“Put ourselves through what?”
“New York!” I say. “It’s so crazy that the space to have a bath is something only really rich people can afford. You know what I mean?”
“Uh huh,” Nat says. “I do know what you mean. And speaking of which, lady, you have got a lot of explaining to do ...” she says, still looking all around her, open-mouthed in shock and excitement. “First of all, your phone’s off for a whole week. Then I go to the bar, and they tell me you’ve quit. Next I go to your apartment and there’s no answer. Then I get a message, saying you’re busy and you’ll explain everything. And now you’re living here? What the fuck has happened? Did you win the freaking lottery or something?!”
“No, I didn’t win the lottery,” I sigh. “But you’d better get comfortable. It’s kind of a long story ...”
§
It takes almost an hour to get Nat fully up to speed. And okay, so I don’t quite tell her the exact truth. For a start, I’m too shy to explain that I haven’t even slept with this guy yet. And on top of that, I figure it would just be too weird for her to understand the full details of our little ‘arrangement’. And so, as far as Nat’s aware, Dylan is my new mega-rich ... boyfriend.
“Okay, Cinderella,” she grins, obviously still trying to get her head around this crazy new turn of events. “I’ve just got one more question ... Does this guy have any friends?”
I laugh, my heart flooding with a rush of tenderness for her. It’s so great to see her again. It’s only been a fortnight, but even so, I’ve really, really missed her. And then all too soon, she’s picking up her bag to leave.
“Hey! Where are you going?” I say in dismay.
“I’ve gotta split,” she says, looking at her watch. “Some of us still need to keep the cogs whirling in Manhattan’s service industry.”
“Okay,” I say, sadly. “But call me soon alright? We’ve gotta spend some real time together ... Dancing at Countdown?”
“It’s a deal,” she says. “But this time the drinks are on you.”
“Okay, okay, blood-sucker!” I laugh back. But we both know that I’m only too happy to share as much of my newfound fortune as possible.
Nat’s only been gone a few minutes when my cell buzzes. I look at the screen: Dylan Campbell calling.
It’s only been a week since I said goodbye to him at the airport, but I feel strangely awkward, wondering if things will be the same between us now that we’re both firmly back here in New York.
“Hello?” I answer cautiously.
“I’ve booked us a table at The 212 tonight,” he says, confident as ever, “for a pre-theatre dinner. Meet me there at seven o’ clock. Oh, and there’s a black Dolce & Gabbana dress hanging in your closet. I want you to wear it.”
And with that, he hangs up the phone.
§
“Dylan, that was out of this world,” I say honestly, as the waitress clears our desserts away. I feel drunk and giddy, but not just because of the delicious wine. It’s like all my senses are tingling. The food was exquisite, the design of this place is amazing, and I have to admit that the company isn’t too shabby either. “I’ll tell you something,” I add, looking compassionately at the busy servers, all dancing gracefully around the tables, “being waited on like this sure makes a difference from racing around on your feet all evening.”
“I’m glad you appreciate it,” he replies. “So, what was the best part of your job?”
This is an easy one.
“The tips,” I reply, immediately.
“And the worst?”
Again, an easy one.
“Entitled, sleazy customers treating me like a piece of meat.”
“Oh really?’ he says, arching a thick black eyebrow. “Tell me more ...”
“Oh, you know,” I smile sweetly. “Businessmen coming in after work, full of cheesy lines, thinking that just because they’re flashing their cash around, I’ll jump into bed with them ...”
“Any particularly strange requests?” he teases.
“Just one.”
“And?”
“Well, I’ve kind of got this new policy, where I say yes to everything.”
I lock eyes with him as I talk. His pupils are so big and black, I feel like I could disappear right into them. And a moment later, I hand my gift to him, under the table. He looks down somewhat incredulously at the pair of tiny black panties I’ve just placed in his palm.
