Dance: The Collected Series Page 21

  “Let me take you out,” he says, once he’s settled up the bill. “I want to see you dance in that dress. Let’s go to a jazz club.”

  “You don’t need to get me drunk, you know,” I say, unable to fully hide the bitterness from my voice. “I’ve already given in to you.”

  “Come on,” he says, shrugging off my attack and getting to his feet. “Let’s go dancing.”

  §

  We walk through the streets, and I still can’t bring myself to talk to him. So he fills the silence for both of us.

  “I remember the first time I came here,” he says. “It was a school trip when we were sixteen. I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was a world away from my stuffy prep school. So much music and dancing. Everyone went to a bar and tried – and failed – to get served drinks, so they thought it was kind of lame. But I just walked around, taking in the atmosphere. I promised myself I’d come back, as soon as I could. And sure, it’s been a little bit longer than that, but I’m glad to finally come here again, with you ...”

  He tries to take my hand, but I pull it roughly away.

  “Do you know where I went on a school trip when I was a kid?” I say sharply. “Nowhere. We couldn’t afford anything like that. In fact, our school didn’t even have a library let alone tennis courts and an orchestra and whatever the fuck else you had at your fancy prep school. Don’t you ever stop to think that not everyone in the world is as privileged as you? Most of us didn’t get everything we wanted handed to us on a silver plate.”

  “Woah, Julia,” he says, stopping me in the street, standing in front of me and holding me in place by my shoulders. “Where’s all this coming from? Listen to me. I know how privileged I am. My parents brought us up right, and they always taught us to remember how lucky we are. Okay, so maybe Isabella didn’t take that particular lesson in. But me and Spencer? We’ve always been thankful for what we have and tried to remember how fortunate we are. But our parents wanted to give us everything they had. What parents wouldn’t? I like having money. I like what it can buy.”

  Like my panties, I think. Like me ...

  “Let’s just enjoy the evening,” he says.

  I begin to walk ahead. He takes my silence to mean ‘okay, everything’s cool’. But inside I’m still smoldering. It’s not okay. No little speech about being grateful and remembering the poor little people is going to get him off the hook tonight.

  And I realize as I walk that my building anger at him isn’t even about one thing: it’s about everything. Him. Myself. Our situation. And I just want to scream, scream at the top of my lungs, right here in the middle of the street in this throng of people.

  Instead I bite my lip and keep my mouth shut. There’s another way I usually deal with this frustration, with this kind of anger. And luckily we’re going in the right direction ...

  §

  In the club the music’s loud – the beat pumping from the speakers at an ear-splitting volume. And praise the Lord for the loud music. It means we don’t have to talk. Instead, I dance out my frustrations. Or at least I try to. But no matter how hard I dance, it’s just not quite working.

  Because every time I start to think my anger at Dylan is subsiding, it rises up inside me again, even more powerfully than before – a massive tidal wave of venom that I just can’t control.

  “The bar,” I shout at him, pointing in the direction of the large lit-up bar that runs the length of one wall. I turn and march towards it, not even caring if he follows. But when I reach it, he’s right there behind me. I scan the long rows of gleaming spirit bottles greedily. Tonight I just want to forget everything. Tonight I just want oblivion.

  “Four shots of tequila,” I shout, the moment the nearest bartender reaches me.

  “What are you doing?” Dylan shouts at me, his eyes full of confusion. “Slow down.”

  “We’re out aren’t we?” I shout back. “We’re young. I want to have fun. I want to get wasted.”

  “Hey, we don’t need to get wasted tonight,” he replies, grabbing my arm, trying to pull me in close to him. But I wrestle myself away from him. “After all,” he adds, “don’t we want to have some fun later? When we get back?”

  “Right,” I say, shrugging. “So just because I let you sleep with me this morning, you think you can get it whenever you want? Well, guess what. Think again.”

  He looks confused, like he doesn’t know whether or not I’m joking. And he chooses to take it that way, smiling and shaking his head. “I like a girl who makes me work for it,” he says. “But seriously, Julia, slow down.”

