A Dance for Him

by Richard, Lara

  I blush. “You can’t imagine that I’d have - that I -”

  “That you were providing extra services at the club? God, I certainly hoped you weren’t. But I did think you couldn’t possibly have had no experience at all. I mean, you’ve got all these boys after you in class, I simply couldn’t imagine that a beautiful girl like you could have gotten to senior year without sleeping with anyone. Especially since you were so sensual when you were dancing …”

  “I was thinking of you. Not long after I met you I realised that all I had to do to behave sexily at the club was to think about you.”

  He looks a bit surprised, then beams as he wipes his hands on a paper towel and strides over to me.

  Before I can even figure out what he’s up to, he’s kissing me as his hand slides up my bare thigh.

  “You’re a very sexy girl, Paige,” he murmurs, “and if it weren’t for the fact that dinner will be ready in a minute, I’d totally fuck you right here over the counter. I’m going to have to make sure whatever’s on the menu next time you’re here for dinner will take a lot longer to cook.”

  “I’m getting your barstool really wet,” I whisper.

  “Good. I can’t say I mind the idea of you getting your sweet juices all over the barstool. On the contrary, if you keep coming over, as I hope you do, I imagine that won’t be the last piece of furniture around here that you’re going to get wet.”

  He winks and then walks off to the stove to deal with the pasta.

  “How is it?” he asks after we’ve settled down at the dining table and I’ve taken my first bite. “It’s not very fancy, I know …”

  “Oh, it’s delicious,” I stammer, a bit taken aback by the idea that I might even find fault with the food for being insufficiently fancy.

  I mean, I don’t even look at the fresh pasta section in the supermarket, only in the dry pasta section, let alone think about ingredients like pine nuts and fresh basil - not when it’s so much cheaper to put together a simple tomato sauce or buy jarred pasta sauce when it’s on sale.

  This is almost like a whole different world, the exotic world of artisanal food and olive oils in expensive-looking bottles - but there’s no question it’s absolutely delicious …

  There’s a part of me that’s almost worried that at this rate I might get too used to all this fancy stuff that I certainly wouldn’t be able to afford on my own, not for a while, if ever.

  But it’s just one part of me, and it’s currently being overridden by the part of me that’s telling myself to stop with the worrying and just enjoy the company of the gorgeous man who’s sitting across from me.

  A gorgeous man who’s currently looking very pleased indeed, and whose foot is brushing mine rather deliberately under the table.

  “I’m glad you like it,” he says, and for a moment we fall into our familiar routine of staring at each other with big goofy grins on our faces, before I break the silence.

  “It’s quite wonderful. Do you cook a lot?”

  “Yes, a fair bit. I like it. You seem surprised?”

  “Oh, I guess I didn’t think that a Morland would ever need to learn how to cook.”

  He laughs. “My dad was disinherited by his dad, you know. So I had a mostly normal upbringing, except when we visited my relatives on that side of the family, and it was like a whole different world. Anyhow, my grandfather ended up leaving me a trust fund and this house, but that wasn’t until I’d already started teaching here, and I certainly didn’t expect it at the time. Neither did some of my relatives, for that matter, and believe me when I say that there was much gritting of teeth in certain quarters for a while …”

  “Ohh,” I coo sympathetically, thinking that it’s no wonder he seems so charming and unaffected. “But what happened with your father?”

  “With dad? You mean, why he was disinherited? Well, he didn’t want to take over Morland Schaeffer despite being the eldest son, he wanted to be an academic. I gather grandpa wasn’t too happy about that, because he was supposed to be the golden boy, the smart one in the family. And then he went off and married a fellow professor rather than some heiress or other, I don’t think grandpa was very pleased about that either.”

  “So, do you have any siblings?”

  “No, I think dad was quite relieved when I outgrew the yowling baby stage, I don’t get the impression he’d have wanted to deal with that all over again. What about you?”

  I shake my head. “None either. Dad left when I was four and mom never remarried.”

  “That’s too bad,” he says sympathetically. And then, after a pause, more brightly: “So I suppose we’re both only children, aren’t we?”

  I can’t help but smile at this sweet and probably quite artless attempt to find common ground with me - sweet because so incongruous, in a way, given who he is and who I am ...

  “So you’re planning on law school, is that right?” he continues after a pause. “I remember you saying something about saving up for it.”

  “Oh, planning might be a bit of an overstatement. I’ll probably take a couple of years off to work and save up, and then I’ll figure what my options are. To tell the truth, I’d prefer to get into a graduate program in English, but it’s not like there are that many professional opportunities, so I figure law might be more practical.”

  “A graduate program in English, eh?” he echoes, raising his eyebrows slightly and looking somewhat thoughtful.

  “Yes, what was it like for you?”

  He looks taken aback for a moment, then laughs.

  “Well, I must say nobody’s ever asked me that question in the context of my experience as a PhD student,” he says, a naughty glint in his eye as he caresses my foot with his, and I blush once I realise he’s referring to sex - a reaction which seems to please him.

