Dancer (2 page)

"No I don't. Tell me what you mean."
Say it, say it.

"I wanna fuck you. Now do you want me to get you wet, and stick my dick inside you?" He grinned, brazen, unashamed and confident. His fingers moved down the last buttons of his shirt, inch-by-inch exposing more skin.

I swallowed. Couldn't breathe.

He stripped off his gaping shirt. "C'mon, baby. You want me—don't you?" He put his hand on my bare knee and eased it up my inner thigh, causing naughty tingles in my belly. "C'mon, sweetheart. I want you."

He won his bet. Within seconds he got me drenched.

With my backside wedged to the steering column, I straddled his thighs.

His spicy cologne tickled my senses. I could've drowned in his deliciousness. I wanted to lick and suck him from mouth to cock.

He reclined the seat, giving us more room, relieving the pressure on my spine.

Graceful, masculine hands traveled up my waistline to cup my breasts, caress my puckered nipples through the fabric. I used a forefinger to trace his perfect face, strong jaw with clean-cut shave, pouty lips awaiting mine.

Gorgeous. God, you are absolutely gorgeous.
Silken wisps of blond fell to his smooth forehead; his golden shoulders gleamed in the moonlight. His hair was a shade lighter than his complexion.

He was a wingless angel who could dance like a demon.

Could he fuck like one too?

The best looking guy I'd ever seen... and he wanted me.
Really
wanted me. It'd be easy to fall in love with someone like him.

Hell, in my drunken haze I was
already
in love. He gazed at me with the same longing.

Sensuous lips massaged mine while his tongue drove in to explore my mouth. Arousal overwhelmed me, controlled my actions, making me do things I shouldn't.

No, Sam. Don't do this. Don't—

But I did. I would.

He raised my dress over my head.

Now that I was fully naked, he tugged the zipper of his swollen crotch. His erect cock bobbed forth, huge and ready for action.

"Shouldn't we get a condom?" I asked.

"Nah." He eyed me as he rubbed the small of my back. "I like the feel of skin-on-skin fucking."

When he thumbed my bare nipple, thoughts of condoms vanished into obscurity.

Rising, I fumbled with his erection and tried to guide it in. Either it wouldn't fit or I was too drunk. So in one abrupt, precisely aimed motion,
he
glided his cock inside me.

Oh my god
—this rigid, massive thing seared a hot path, filled me to an aching depth. His cock forced my pussy to adjust and accept its broad width.

Christ
.

Sharply exhaling, he closed his eyes, dipped his head back and thrust up his hips. That's when I realized he was good at something other than dancing.

Very good. Amazing.

Thrust, burn, thrust, burn, thrust, burn.

I bounced on his lap while his full lips brushed my earlobe, neck, nipples and left scorching paths along my skin. He captured my right nipple in his mouth and sucked.

Soft sighs rushed out and I stifled a scream.
Yes, yes, my beautiful dancer. Harder, harder.

Oh, but he certainly gave it to me—harder.

"
Fuck
.
Ah, baby
." He grabbed my ass and forced me to bounce faster while he brutally pumped. Really giving it to me. My body jiggled and jolted as if experiencing a thrill ride.

Some thrilling ride this
was
.

He clutched the sides of my waist, coaxing me high, low, high, low. Repeatedly, viciously I raked my nails across his damp shoulders as he banged deeper, hips raising me closer to the stars and a rapturous release.

Numerous harsh slams later, he grunted, whimpered. His ridged stomach tightened, cock swelled and stiffened. And The Dancer's frenzied performance accelerated, banging faster, faster.

"
Yeah,
" he cried, shoved his cock to the limit and came in mini explosions that quaked my pussy, his upthrusts brisk, wild.

"
Oh god, fuck, fuck yeah
." He gasped when my orgasm joined his. Locked together in heated lovers' embrace, our gleaming bodies struggled and convulsed. 

Damn! What a fuck. No words could describe it except pure ecstasy. Even that doesn't do it justice.

Breathless, flushed, he used the back of his hand to wipe the sweat from his brow. Then the whole damn thing came crashing down with seven little words.

"
Shit
. I forgot to call my wife."

Wife?
I blinked. Disbelief rendered me silent.

He impatiently shoved me off. My naked ass greeted the passenger seat and my spine hit the door. Currents of pain cut into me.

Stunned, I gaped at him through the darkness. Instead of acknowledging my presence, he plucked his mobile from the center console and tapped in a number.

"Hey baby," he said, nonchalant but still panting from our sex. "Sorry it's taking a while. The show lasted—a lot longer than I thought. Damn—all that dancing—took a lot out of me. I still—haven't recovered."
Pant, pant, pant.

I shook my head, pissed at him and disappointed in myself.

Knowing there wasn't any point in bitching, I got out of the car and dressed.

The Dancer took me home.

No good-bye kisses. No tender embrace. Without a single word or backward glance, he discarded me at my parents' home and raced off in his fancy sports car.

Standing at the curb feeling foolish, idiotic, I watched his car vanish.

I'd never see this guy again.

He only wanted one thing and once he got it that was it. But that's what happens when you mix alcohol and stupidity.

It makes you stupider.

I never even learned his name; I only knew him as The Dancer.

Yeah. The Dancer.

2

I
climbed the stairs toward my room on the second floor.

I fell straight into bed, though I didn't stay there long.

My earlier drinking kept my head in the toilet for many hours, yet in the back of my mind I knew something else contributed to my nausea: Giving myself to some random (married) guy in a park. That made me even sicker.

Lucky as hell we didn't get caught screwing in public.

Half comatose until the following afternoon, I woke to the chiming of the doorbell.

After throwing on a robe, I tip-toed downstairs as if fearing The Dancer had come to see me.

