Dance: The Collected Series

by Charlotte Eve

  And with that, we part ways, Dylan and Isabella heading one way, me the other. I take the first right, then the right after that, and soon I’ve circled the block, until I’m right back where I started, right by the corner of West 45th of Madison, just as he told me to be.

  I look up and down the street, but I can’t see him anywhere among the crowds of evening passers by.

  This is stupid. Is he just fucking with me?

  I turn to check back the first way again, and he’s right there in front of me, almost making me jump.

  “How did you get rid of Isabella?” I ask.

  But instead of answering, he puts his hand firmly over my mouth, stifling my gasp of surprise as he pulls me roughly back into the alleyway behind us.

  “There’s no time for any of that,” he growls, before taking his hand away – replacing it with an urgent kiss, his lips bruising mine as he pushes his tongue deep into my mouth, pressing me back against the cold hard brick wall of the alleyway.

  I feel myself giving into him in a rush, melting at his touch, moaning into his mouth as he pushes back hard against me, the rugged firmness of his body such a contrast against the soft warmth of my own as he crushes me against the cold wall of the alley.

  “I’ve been dreaming of making you come all evening, Julia,” he growls, kissing my neck. “And I’m not going to stop until I do ...”

  I can’t even form the words to reply. My whole body seems to pound in time with my heartbeat as I feel his hand sliding up my thigh, reaching the top of my hold-ups, then grazing the bare flesh of my ass, causing me to shiver.

  As he nuzzles my neck, his hand slips between my legs, massaging my clit through my panties, and I shoot a nervous glance towards the opening of the alleyway. Fuck. There are so many people walking past on the sidewalk, just a few feet away from us– we’re practically in public, only the shadows hiding us from view. I’ve never done anything like this before, anything so ... public. And I can feel the two sides of me tugging at each other: the side that wants to just give in and fuck him and who cares if people can see, and the side of me that wants to pull him away and tell him I’m just not that kind of a girl.

  But even as I’m still thinking all this, he does something that catches me completely off guard, falling to his knees, both hands pushing my skirt roughly up around my waist, then tugging my panties quickly down over my thighs, exposing me, the cool air clashing against the heat of my pussy. I barely have time to step out of my underwear before I feel his hands cupping my ass, drawing me urgently towards his face.

  I look down at him, my eyes pleading with a mixture of are you really about to do that? and oh God yes, please fuck me with your tongue.

  And it’s the second one that wins out, as I feel myself spreading my legs wide for him, wide enough for his mouth to enclose around my clit, drawing it between his full sensuous lips, sending a shockwave of pleasure ricocheting around my body.

  I bite my lip to stifle the moan I want to make, too scared to make a noise in case someone sees us and this delicious spell is broken.

  I plunge my fingers into his thick black hair, grinding myself harder against his face, feeling his tongue work me in slow sensual laps, teasing my lips, circling my clit, even plunging deep into me, each motion he makes with his mouth charging my body with intense pleasure.

  He pulls me even tighter against his face with his hands, spreading my ass, and I arch my back, my hands buried in his hair, my eyes closing, stifling the scream I wish I could make as I come against his face, shuddering and whimpering, my whole body rocking with the force of my orgasm.

  My legs feel like jelly, and I almost fall when he brings his hands and face away from me. I slide backwards against the coldness of the wall behind me, my head spinning, a dizzy flushed smile on my face, as he stands.

  “Wow,” I manage to say, “I ... wasn’t expecting that.”

  Before I can even pull my skirt back down around my thighs, he’s pinned me in another intense kiss, his tongue – that same wonderful tongue that worked its magic on my pussy just a moment ago – now plunging deep into my mouth. I can taste myself on his lips, and it feels so naughty I’m starting to get worked up again.

  But just then he pulls away.

  “I’d better go,” he says.

  And before I can even reply, he does, turning and dashing back out of the alley, leaving me there, shivering, catching my breath, flushed and dizzy, and with the biggest grin of my life plastered to my face ...