  He says this just as the barman places the four shots of tequila I ordered on the bar in front of us. I slide one across to Dylan.

  “On three,” I say. “One, two, three ...”

  We down the shots, and I’m glad for the sharp burning taste of the tequila at the back of my throat. I don’t even need any lemon to sweeten the pain. I slide him the next shot a half second later.

  “And again, on three,” I shout. “One, two, three ...”

  “No, no, no,” he says, shaking his head. “Not for me.”

  “Too bad,” I reply, quickly knocking back my second, and then his too for good measure.

  He looks at me in confusion. “Okay, but that’s enough for now.”

  I push away from him and propel myself into the crowd, wishing I could lose him completely, trying to give myself up to the music, dancing like a wild thing. I know that people are watching me but right now I don’t even care.

  I try to dance as hard as I can, but soon I’m starting to feeling woozy, the extra tequila shots catching up on me even quicker than I’d anticipated. And all the while, Dylan’s right there with me, not leaving me alone for a second in this heaving pulsing crowd of bodies.

  “Let’s get another drink,” I say.

  But on the way to the bar I stumble, and it’s Dylan who catches me moments before I fall. “I really think you’ve had enough,” he says gently.

  “Come on, don’t be so fucking boring!” I insist. “All I want is another drink.”

  “Seriously, Julia,” he says, his voice low and commanding, just like that first night I met him. “I’m taking you back to the hotel. Come on.”

  And at this, he actually grabs me by the arm and drags me out of the club. What the fuck? I start fighting and thrashing against him but it’s no use, he’s just too strong for me, especially in my current state. And I don’t even care that practically the whole club seems to have stopped to watch as he marches me outside, into the cold night air.

  Out on the sidewalk, the raging anger bubbling away inside me finally spills right over to the surface.

  “How fucking dare you tell me what to do,” I scream, right in his face.

  “Hey, calm down,” he says, finally letting go of me. “I just think you’ve had enough to drink and it’s time to go home. That’s all.”

  “No, you don’t get it,” I continue. “You didn’t buy me, Dylan Campbell. I know you think you did, but I’m not your fucking property. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

  At this, I turn and run away, not even looking where I’m going, charging through the crowds, the tears running down my cheeks, ruining my makeup, but I don’t care what I look like, even though I know confused tourists are watching me, open-mouthed, as I run.

  I run and run, through street after street, until I’m totally exhausted, and when I finally look around to get my bearings again, I see that I’m right by the entrance to a park. So I go in and take a seat on a bench, thankful for the peace and quiet the shaded greenery offers me. It looks like I’m the only person here, and before I can even catch my breath again, I’m overcome with another crying fit, the sobs juddering through my body, the hot tears streaming down my face, as I think about how I’ve lost everything, and how stupid I was to think that I could ever get it all back together again. Life just doesn’t work like that. So it makes me jump when I feel a hand touching softly on my shoulder.

  I
look up and there’s Dylan. Somehow he’s found me, again.

  “Mind if I take a seat?” he asks quietly.

  I’m too tired to fight now. So I just nod, and he takes a seat on the bench beside me. I expect him to say something, but instead he just puts his arms around my shoulders and holds me. And then, a moment later, he says very quietly, “I’ll never give up on you, you know. I can’t change the way we met. I can’t change the past. But everything from hereon in, I can and will do right. I want you to have everything you deserve, Julia. I want you to have a fairy tale romance. I want you to have happiness and passion and everything you should have.”

  “Why?” I reply, no longer shouting, just exhausted and tired, my voice just a whisper. “Why do you care? You could have anyone. Someone who understands you and your life and where you come from. Someone your whole family won’t think is just trash.”

  “I know you think I was an asshole that first night at the bar,” he says, “the kind of guy who offers an obscene amount of money for a girl’s underwear and expects to get it. And yes, you were right. I was that asshole. But the moment you turned around and looked me square in the face, dropping my business card to the floor, I knew that nothing would ever be the same again. I knew in that moment that you were the only woman for me. I love you, Julia,” he says. “It’s that simple.”

