Dance: The Collected Series Read online

  Before we came down to dinner, Dylan told me a little about her backstory. She’s been kicked out of various fancy prep schools, always getting into trouble and always having an excuse. Everything was always someone else’s fault. But she’s the apple of their dad’s eye, and he’s always spoiled her. She charmed her way into Brown, but ended up flunking her first year there because she was partying too much. And by the way she’s been slurring her words, obviously having taken good advantage of cocktail hour (or ‘afternoon’) today, it seems like she still knows how to party. James is as attentive as ever, filling our glasses, but even so, she still gets up a couple of times to top up her drink.

  As I watch her knock back drink after drink, while Dylan tries to make polite conversation which she continually bats away, it dawns on me – maybe fully for the first time ever – that your upbringing is just one part of you. The rest comes from who you are deep inside. And I’ve got a sneaking suspicion that deep inside, this girl is just plain nasty.

  As we eat, I’m trying to make myself as small and inoffensive as possible, because I’ve got this awful feeling that any second now she’s gonna turn on me, and when she does it’s not going to be pretty. I’ve already come close to punching her out in the dance studio, and I really don’t want to be involved in the same kind of scene at this dinner table.

  Because if I knock this bitch’s teeth out, I’m basically kissing goodbye to my money. All I can do is stay out of her line of sight. But despite my attempts to keep a low profile, sure enough, halfway through dessert, she finally bites. I didn’t even have to say anything to upset her; I guess I must have just looked at her funny.

  “So, Juliet ...” she says, dropping her spoon dismissively in her bowl.

  I know I should correct her, but right now I just don’t dare.

  “Where did you two meet?”

  I’m dumbstruck. I’ve no idea what to say. After all, Your brother offered me a thousand dollars for my panties is hardly polite dinner table conversation now, is it?

  But luckily, while I’m still frantically searching around in my empty head for an answer, Dylan leaps in to the rescue.

  “I met Juli-a,” he says pointedly, “in the bar where she works. Or more correctly, where she worked. You see, Julia is taking up a prestigious scholarship at the Eldridge school of dance in a few weeks. Julia is a hard worker.”

  I blush. Don’t get me wrong, I’m really pleased by the way he pulled this explanation out of the bag, not to mention flattered by the glowing way he’s talking about me. He makes it all sound so ... respectable. But even so, the word ‘scholarship’ kind of makes me wince. Because after all, if anyone’s funding my time at the Eldridge school, it’s Dylan Campbell, right?

  Why did I lie to him? Why did I tell him I’d got that damn scholarship?

  “You see, Isabella?” he continues. “Julia is a dedicated student. You might learn a thing or two from her.”

  Uh oh. This was obviously not the right thing to say. Isabella looks totally furious, her eyes darting with fire, like she’s about to upend the whole fucking table.

  “You want me to start taking lessons from whatever little sluts you pick up off the street now?” she hisses. “Is that it, Dylan?”

  I freeze, clenching my fists beneath the table. I can feel my cheeks burning red. I’m so fucking angry that this nasty piece of work has the power to make me feel like I do right now: worthless, cheap and ashamed. Whatever sheen of respectability that Dylan’s explanation gave things has now vanished into thin air, and I want the ground to swallow me whole.

  But it turns out I’m not the only one who’s angry. Dylan is furious, too.

  “Isabella,” he roars. “Watch your mouth.”

  There’s no trace of brotherly affection left in his voice. Just pure, white hot anger.

  “Whatever, Dylan,” she snaps back. “You’re not in charge of me.”

  And with that she stomps out the room, slamming the door so hard behind her that it makes the antique flower vases jump.

  I can’t look at him. I’m too embarrassed, too ashamed, my face flushed.

  “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “She went too far. She always does. She’s a total nightmare.”

  “But she’s right,” I say, my voice barely more than a whisper.

  “What?”

  “She’s right, isn’t she?”