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “Julia, come to the front of the class.” Madame Lyon’s strict French accent echoes around the studio, and I feel a pang of nerves, hoping she’s not going to tell me I’ve been distracted again. But instead, it seems to be quite the opposite. As I walk towards the front of the room, feeling the eyes of the whole class watching me, Madame Lyon gives me a reassuring look, as if to say, You have nothing to worry about.

  “Now class, I want you to watch Julia,” she says. “Watch the way she moves as she performs the piece. Pay attention in particular to the position of her spine.”

  In the moments before the assistant starts up the music, I try to keep a straight face, secretly wishing I could just squeal with delight. Only the best dancers are ever asked to the front to show technique. I feel so damn proud.

  The music starts and I begin to dance as the whole class watches, their eyes following my every movement. And as I move, my body swaying and bending, reflected in the mirror behind me, there’s something thrilling about performing the piece in front of such a large audience. There must be twenty or more people here, all watching me – their eyes grazing my body as I stretch and jump, twirl and land – and it’s even as if I can feel them touching me as I move.

  Fuck. Am I getting turned on again?

  Because I can feel the heat rushing between my legs and my nipples tightening, the goose bumps prickling out across my skin and the little hairs at the nape of my neck standing on end ...

  When the piece finishes, there’s a pause, and then everyone begins to clap, and I feel myself flush with pride and happiness. I’m grinning from ear-to-ear, catching my breath, as Madame Lyon calls out, “Okay, that’s enough for today, class. See you tomorrow!”

  As the room empties out, she rests a hand softly on my shoulder, clearly waiting until we’re the last two in the room before saying whatever it is she wants to say to me. It feels like forever, but eventually we’re alone.

  “Very good, Julia,” she says warmly. “Very good indeed. You are developing nicely. There is a new fire in your technique. A passion. Don’t let that go. Hold onto it at any cost. Passion is the most important piece of kit in the dancer’s toolbox, you know.”

  “Thank you so much, Madame Lyon,” I say, as I do a few more stretches.

  She leaves the room and I glance up at the clock. Maurice should be here soon for this evening’s one-on-one, and I can’t wait to tell him that our sessions are really making a difference to my dancing.

  §

  A little after 7pm, Maurice finally walks in through the studio door. He’s dressed as always in his black polo neck sweater and chinos, his curly salt-and-pepper hair looking freshly cut, and tonight he carries a strong scent of aftershave with him, too, even stronger than usual.

  I wonder if he’s going out on a date after this.

  “Good evening, Julia,” he says. “And how are we today?”

  “Really great!” I say, unable to hide my excitement at what Madame Lyon said. “I think your help is really starting to make a difference.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” he says. “Now today, I want you to learn to dance from in here.” At this, he balls his fist and touches it against his chest. “Okay, so we’ve talked about how to really respond to the music,” he continues, stepping a little closer to me, so that I have to hold my breath not to choke on the aftershave fumes. “Now I want to teach you how to respond to the music of your soul. To what’s really inside you. So today ... We’re go
ing to dance without music.”

  I gulp. This sounds kind of cheesy. But hell, if it’s been working so far, I should just go for it, right?

  So we begin to dance, moving without music, and after a moment Maurice moves around behind me, putting both palms on my stomach, just below my breasts. It feels kind of icky, but I let him do it, knowing he’s just trying to show me what he means.

  “Here, Julia,” he says. “I want you to dance from right here ...”

  I can feel his breath on the back of my neck now, too. Fuck. Alone in the room with him like this, his hands on me, it actually feels a little ... uncomfortable.

  Come on, Julia. He’s a professional. Be a professional too. This is what teaching is all about.

  And sure enough, after a while, I ease up and get used to his touch. I even forget that he’s there as I focus on the place he’s talking about – trying to let the music inside me move my body.

