshole, first teasing and grazing my lips with the head of his cock for a moment, causing me to moan and shiver, pushing myself back towards him, then pulling himself away.

  He moves his hands to my waist, holding me firmly in place, and then ...

  Oh God.

  I moan deeply, as I feel his cock press against my ass.

  I don’t know if I can do this ...

  I try to relax as he pushes the thick hot head of his cock against my tightness, and then all of a sudden I feel myself yield, opening for him, as he fills me in a whole new way, one which makes me shudder and moan, as I push myself back towards him.

  Each time he fills me, it’s kind of intense – always makes me feel like he’s right on the brink of splitting me. But this time? Like this? Fuck. It’s almost too much – too raw, too intense, too full.

  But it’s what I’ve been craving, too: to be taken roughly like this, to be fucked like an animal, to push all my troubles as far from my mind as I can.

  Holding me firmly in place by my hips, he slides even deeper inside me, so slowly I can feel every new millimeter of him entering me. Then he slides out again, before pushing back once more, even deeper this time, another moan falling from my lips as I push my face into the soft leather of the couch.

  “That’s it,” I gasp, turning to look over my shoulder at him, holding his gaze for a moment as if to challenge him to fuck me even harder. “Fuck me, Dylan ...”