  “No, Julia. She’s not right,” he replies urgently. “She thinks she knows everyone’s business but she never does see anything clearly. She’s too wrapped up in herself. She doesn’t know anything about me, and she certainly doesn’t know anything about you. Forget her, please. For me.”

  He reaches over and takes my hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing it.

  I shiver, surprised as much by the gesture as by the intensity of my reaction to it.

  Did he really just do that?

  And even as I’m warning myself not to start falling for him, I wonder if maybe it’s already too late ...

  §

  Tonight I’m fresh out of ideas – perhaps I’m gonna have to accept the inevitable, and kiss goodbye to my virginity after all. And as if to confirm my suspicions, I don’t have time to think up a new plan before a blindfold is tied tightly around my eyes.

  “Now it’s my turn to be in control,” Dylan says. “Hands in the air.”

  I do exactly as he tells me, and a moment later I feel my dress being pulled up and over my head, leaving me standing in the middle of my room now in nothing more than my bra, panties, stockings and heels.

  I haven’t thought this through, have I?

  My precious virginity, the thing I’ve been so carefully protecting my entire twenty-one years. The priceless gift that I always told myself I would save for The One. For the man who truly deserved it. And here I am, about to cast it aside for nothing more than money, to a man I barely know – to a man I’m not even sure whether I like or not ...

  Instinctively my arms cross over my chest. I feel so on display, so vulnerable, especially now that I can’t even see what he’s doing.

  I hear the click of his shoes as he circles me, coming to a stop directly behind me. A pause, and then I feel him unhook the clasp of my bra. There’s no point in fighting this, I think, letting it fall to the floor.

  “I know what you’re thinking Julia,” he says. “You’re not in control, and you don’t like that ... Well tonight, you’re finally going to have to let go.”

  Again, the click of his shoes and then I feel his thumb hooking beneath the waistband of my panties, pulling it outwards, stretching the elastic taut before letting go, causing me to jump a little as the material cracks back into my skin.

  “Hey!” I say in surprise.

  “Take them off,” he commands. All I can do is follow his orders, pushing them down over my thighs and then stepping out of them, leaving me in just stockings and stilettos.

  I can feel goose bumps on my skin and my heart’s beginning to thud.

  One hundred thousand dollars. Just focus on the money, Julia. Focus on your future. Your ticket out of a dead end bar job and a no-hope existence ...

  Again I hear his footsteps, only this time they’re walking away from me.

  What the fuck?

  I wait there, exposed and confused.

  He returns a moment later, placing something heavy right behind me.

  “Sit,” he orders.

  I reach out behind me to check what’s there, my fingers tentatively brushing against what feels like the back of a simple wooden chair.

  “Sit,” he repeats, his voice so loud it startles me, and I do as he says, taking the leap of faith, hoping there’s a seat behind me otherwise I’m about to fall flat on my ass. With relief, I feel my bare buttocks touch against the cool wood a moment later.

  “Very good,” he says. “Now put your arms behind you.”

  I hear him circle me again, and the very moment I put my arms behind me, I feel his hands on my wrists, binding them tightly to the b
ack of the chair with what I’m guessing is that same silk rope I tied him with.

  “Of course,” I say, my voice trembling. “I knew it was only a matter of time before I found out what kind of kinky shit you really like to get up to ...”

  “You think this is kinky?” he laughs. “You’ve got a lot to learn, Julia. Now, spread your legs.”

  I do as he says, feeling a strange mixture of excitement and embarrassment. Fuck. I’m so exposed. So vulnerable. He could do anything to me right now.

  “Wider,” he says, that same playful tone in his voice. He’s obviously enjoying this.

  I push my legs even wider apart, feeling my clit beginning to throb and my nipples tightening, despite myself. Because he’s right, of course. There is something kind of hot about letting go ...

  “Wider,” he says again.

  So I push my legs as wide apart as they can go. I hear him crouch down behind me, and then I feel his hands on my ankles, tugging them backward, binding them one by one to the legs of the chair, so that I’m permanently spread wide apart like this, the cool air of the room tingling against that burning place between my legs.

