Dance with the Billionaire (20 page)

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

“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 t
o 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 ...”

And he does just as I ask, picking up pace as my body yields to him, fucking me harder and harder, until it feels like he might tear me right in two, thrusting himself so deep inside me, I become lost inside the pleasure, my whole body shaking, the moans and cries flying from my lips. But I need something else to come.

With a shaky hand I reach between my legs, finding my clit so swollen it takes me by surprise. I start to work myself with my fingers, in slow delicious circles, as Dylan continues to fuck my ass, and soon I’m coming, whimpering as I feel myself clamping so tight around him ...

With a final growl, I feel Dylan pull out of me, his cock pulsing thick jets onto my back, before he lowers himself onto me in exhaustion, the glistening heat of his body pinning me now, covering me completely, pressing me into the hot wet leather of the couch beneath.