“How the hell did you do that?” he says, shaking his head, totally amazed. “I was staring straight at you the whole time.”
“I’m a dancer,” I reply, unable to keep the grin off my face. “We are very flexible.”
I take a long, slow sip of the delicious red wine.
“So,” I say. “This is my first ever pre-theatre dinner. So what are we going to see, anyway?”
“The English National Ballet are in town,” he says. “I thought you should see their Swan Lake.”
“Oh my God!” I gasp. “Dylan, are you kidding? I’d love to!”
“It’s their finest,” he says.
“I’ve never even been to the ballet,” I reply, feeling a strange pang in my chest, somewhere between frustration, sadness and embarrassment at all the things I missed out on as a kid; all the things my mom wanted for me but that we could never quite afford ...
“Well, it’s about time we fixed that,” he says warmly, reaching across the table and closing his hand over mine.
The gesture is so intimate – and dare I say it, romantic -- that it takes me by surprise a little. Then it seems like we both have the same thought, because we both pick up our wine glasses.
“To a night of firsts,” Dylan says.
“To a night of firsts,” I reply, gently clinking my glass against his.
§
The ballet is everything I could have hoped for, and like nothing I’ve ever experienced, all at once. I mean, sure, it’s not exactly my kind of dancing, but you’d have to be a total philistine not to appreciate its perfect mixture of emotion, grace and beauty. I’m so captivated by the performance that it’s only when we’re climbing into the limo, to head back to my new apartment, that I remember I’m not wearing any panties.
“I need you, Julia,” Dylan says, the very moment the car starts moving, and as if to leave no confusion as to what he means, he slowly begins tracing his fingers over my thighs, the electric touch of his fingertips getting ever closer to the bare skin at the very top of my stockings, the exact same skin that has already started prickling with goose pimples in anticipation.
“Not here,” I whisper, grabbing his wrist just before his fingers graze against my bare sex, as I glance nervously towards the sheet of tinted glass that separates us from the driver.
I try to stay calm and collected, betraying nothing of the fact that my body is crying out for him now, my breasts feeling heavy and tender beneath my dress, my nipples as hard as hell. And when I cross my legs, I feel that distinct warm wetness between my legs.
Am I really about to do this? I wonder, as the limo rockets us towards my apartment.
And whenever I thought about it, about what losing my virginity might actually be like, I’d never pictured anything half as romantic as this: dinner at a Michelin-starred restaurant, followed by the ballet, and afterwards a limo ride with a devastatingly handsome man ...
I lean in towards him, hungrily kissing his neck, then moving my lips right up to his ear, letting my fingers slip beneath the jacket of his tuxedo, tracing the hardness of his body beneath his dress shirt, down towards the throbbing heat of his crotch.
“Soon,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “Soon ...”
§
We’re all over each other the moment the doors to the elevator close. Dylan pushes me back against the wall, his hands cupping my ass, lifting me right off the floor, and I moan into his mouth, spreading my legs wide, my dress riding up around my waist as he drives his hips between my thighs, the hard bulge of his cock straining at his
suit pants and brushing against my exposed clit. I wrap my arms and legs tight around him as he pushes his tongue deep into my mouth, and I push back with my own, my hands moving into his thick black hair, gripping on tight as my whole body trembles and shivers with excitement and anticipation.
I’m so lost in the moment, it takes me a second to wonder why he’s pulling away from me again before I see that behind him the elevator doors have slid open on my floor. I grab my purse which has fallen by our feet, fumbling my key card out of it with shaky fingers as we race towards my apartment, painfully frustrated by each second that we’re not kissing, not lost once more in each other.
He slams the door to my apartment closed behind us before turning to face me, his eyes ablaze. He doesn’t need to speak. It’s clear what he wants now, and I feel myself giving up to him – finally surrendering myself to him completely, physically and emotionally.