  “Go on, test the ropes,” he says. “I can tell that you want to.”

  So I tug and pull as hard as I can, but it’s no use. I’m fixed tightly in place.

  “As you’re about to find out, Julia,” he says, slowly and playfully, his voice coming from between my legs, his breath dancing against my clit. “There is exquisite pleasure in restraint.”

  Oh man, you have no idea ...

  A moment later I feel his tongue, tracing up the swollen folds of my sex in one slow, confident lick, before working in tantalizing circles around my clit. Wow. He knows exactly what he’s doing. I gasp, I can’t help it. And with each moan I make, I feel him respond, his tongue lapping me just the way I like, as if he’s quickly learning just what to do to get me off. As his tongue dances around my clit, this time I feel his lips enclose it too, sucking me, his hands moving to my breasts, his thumbs teasing my nipples into rock hard arousal while his tongue continues to flick expertly across my swollen tenderness.

  “Christ. You taste so fucking sweet, Julia,” he murmurs.

  I reply in a gasp, as his tongue once more trains its attention in slow sensual circles on my clit, flicking around it at just the right speed to increase the steady build up of electricity in my body, growing stronger and stronger with each new movement of his tongue.

  I arch my back, my bound wrists and ankles fixing me firmly in place, my legs spread wide, as Dylan’s fingers play with my nipples and his mouth brings me right to the edge of ecstasy.

  And a moment later I cry out, a long animal moan, as my whole body feels engulfed in pleasure, my mind shattering and my senses crackling with energy, bound so tightly in place as I come for him, his mouth clamped around my clit, his hands cupping my breasts, working every last drop of pleasure from my trembling body.

  I hear him rise to his feet, then lean in close. When his lips softly touch against my own, I can taste my own sweetness on him, and I moan and shiver as he pushes his tongue deep into my mouth, our kiss quickly becoming urgent and passionate before he pulls away, leaving me gasping.

  There’s a long pause, and it feels as if the air itself is crackling – charged with the most intense energy. And then I hear that long, slow, unmistakable sound:

  Zzzzzziiiiiipppppp ....

  “Now it’s your turn, Julia,” he says, a note of playful competition in his voice, “to show me what your mouth can do ...”

  I’m about to reply, but as I open my mouth to speak, I feel the head of his cock brush gently against my lips: hot, hard and velvety smooth.

  I try to move my arm instinctively, wanting to wrap my fingers around his shaft, but of course I’m bound tight. So instead, I kiss him, softly at first, letting my lips graze tantalizingly gently against his swelling flesh, letting my tongue tease and tickle him.

  I hear him sigh, softly, and I feel a shiver of pleasure and pride.

  I draw him further into my mouth with my tongue now, closing my lips around his shaft and bobbing my head as I suck him, and he begins to move his hips, his hardness gliding between my lips, filling my mouth with him. I feel his hands move into my hair, holding my head firmly in place as he starts to fuck my mouth harder, and as he does, it’s the weirdest thing. Even though I’m bound tightly, or maybe because I’m bound tightly, and even though I’m completely unable to touch myself, I can still feel the sensation building up inside me, the pleasure coursing through my body as he uses me like this.

  I groan, wishing to god that I could move my hand between my legs, but instead feeling the sharp sting of the silk rope cutting into my wrists as I try to pull my hands free.

  Just then one of his hands moves to my right breast and I shiver, all the while feeling his hot hard cock plundering my mouth. He takes my nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, his breath coming in soft groans, and as he tweaks my nipple hard enough for me to cry out, I feel his cock slide from my mouth, leaving me begging for him, gasping at the air, needing to be filled like that again.

  And as if he can read my mind, he pushes himself roughly back between my lips, but this time he allows me do the work. I let my tongue dance up and down his shaft as I bob my head, slowly at first then building in speed, and as I’m sucking him I feel his hand finally move from my breast, grazing down over my stomach then slipping between my legs.