  “It was all right, I suppose,” he continues. “To be honest, I think the best part of it was the time I spent writing my novel, so I may not be the best person to ask about that. Although I must say that if you ever ask anyone else about it, I hope you won’t be sitting across from them in their kitchen and wearing their shirt while you do so …”

  I turn even redder. I’m not sure if it’s due to the (absurd!) idea that he might think I would do something like that with anyone else, or if it’s due to my excitement that this isn’t the first time tonight that he’s implied a desire for exclusivity on his part.

  Of course, it could also be because he’s staring at me again with renewed intensity, even as he’s steered the conversation back to sex …

  “I don’t think there’s any danger of that,” I mumble, slightly awkwardly.

  “You’re very beautiful, Paige,” he says, reaching for my free hand and kissing it. “I think any man who found himself in that position with you would consider himself a very lucky man. And yes, that includes myself.”

  He thinks he’s the lucky one? I think, slightly bemused, especially because he seems perfectly sincere - I know it’s the sort of thing that could easily sound like a line, but he sounds quite serious, and there’s something quite heartfelt about his expression …

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  She’s looking at me as if in happy wonderment, as though she can’t quite believe what I’ve just said.

  But it seems to have worked, my plan to change the tone of our meetings, to convince her that I want to be more than just a sugar daddy or a fuckbuddy. She’s now so much more relaxed, seems so much more at home now.

  And fuck if I don’t just love seeing her in that shirt of mine. It’s like being able to embrace her even when I’m not actually doing so.

  Of course, I won’t deny that there’s also the additional frisson of feeling that she’s symbolically agreed to being my girl …

  I know it’s crazy, and maybe it’s wrong to want what I want. Before I met her I would have thought a relationship like ours to be terribly wrong.

  And yet …

  Not only do I want her desperately for my own, I can’t and don’t want
to struggle with myself any more.

  Not when she’s shown sign after sign of wanting more from me.

  How sad she looked last week, how her voice trembled when she said she wasn’t here for romance. It was as though she was afraid I wouldn’t want her for more than sex, and so had to bravely pretend that she didn’t want anything more than sex either.

  I can’t keep hurting her, just out of some misguided sense of ethics on my part. It’s not like there’s any significant conflict of interest anyway - her work’s so unambiguously excellent, her academic record so pristine, that nobody could imagine that she’d need to trade sex for grades. And she’s so intelligent, so mature for her age.

  Maybe if we’d never met in the club, maybe if she’d never given me that time in the VIP room, maybe if I’d never proposed this deal to her - maybe then it would be different.

  But all that happened, and maybe the choices I made weren’t really the most appropriate ones, but I’m not going to say I regret anything.

  Even with the emotional turmoil of wondering whether I was doing the right thing, I haven’t been this happy, this alive, in a long time … if ever.

  And she looks happier too - happier than I’ve seen her ever. She always seemed glad to see me but there was always something nervous, even slightly brittle about her.

  Not any more.

  Right now she looks radiant, glowing. Softer, somehow. As though she trusted me.

  Such a beautiful thing, to be trusted like that.

  Can what we’re doing be so very wrong if we’re making each other so happy?

  “So, Paige, how do you feel about tiramisu for dessert?” I ask, after we’re both done with our food. “I have to admit, I didn’t make this, but there’s a café nearby that makes excellent tiramisu, so I went and bought two portions earlier today.”

  “That sounds lovely,” she says, smiling. “Of course,” she adds a bit cheekily afterwards, as I’m getting the box out of the fridge, “I suppose you did expect me to stay after all, if you bought two portions?”

  I laugh and kiss her as I set the container on the table. “Well, I figured that I’d at least be able to console myself with the extra portion if you declined to stay.”

  She smiles affectionately as I dish out her portion.

  “How could I not stay,” she murmurs.

  I squeeze her hand as I retake my place across from her.

  “I was worried I’d scare you. That you might decide I wasn’t good for you or something. That I might have been too rough with you last week - that I’d be too rough with you this week.”

  Her eyes widen. “Is that why you weren’t that rough with me just now?”

  I kiss her hand in reply.

  “W-what if I say I’d like to try that out?” she stammers. “Because I do. I haven’t been able to get what you said last week out of my head. Or the memory of how you just … took what you wanted. I’ve been thinking of it all week when going to bed.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  He’s staring at me, a dark glimmer in his eyes, his cheeks flushed - his right hand trembling slightly as he sets his fork down.

  It’s almost as if I’ve activated some primal, predatory instinct in him, just by saying what I did - I can almost feel his desire, even though all he’s doing is holding my hand at the moment.

  I can’t help but briefly drop my gaze, as though in submission, before I look back up at him.

  “You mean, when I was fucking your sweet mouth,” he says, holding my gaze, his voice measured, deliberate. “Because,” he continues, “you’re going to have to call things by their names if you want me to do them to you.”

  “When you were fucking my mouth, yes,” I repeat softly after him, as I feel my juices escape me, soaking the seat I’m in.

  “So you’re saying you would like more of that, Paige? You’d like me to dominate you? With all that that entails? You’ll trust me to take care of you even as I call you filthy names and teach you the pleasure of submission?”