  At the end of the session, he claps his hands and says, “That was really good! Nice job! I’m really pleased with your progress, Julia. In fact, I’m going to recommend you to the board for a full scholarship next term.”

  “Thanks,” I say, not quite knowing how to tell him that I’ve already managed to come up with the money on my own. And then some.

  “So, hey,” he says, looking kind of awkward, his eyes flitting up and down my body for a moment, “what are you doing now? Let’s grab a coffee ...”

  “Oh no, I can’t,” I say apologetically. “I’m meeting a friend.”

  And I feel glad that I’m not even lying.

  I shoot a glance at the clock.

  “And I’d better run,” I add, “if I don’t want to be late!”

  §

  I can tell immediately that something’s wrong. And it’s not just that I’m running five minutes late to meet her. I mean, I’m always a little late and Nat never normally minds. No. This is something worse. A lot worse.

  “Hey!” I say, as cheerily as I can. “How are things?”

  “Same as usual,” she shoots back, a tad frostily. But I decide to ignore it. Nat’s moods can often go up and down, and usually it’s just best to ignore them.

  “How’s school?” she drawls.

  “Great!” I gush. “Actually? It’s going really, really well! There’s this one teacher, Madame Lyon? She’s totally amazing! Oh, you should see her, Nat! She’s so elegant and she’s had this incredible past. She used to party with Bianca Jagger at Studio 54. And she can still move, too! Anyway, she’s really taken a shine to me ... Today she used me at the front of the class as an example! And I’m working one-on-one with another teacher, too. Maurice Ryman, another total legend. He’s really helping me improve, too ...”

  “Great,” Nat says, but I can tell she doesn’t really mean it.

  There’s this strange silence developing between us, and I start to feel awkward which is not something I ever normally feel with Nat. Weird.

  “How’s the job going?” I say, scrabbling around in my head for a different subject of conversation.

  “Same as always,” she snaps back. “Or have you forgotten what it’s like to serve other people, now you’re used to them serving you?”

  “Hey, that’s a bit harsh, Nat,” I say gently. “What’s up? Is everything okay? You seem a bit ...”

  “Is everything okay?” she snaps, cutting me off. “You haven’t even asked me how I am after the other night. Do you even care?”

  “What do you mean?” I say.

  “Don’t you remember? The other night? The one where your boyfriend’s sister fucking humiliated me, and you just stood by and let it happen? Or have you forgotten already?”

  “Woah!” I start to say, but as I think back on my actions of the last few days, I realize that yes, she’s right. I didn’t actually say anything, did I? I just let her walk out of that restaurant. And then afterwards, I didn’t even call to see if she was okay. I was so damned caught up with Dylan that I forgot completely.

  “Oh Nat, I’m so, so sorry,” I say.

  “It’s a little too late for sorry,” she replies. “Who even are you, anyway? And what the fuck have you done with my friend Julia?”

  She pushes herself to her feet, half her mocha still resting on the table between us.

  “Nat, please,” I say, but it makes no difference.

  “I don’t know who you’re turning into,” she snaps, “but I sure as hell don’t like her. All you care about these days is your rich boyfriend and his gross spoiled family. Oh and your own dancing. You haven’t even asked how things are at the studio. We’ve got our own show coming up, did you even know that?”

  I feel myself snapping, too, filled with a white-hot irrational rage.

  “You’re just jealous,” I hiss. “Jealous that my dancing is going somewhere and yours isn’t.”

  As soon as I’ve said the words, I know I’ve gone way too far. I didn’t even mean what I said. But it’s too late. It looks like she’s about to cry or slap me, or both. I kind of hope she does; I know I deserve it.

  “Wait, Nat, let me explain ...” I start to say.

  “Oh, I think you’ve made yourself perfectly clear,” she says quietly. “So why don’t you go back to your fancy big apartment and wait for your asshole boyfriend to tell you what to do.”