Yeah. Right.

As if last night hadn't been horrible enough, my parents were sitting on the living room sofa. My head pounded and I wasn't in the mood for their questioning.

"Someone's at the door," Dad stated the obvious, not bothering to glance from the newspaper splayed before him. His shiny, balding head peeked over the curled pages. Mom sat beside him reading a romance novel, probably wishing Dad was as romantic as the heroes in her books.

Or as hot as the male models who graced the covers.

Keep wishing, Mom. God knows no man is like that in real life.

And since my parents were too lazy to get off their asses, I answered the door.

Bright sunlight poured in as Allison appeared on the doorstep, grinning, her eyes twinkling with mischief. She took my hand and tugged me outside to talk.

In other words,
she
was the one who interrogated me.

"You got fucked up last night, didn't you?" Allison questioned with a perpetual shit-eating grin.

"Interesting choice of words," I muttered, gazing past her shoulder at the neighboring brick homes, which resembled miniature two-story mansions.

Ah yes. Typical suburbia.

"What do you mean? Did you get laid last night?
Did you
?" Delight and curiosity lit Allison's face.

"You could say that. And—it was the worst experience of my life." The Dancer's image—complete with ginormous biceps and cock—invaded my memory.

"He wasn't any good?" Allison asked, arching her brows.

"No. I mean, yes he was good, but he never mentioned having a wife until he jacked off. By then it was too late and he'd already used me." Embarrassed and ashamed, I couldn't bear to meet Allison's gaze.

I focused on the manicured lawn beneath my red-tipped toes.

"Ouch. He actually said that to you? Well, he's a dick and he's not worth it. Forget him."

"It's not that easy, Allison. I'm not like you. I can't just snap my fingers and get over a guy."

"What's there to get over? It was only one night." She shrugged.

"I don't just go around screwing every guy I see. This guy was different."
Or so I thought.

"Yeah? So who is he?" Her eyes narrowed.

"Um, he's one of the back-up dancers..."

Allison chortled; then her smile faded. "Really? You're not joking?" Brief pause. "Don't tell me it was the one on the right. I'll die if you do."

I nodded, wishing the sting of my migraine would fuck off. Bright afternoon sunlight wasn't helping either, nor this conversation. 

"Damn. I'm so jealous of you," she said.

"Don't be—"

"How did you meet him? How did you get into his pants? How good was he? Tell me everything."

What have I started?

"I was drunk. He offered to drive me home." Squinting from the sun's intrusive rays, I massaged my temples but it didn't lessen the pain.

"Hm. At least you won't get pregnant or an STD."

My gaze lifted to hers. I didn't need to say anything. It was already written on my face.

"You didn't use a condom? Are you crazy?" Her blue eyes bulged.

"
Shh
. I don't want Mom and Dad to hear." I glanced at the ajar door. "I didn't think about using a condom last night because I was shit-faced."

"At least get checked by a doctor to make sure you didn't catch anything," she pleaded. At this moment, I felt sorry for her rather than for myself. She'd never been so serious or worried.

Allison's concern touched me.

"Okay, I'll see a doctor."

"I mean it, Sam. Promise me."

"I will." With a reassuring smile, I brushed a glittering wisp of blonde from Allison's face.

"Wanna smoke some weed? Help ease your nerves," she said, smirking. "It'll also help with your hangover."

"I guess not. I gotta pick up my car at the club. Hopefully I won't run into him while I'm there."

"I wouldn't worry about it too much. I doubt you'll see him this early."

I gave a quick nod, nervous and hoping she was right.

* * * *

I
was too busy to see a doctor. Just couldn't fit it into my schedule.

That's what I told myself in the following days and weeks, and I dodged any questions Allison asked. Anyhow I knew there wasn't anything wrong with me. The odds weren't good that I'd contracted something during a single act of sex.

Right?

Though Allison was right about something else. When I went to the nightclub to get my car, there were no sightings of The Dancer.

Seemed like he never existed. Like he was some kind of elusive phantom or something conjured from my wild imagination.

Thus, within my memory, The Dancer's image (handsome face. Beautiful body) faded until I forgot about him. For the most part.

Too bad I saw him in my dreams.

Why? Why did this nameless man have such an effect on me? I couldn't figure out the answers, therefore I stopped trying.

Then there was my waitressing job that took up a lot of time. Five days per week I worked at a restaurant called Sizzle, answering phones, waiting on tables and greeting hungry, grumpy well-dressed patrons.

This snooze-fest of a job happened to pay well in tips. I could earn as much as seventy-five dollars in one evening. Of course it helped to be nice to the customers.

Some waitresses acted impatient or rude and got very little in tips. If they didn't work hard or at least pretend to be nice, they didn't deserve better.

Either way, I looked forward to taking a few days off.

Early in August, on the first day of my vacation, Allison and I went for a walk in the city park. No, not the same park where I had sex with
that
guy. A larger park filled with trees, lavish gardens and paved trails.

And no horrible memories of my worst-ever mistake. Just the way I liked it.

"Sam, you never told me how it went with the doctor," Allison said, placing her hand on my arm to stop me. "Did you get cured for your STD?"

I avoided her questioning stare.

"You didn't get checked by a doctor yet?" Allison's voice took on a hysterical pitch.

"No." Brief silence. "I'll be right back. I have to use the bathroom." I pivoted and rushed to the restroom, evading any more of Allison's questions—for now.

I had to go anyway, though I hadn't realized it until I actually sat on the toilet. Go figure.

Afterward I froze when I noticed him standing outside. My palm remained on the bathroom door and I fought the urge to duck back inside.

Shit. Too late.

"Sammy," he said under his breath. I cringed hearing that nickname. Oh how I hated it.