  I didn’t think he’d be able to reach me there, he’s so tall, so his fingers at first take me by surprise, as he begins to toy with my clit once more.

  I moan, as much as I’m able, as his fingers work me in expert circles, again in just the way I like, and before I know it, I’m coming for the second time, my lips clamped tight around his cock to stifle my cries, my body alive with pleasure, bucking and writhing despite my constraints.

  He gasps too, and a moment later I feel him swell in my mouth before flooding my tongue and throat with warmth. I gulp him back, feeling some of the hot liquid spill over my chin as he withdraws from my mouth, leaving me bound and shivering on the chair before him.

  In a heady silence, he unties my ankles first, then my wrists, and then finally my blindfold, and when I look into his eyes for the first time afterwards, there’s this glint there, and it seems doubly clear to me that he’s been enjoying this game we’re playing just as much as me – both of us teasing out the inevitable for as long as we possibly can.

  Maybe he’s been the one in control all along ...

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I hate to admit it, but I haven’t left my room all day. Since Isabella’s arrival, the remaining charms of the house have all but worn off. I don’t dare venture into her studio again and the pool doesn’t seem like such a good idea anymore either. If I’m honest, I’m counting down the hours till Dylan comes home. And when he does get here, I’m gonna tell him that I’m not gonna spend another day just sitting around the house doing nothing. Even just wandering around the local K-Mart would be better than this. I’ve never been much of a sitting-on-my-ass kind of girl, and I’m not about to start now.

  If only I had my phone. I wish I could speak to someone. To Nat. I hope she’s not too worried about me – it’s so unlike me to disappear for a whole week. I’ll probably have a million and one missed calls when Dylan finally gives me my phone back.

  In frustration I push myself to my feet, and before I even know what I’m doing, I head out of my room and down the corridor, opening doors as I go, deciding not to be such a wimp and see what else this house has to offer. I know that Isabella is staying in the East wing, so as long as I avoid that, I should be fine to explore a little, right? I guess I just want to find out a bit more about this guy. I mean, I still know next to nothing about him. And everything we’ve done so far has taken place in my room. I want to see where he’s been sleeping ...

  I push open door after door, only ever finding anonymous unlived-in bedrooms, obviously guest r
ooms, just like mine.

  And then, finally, I reach a room that must be his.

  It’s the same design scheme as mine – huge, white, minimalist – but it looks move lived-in, too. There are things – spare change, books, a phone charger – strewn around on the surfaces, and a laptop lying on the bed. He must have left in a hurry this morning; the wardrobe door is still wide open. I stroll over to take a closer look: it’s filled with clothes, a long row of his trademark tailored suits and crisp white shirts, only a few casual items at the very far end.

  And on all the walls are framed pictures. Some are artworks, pencil sketches mostly, but there are family photographs, too. I find one of him at graduation. He looks cute and even kind of goofy, nothing at all like the assured, confident guy I’ve been getting to know these past few days.

  And just to the left of that is what must be a family portrait. There’s Dylan on the left, Isabella in the middle, and on the right another guy who looks a few years younger than Dylan. I’m guessing that must be his brother. The three siblings are flanked by adoring parents – the dad, white-haired and studious-looking, the mom still totally glamorous and beautiful. They’re all glowing in this photo with the kind of relaxed manner and healthy skin that only real money can buy.

  I think about how my own family portraits must look in comparison, realizing with a small bitter laugh a moment later that I don’t even have any.

  I turn my attention to the next photo along, but this one stops me dead in my tracks. There’s Dylan again. He looks about the same age as he is now, so it must have been taken recently. He’s smiling, he looks happy, and so does the beautiful blonde woman he’s got his arm around. She’s holding a gorgeous little girl, about two or three years old, and the three of them look so wholesome and blissful together. Of course they do. They’re the perfect family.

  I’m such a fucking idiot. Why didn’t I think of it sooner?