And even though I want nothing more than to throw myself into his arms right now, I force myself to turn and walk through to the bedroom. You see, in all my fantasies about what it would be like when it finally happened, I always imagined it being on a bed. I never imagined myself being driven so wild with lust that I’d want to do it right there in the limo, or the elevator, or in the damn corridor outside my apartment.
I can hear his footsteps behind me, closing up the distance between us, and just as I step through the doorway to the bedroom, he grabs my waist from behind, drawing me back towards him, his hands racing urgently up my body, his lips moving to my neck from behind, just as his hands gently tug the straps of my dress down over my shoulders.
I’m not wearing a bra, and in a moment he’s uncovered me, the cool air against my bare breasts, replaced a half second later by the rough warmth of his palms.
I moan, grinding my ass back against him, feeling the dress sliding down my thighs then pooling around my ankles. I push off my stockings, too, so that I’m fully naked now.
“I need you so badly, Julia,” he murmurs, his voice low and thick with desire. “I need to feel you come. I need to feel myself deep inside you.”
I gasp again as his hands move to my ass, but this time I pull away, turning to face him, my whole body feeling as if it’s on fire, flaming with heat and desire.
I take a few steps backwards, then let myself fall onto the sheets, spreading my legs wide, offering myself to him. “Come to me now,” I purr.
As I watch him get undressed, uncovering that beautiful, perfectly proportioned body, it occurs to me that he still doesn’t know how important this moment is to me. But I figure, he doesn’t need to. Because if I told him right now, it would only spoil the moment. All I need to know is that things are perfect – and they are, they really are. And that’s all Dylan needs to know, too.
As if to confirm this, he suddenly says, “You’re so damn beautiful, Julia. You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen ...”
He moves towards me, climbing onto the bed, covering my naked body with his own. I feel so tiny and fragile beneath him, and I can feel the healthy glow of his skin, my senses filling with his heady musk.
“Do I ... need to use protection?” he murmurs.
I shake my head; I’ve always been so overly-cautious, I’ve been on birth control since I was sixteen. And I trust him. I trust him completely ...
I grab his head and pull him down towards me for another long, sensual kiss, our tongues once more flicking together, his hand moving between my legs, spreading my folds, working first one then two fingers deep inside me.
“I want you so fucking badly,” he whispers between kisses.
And in answer I spread my legs even wider for him, my whole body crying out to him, singing with that sweet familiar ache – an emptiness right at the center of me that for the first time in my life is about to be totally filled. My hands move to his sculpted buttocks, drawing him closer, needing him inside me now, just as much as he needs it, too.
He reaches between his legs, guiding the thick head of his cock until it’s right there between my legs. I try to relax, but I can feel my whole body tensing up. I’ve never felt so tight.
“Hey, you okay?” he asks gently.
I nod, the breath shivering past my lips.
“Just relax,” he says, before moving his lips back to mine for another long, slow kiss, and as he does so, he reaches between my legs again, teasing my clit with the head of his cock, then guiding it back down again, tracing the wetness up and down, as his tongue pushes deeper into my mouth.
And finally I feel myself relaxing, melting at his kiss, as the heat and hardness of him presses just a little way inside me.
I gasp and stiffen again, as I feel the sharp sting of pain, too, just for a second. But it’s the kind of pain that’s also tied up with pleasure, and as he pushes even further inside me, that initial pain is already giving way, the sensation of being filled so hot, so fucking delicious ...
I moan and whimper as he guides even more of himself inside me, stretching me wide, so wide I feel like I might split, and still there seems to be more of him.
“Jesus, Julia,” he gasps, his breath hot against my neck, his hand moving to my breast, thumbing my left nipple to a rock hard bud. “You’re so fucking tight ...”
I tremble and shiver beneath him as he begins to take me, so slowly and gently, his body reading my own and responding, as if he knows instinctively that he can’t take this too hard or too quickly. He rocks his hips ever so gently, sliding his hot thickness in and out of me, each time pushing back inside me just a little deeper, and I find myself responding, moving my hips too, realizing that yes – this really is like dancing, finding that perfect rhythm, moving with your partner, your two bodies joining and becoming one ...