  I’m stunned into silence by the word.

  I turn and kiss him, and I start crying again as we kiss.

  “What’s wrong?” he murmurs, brushing the tears from my cheeks with his thumbs. “Why are you still crying?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. But it’s because I’m crying with happiness. “I love you, too.”

  §

  We fall back onto the soft cotton sheets of the bed that night, so hungry for each other it feels almost like a kind of madness. I push my mouth against his, my hands in his hair, kissing him so deeply and passionately, shivering as his hands explore my body, pulling me tight against him, the hardness of his cock pressing between my legs through his pants.

  It’s like we can’t get undressed fast enough, fingers fumbling and tearing at clothes, mouths crushed together as the balmy New Orleans night swirls around us, the warm air spilling in through the open window of our hotel room.

  We break the kiss just long enough for me to unclasp my bra and wriggle out of my panties, while Dylan tugs off his shirt, then pushes off his slacks and briefs, both of us naked now, our skin dappled in sweat, the breath shivering past my lips as I’m overcome, all over again, by the urgent need to have him – to feel him deep inside me, to taste his skin, to claw his back with my nails ...

  I pounce on him like a cat, pushing him back onto the bed, my hands pinning his shoulders, the hardness of his cock grazing my inner thigh as I spread my legs, straddling him. His hands move to my ass as I begin to kiss and nuzzle his chest, shivering with delight as I taste the salty musk of his sweat, while one of his hands moves between my legs, tracing such slow circles over my clit that I moan. But I pull away, wanting to prolong the moment, moving my kisses down over his abs, then further, wrapping my fingers around his cock and tenderly kissing him, flicking my tongue up and down his shaft, massaging his full tight balls.

  I love the way he groans, when I finally take him in my mouth, his hardness filling me, as I bob my head, sucking him in a slow sensual rhythm, his fingers moving to my nipples, teasing and tugging at them until they grow so hard and tight it’s almost painful. I can feel my pussy throbbing madly too, crying out for him, but I continue to suck him, savoring that sweet pain of wanting him so badly but making myself wait just a little longer, as he starts to buck his hips, one hand moving into my hair now, winding it so tightly around his fist that I gasp for a moment as a sharp pain mingles in with the sweetness, as he begins to fuck my mouth like that, his other hand still coaxing electric shivers of pleasure from my nipple, his cock throbbing, filling up my mouth so completely, my tongue flicking in circles around the head of his cock.

  But he soon pulls my head away from him, causing me to gasp.

  “Jesus Julia,” he growls. “I don’t want to come just yet ...”

  His hands move to my sides now, coaxing me forwards, urging my pussy towards his face. Our bodies glide together, slicked with sweat, and I slide up his chiseled body so easily, aided by the wetness that’s seeping from my core, until I’m positioned right over him, his hands on my ass, pulling me down towards his mouth.

  I cry out as his tongue touches against my clit, then flicks lower, pushing deep inside me, and as the pleasure races through me in deep powerful pulses, I hear him groan too, as he laps and licks at me, so hungrily, so urgently.

  I steady myself, putting my palms against the cool wall, arching my back, as I begin to ride his face, his hands on my buttocks, urging me back and forth against his mouth. And as he tongues my clit, I feel his hands spreading my ass, and his fingertip touch gently against my asshole.

  I moan, as his tongue pushes inside me again, his finger also pushing a little way into my ass, my legs spread wide, my breasts bouncing, as I fuck his mouth, riding him, grinding wildly against him.

  A moment later I’m coming, my whole body bucking, as he sucks my clit between his soft full lips, the pleasure so intense that it fogs my head and I shiver and gasp, pushing even harder against him.

  I’ve hardly time to recover before he’s pulling me down again, urging me back towards his cock, which is still jutting up, rock-solid, between his muscular thighs.