  “Yes,” I whisper. “I’d like you to teach me how to submit to you … I want to be a good little slut for you. I like not being in control.”

  His eyes widen for a moment before a smile overspreads his face.

  It’s a smile that is at once roguish and imperious, with little hint of the Sebastian Morland who’d said he was holding off on being rough because he was worried he’d scare me.

  It’s like he’s come alive - more alive, even, than I’ve ever seen him, which is saying a lot, given the last few weeks…

  “Well then, Paige, I want a safeword from you by the time you’ve finished your dessert. And know that, once you’ve crossed the threshold of my bedroom, you’ll be mine to do with as I please, unless you use the safe word in question.”

  After I’m done with dessert and have given him the requested safeword, I ask him if I can go and freshen up before we go upstairs.

  It’s strange asking for permission like this, as though I were back to being a schoolgirl and he my teacher (ha!), and yet there’s something oddly exciting about it - although maybe that’s because of the way he looks at me when he smiles and tells me to go ahead, then meet him upstairs in his bedroom.

  I’ve always loved the way he looked at me but this is something new - not just lust or longing, but a certain wicked, erotic knowingness, as though he were already planning what to do with me afterwards …

  His door is ajar when I get to his room, but I knock nevertheless.

  “Come in,” I hear him say.

  The moment I step into the room he grabs me, pushes me up against the wall, and stifles my cry of surprise with a fierce, fervent kiss.

  With a shudder of excitement I remember his words earlier, that I’d be his to do with as he pleased with once I crossed the threshold of his bedroom …

  “You’re mine now, Paige,” he growls in my ear as his hands wander hungrily over my body, manhandling my breasts and butt.

  Or, perhaps, as he might prefer me to say, my tits and ass …

  “Do you know what that means?” he continues. “It means I’m going to fuck you so hard tonight that you still won’t be walking right when you next see me in class. And everyone who sees you will know that sweet, deceptively innocent little Paige Lytton has gotten what she deserves, a good hard reaming from a big hard cock. I want you to look at me in class and think: there’s my master, the only man who can give my insatiable pussy the ruthless fucking it needs. Because you’re going to be addicted to my cock by the time I’m done with you. I intend to ruin you for all other men, do you understand, Paige?”

  “Yes, Sebastian,” I breathe.

  He taps my cheek lightly, as if in stylized approximation of a slap.

  “You don’t address your master by his name, Paige, not when you’re being his pet.”

  “Yes, Sir,” I murmur, as I feel his fingers slide into my mouth, his lustful gaze searing my flesh.

  He smiles approvingly and withdraws his fingers. “Good. Now that we understand how this is going to work … I want you to take off that shirt and give it to me. And then you’re going to go over to the bed, kneel down beside it, and offer me your wrists for restraining.”

  I obey, my hands trembling as I unbutton the shirt, my heart pounding so violently that I feel almost light-headed.

  Perhaps in response to my nervousness, he strokes my cheek after he takes the shirt from me, in a tender, reassuring gesture, then gently pats me on the ass, as though dispatching me to my assigned position.

  A roguish smile crosses his face when he sees me get on my knees beside the bed and look at him, wide-eyed, expectant, submissive, dripping with anticipation.

  He’s not in any hurry, though.

  Quite on the contrary - as he maintains eye contact with me, he slowly, deliberately unbuckles his belt and takes it off.

  Without quite intending to, my gaze shifts briefly to the bulge in his trousers, making him smirk, but he doesn’t unzip his pants just yet.

&nb
sp; Instead, he saunters over to where I am, sits down on the bed, takes my wrists, and wraps the belt around them in such a way that it’s as though I’m cuffed, before tilting my face up and bending over to kiss me, this time hungrily, brutally, as though to give me a foretaste of what’s to come.

  “Sweet girl,” he murmurs as he strokes my face afterwards, his gentleness a strangely arousing contrast to his roughness earlier. “You have no idea how beautiful you look when you’re naked and submissive and helpless. I’d almost like to just claim your tight wet pussy right away but that would be too easy. Besides, you’ve been checking out my package since you got on your knees, and your lips part slightly every time you look at my crotch, don’t think I haven’t noticed …”

  I blush, but he continues, undeterred. “There’s no need to blush, Paige. You said just now that you wanted to be my good little slut. In which case there’s no shame in wanting your master’s cock. The more shameless, the better - you understand that, when we’re playing, your only desire should be to service your master, and as well as possible, because good little sluts get fucked to orgasm, but if they don’t please their master they’ll have to go to bed without coming. And don’t think that you’ll simply touch yourself after I fall asleep, because your hands will be kept bound to prevent that. I don’t imagine that’s a situation you would find ideal, is it now, Paige, my beautiful pet?”

  “No,” I breathe. There’s something about his voice, so elegant, so measured, that sends chills of anticipation down my back, not to mention that there’s now almost certainly a wet spot on the carpet in the area between my legs - I feel like I’d surely die of horniness if he didn’t fuck me tonight.

  It’s almost as though he’s so in control that I can give in to my own desires instead of keeping them in check - as though he had enough control for the two of us, so that I can abandon all inhibition and be a good little slut for him …