  I sit there in a stunned silence as she leaves the coffee shop, her words stinging more than a slap in the face ever could.

  CHAPTER twenty-TWO

  “Tonight we’re going out,” Dylan says that Friday, surprising me at my apartment an hour before I was expecting him. And the way he says it, it sounds more like a statement than a suggestion. He strides confidently into my apartment, dressed in his usual suit but this time wrapped in a classic cream rain coat, too.

  And when I look at him, I find myself thinking about Nat’s parting words.

  Why don’t you go back to your fancy big apartment and wait for your asshole boyfriend to tell you what to do ...

  “Where?” I say, trying to sound cheerful.

  “You’ll see,” he says cryptically.

  “You’ll need to give me a bit more information than that,” I reply. “I mean, what should I wear? Something fancy? Smart? Casual?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “What do you mean, ‘it doesn’t matter’?” I say. “Come on, give me something here. Is it a dive bar or a restaurant or ...”

  “You’ll be fine with what you’ve got on,” he says, looking me up and down.

  “This?!” I laugh.

  I’m practically in my pajamas – a scrappy old outsized t-shirt and my favorite old leggings. I was planning to get dressed up a little more than this, at least.

  “Can I at least have ten minutes to throw something else on and fix my make up?” I plead.

  “You have five minutes,” he says, checking his watch, “and then I’m dragging you out the door by your hair.”

  And from the strange tone of his voice, I suspect he isn’t even joking.

  §

  The car pulls up in a deserted street, somewhere near the Waterfront and I wonder just where we could be going. We get out and I look around me, confused. The only place Dylan could be taking me, I figure, is the little Italian restaurant opposite us, but it doesn’t look quite like his usual style. He takes my arm and we start crossing the street towards it, but I quickly gather that instead he’s taking me towards the plain gray door set into the wall next to it.

  When we reach it, Dylan pushes the buzzer and after a pause there’s a click and he pushes the door open, revealing a long dark corridor.

  “What is this place?” I ask, trying not to let on just how weirdly nervous I’ve become.

  “You’ll see,” he says, stepping inside.

  I follow him in and the door swings closed behind us with a bang, for a moment plunging us into complete darkness. Then I make out a figure standing at the other end of the corridor. As we get closer, I can see that it’s a woman, tall and elegant and ... y
es, she seems to be wearing some kind of mask, the sort you might wear to a costume party, obscuring the top half of her face, her green eyes sparkling behind it. She seems to be wearing a robe, too, with nothing on beneath it; I can tell from the clear bumps of her nipples pointing out through the flimsy fabric, and I feel my heartbeat increasing and my nerves rising.

  What the fuck is this place?

  “Tickets please,” the woman says coldly, and I watch as Dylan removes two small black tickets from his jacket pocket and hands them to her.

  “The changing rooms are that way,” she says, indicating the corridor behind her. “Women on the left, men on the right. There are lockers for your clothes, and make sure to put on your masks ...”

  I want to ask more questions, but I can’t seem to speak. I’m too weirded out. I just let Dylan take my arm and lead us on, further into the darkness. I can hear some kind of music playing – a pumping insistent beat, coming from deep within the building.

  Is this some kind of sex club?

  “I’m not sure about this,” I croak, once we reach the two doors at the end of the corridor.

  “Don’t worry, you’ll enjoy yourself,” he murmurs. “I promise.”

  He leans in to kiss me, just a quick soft kiss on the lips before he pulls away again.

  “I’ll see you on the other side,” he says with an enigmatic expression, before turning and heading through the door on the right, leaving me alone in the corridor.

  I turn and push open the door on the left, which opens onto what looks like the kind of locker room you might find in a high end gym or spa. Everything is wood-paneled and there are two women already getting undressed, happily and confidently, helping each other unzip their dresses and unclasp their bras.

  I hang around nervously, pretending to find a free locker, but really I’m just watching and waiting, trying to figure out this place, waiting to see what costumes they’re changing into.