  I feel the tenderness of my nipples grazing his chest, as his fingers move back into my hair, pulling my face toward his in a deep kiss, his mouth slicked with my wetness, tasting myself on his tongue, while between my legs I feel the white heat of his cock, pressing against my lips.

  I ease backwards, so slowly it causes him to groan into my mouth, and I feel myself taking him, his thickness stretching me wide as he slips inside me, inch by inch, so deep that I almost can’t take it.

  He breaks the kiss, just long enough to gasp, “Fuck Julia, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get enough of you ...”

  And I want to talk too, but I can’t, I’m too lost in my own pleasure, the sighs and whimpers falling from my mouth as he begins to plunder me, bucking his hips, fucking me faster and harder, faster and harder, his cock pounding me, his other hand once more moving to my clit, thumbing it as he takes me, pushing his mouth back against mine, our lips crushing together, our bodies shiny and slick from the intensity and from our passion, both of us crying out now as we come at the same time, my body quaking, Dylan’s cock pulsing, driven so deep inside me, the heat of the night air intensifying everything so powerfully that I wish this moment would last forever ...

  CHAPTER thirty-THREE

  On Tuesday, I discover I’ve got a message in my pigeonhole, to come and see Madame Lyon. Immediately I’m nervous. I can’t think what the hell she could want. Have I done something wrong? Have they discovered how exactly I managed to pay all my fees and decided to kick me off the course? Or has Maurice called me a liar and turned the school against me?

  I gently knock on her door, like I’m hoping that she won’t hear me. But Madame Lyon’s hearing is just as sharp as her dancing, and a moment later I hear the crisp, sharp tone of her voice call, “Come in.”

  I push open the door and step timidly into her office. I’m so goddamn nervous, I just begin talking the very moment I sit down, before she’s even had a chance to speak.

  “Madame Lyon!” I say. “I’m so sorry. I know I’ve not been focusing on my dancing. I’ve had a lot going on. I should have been practicing this weekend, I know. But I promise next weekend, I’m not gonna let you down, I promise ...”

  She holds up a hand to cut me off. “What are you talking about, silly child? I haven’t brought you here to tell you off.”

  “You haven’t?” I say incredulously.

  “No, of course not,” she says sharply. “I’m asking you to dance the lead in the recital at the end of the te
rm, Julia. It will mean some extra work, so I hope all that nonsense you were babbling about focusing on your dancing is true. Because rehearsals start next week.”

  And as she continues to tell me all about my part – what exactly is expected of me – I can hardly listen, I’m too dizzy and giddy and excited to take it all in.

  As I stumble out of the building a few minutes later, dazed and excited all at once by the news, I know exactly who I need to share this moment with ...

  Nat! I text frantically. Are you on a shift? Can you come and meet me ASAP?

  I’m at the studio, she replies. Come down.

  §

  When I get to The Rhythm Project, I find her waiting for me on the steps. “What’s wrong?” she says. “Are you okay? You look kind of ... weird.”

  “Of course I’m okay!” I reply, full of manic energy, doing all I can not to hug the life out of her right here and now, before I’ve even explained why. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

  “Oh,” she says. “Your text. You sounded frantic. I thought something was up ...”

  “No, no, no, you don’t understand,” I blurt out in a rush. “They’ve asked me to dance the lead in the end-of-term recital!”

  “Oh Jules, that’s amazing!” she squeals, jumping to her sneaker-clad feet and hugging me tight. “I knew my girl could do it!”

  “I’ll get you a ticket as soon as they’re available,” I say. “I need to have you in the front row. Anyway, what are you even doing here at this time? Shouldn’t you be at work?”

  “That’s the thing,” she says with a mysterious grin. “I’ve got some news for you as well.”

  “Oh yeah?” I say, wondering just what the hell it could be.

  “Uh huh,” she says and the grin slowly turns into the hugest smile that spreads all the way across her pretty face. “Dylan’s donation was enough to extend our after-school programme. And enough to offer so many extra classes that they’ve asked me to come on board and teach full time. I mean, it’s not at your level or anything. But I still get to dance every day ...”