And once we’ve settled into a steady rhythm, he begins to increase the speed and power of his thrusts, his body pinning mine now, his muscular chest taut and lean, my hands grabbing his tight buttocks, urging him harder and deeper inside me.
I can feel my pleasure building, slowly and steadily but this is so much more intense than any orgasm I’ve ever felt before. Within moments, I’m moaning, crying and trembling beneath him, but still the feeling builds even more, each fresh shockwave of pleasure more intense than the last.
I look into his eyes, trying to read his face. He’s clearly holding off for me, knowing that he can push me to even greater heights before he comes. And with a final soft cry, I feel myself explode, the intense rush hitting me all at once. I grab him as tight as I can, as my body bucks and thrashes beneath him, wrapping my arms and legs around him, my sex clenching around his cock as he pushes inside me. And then a moment later I feel him let go too, buried so deep inside me, his whole body tense and shuddering, a low growl escaping his lips as he floods me with his warmth.
Okay, so this is what all the fuss is about, I think afterwards, as we collapse onto the sheets, sweaty and panting, our limbs tangled together.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
When I wake the next morning, I’m not alone in bed. The sunlight is streaming through the blinds, and Dylan’s strong, tanned, muscular arms are wrapped tightly around me. I’m kind of surprised he’s still here, but I don’t remember falling asleep last night, and I’m guessing he doesn’t either. I check the time – it’s 7am. Classes don’t start until 9. If I get up now, I’ll have enough time to get in the studio while it’s still empty and do some warming up on my own before class begins.
I gently slide out of Dylan’s grip, pull on jeans and a t-shirt, grab my dance bag and head for the door, telling myself I’ll shower at the studio. I don’t want to wake him. I get the suspicion that Dylan is not a ‘sleepover’ kind of guy, and I don’t want to scare him away just yet.
And besides, I want some time alone to really think over what happened last night ...
§
Our first class of the morning is with Madame Lyon. She’s an amazing woman. She’s in her sixties, but she’s just as supple and youthful as ever. She’s danced with al
l the best contemporary dance schools in the country, and she’s had a pretty wild past, too. Rumor has it she even dated David Bowie back in the seventies. There’s only a small group of us today, which means we’re all getting real one-on-one time with her, and she’s really putting us through our paces.
But even so, even with this amazing tutor pushing us to our absolute limits, my mind keeps straying elsewhere.
“Julia!” she calls sharply, as I stumble at the end of a pirouette. “Concentrate. You can do better than that!”
“Sorry, Madame Lyon,” I reply sheepishly.
And I know she’s right. I can. But it’s like this switch has flicked inside me, and now all I can think about is him.
I battle against the way my body seems to be craving and yearning for him, pushing him from my mind as much as I’m able, trying to devote myself fully to the new routine we’ve been learning. But it’s like every atom in my body is calling out to him now, wanting to feel him on top of me, wanting to feel him inside me.
Fuck.
This is like some kind of addiction. Because now that I’ve done it once, I just wanna do it again and again and again ...
§
“I need you,” I say into the phone, and I’m taken aback by the sound of my own voice: how urgent and full of desire it sounds. I wonder if he’s noticed the change in me, but I don’t really care, I need him so bad. “I need you to fuck me,” I say, “right here, right now.”
He sounds kind of startled by my forcefulness, too, but even so he quickly agrees. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
I hang up the call, then prowl the apartment like a caged tiger, every second feeling like a goddamn eternity.
I’ve soaked in the tub and put on perfume and wrapped myself in a simple black silk robe, my naked body now aflame with desire beneath it. And then, finally, when I hear the sound I’ve been waiting for: three simple knocks on my apartment door, I pull it open, pouncing on him the very moment he gets through the door.
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