Dance: The Collected Series

by Charlotte Eve

  I nod. Of course I know.

  “If I got in,” she continues, “they’d have to believe I was talented enough. But I don’t want to fly all the way to England just to fuck it up, see? So you have to tell me if I’m not good enough. You’re the only person who understands what it’s like. After all, you got a scholarship to Eldridge, right?”

  “Kind of,” I mumble. But I know that now’s not really the time to set things straight about my ‘scholarship’ and besides, she’s not listening anyway. She’s already begun pacing up and down the suite, sipping from her Vitamin Water, preparing herself to begin.

  “Okay,” she says, and I brace myself.

  I mean, does this world really need another heiress who thinks they’re a great talent? I can hardly tell her she’s awful, can I? I know that whatever she does, I’m just gonna have to be positive. So as she prepares to begin, I prepare my very best fake hey that was great face.

  And then she launches into her monologue. It’s Titania from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. I grit my teeth. But to my amazement, she’s instantly transformed. She’s sensuous and teasing and playful and magical. She moves with poise and grace and precision. And I never thought I’d say this about Isabella, but ... wow ... she’s actually pretty subtle too.

  By the time she’s finished, I don’t need to be practicing my that was totally amazing! face. Because I’m wearing it for real.

  “So?” she says impatiently, once she’s finished, looking down at me expectantly, suddenly just spoiled, bratty Isabella again. “What did you think?”

  “Isabella!” I gasp. “That was incredible! If you perform it just like that at the audition, you’ll blow them away. I had no idea you were so talented. Really ... I mean, wow. Just ... wow.”

  “I know, right?” she says, picking up her phone and resuming her habitual furious texting. I sit there for a moment longer on the edge of the bed while she continues to ignore me, as if she wasn’t the one who’d summoned me here so urgently. I guess now that I’ve calmed her down and told her she’s great, she doesn’t need me anymore.

  “I’ll let myself out,” I say, getting up to leave, fully expecting her not to even notice my departure.

  But then she looks up from whatever message she’s composing. “Thank you, Juliet,” she says with a genuine smile, and I can’t help but smile back.

  “It’s Julia,” I correct, gently.

  And she actually blushes and looks embarrassed; something I never thought I’d see.

  “Julia,” she repeats. “Right. Sorry. Got it ...”

  §

  As I leave The Standard, I decide to go for a little walk. It’s a lovely evening and I’m enjoying the cool air against my skin. But just then I feel my phone buzzing in my bag. I pull it out and check the display: Dylan.

  “Hey!” he says, the moment I answer. “How are you doing?”

  “Good,” I reply, totally desperate to blurt out my news about Isabella, but knowing that I can’t betray her trust. So instead, I force myself to keep quiet.

  “I’ve got an idea,” he says. “I was gonna send a car, tell you to pack a bag, make it a surprise ... But then I thought about how things have been going between us, and I figured it would be good if I actually asked you if you wanted to go first ...”

  “Go where?” I say, confused.

  “Go away with me for the weekend,” he says, and I can hear the big excited grin in his voice.

  “Wow,” I say. “Okay, where?”

  “Rome,” he says. “It’s beautiful this time of year, I just know you’ll love it.”

  I pause. He’s right of course; I’ve always wanted to go to Europe. And Rome, the city of love? The food, the wine, the architecture, the music ... It would be absolutely incredible. So it’s such a shame that I have to say no.

  “Well,” I say, my heart sinking as I have to break the news to him, “it’s a good thing you did check.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I can’t go. I’ve never left the country, Dylan. I don’t have a passport.”

  There’s a long pause, and I stay stock still on the sidewalk, waiting for his reply, the crowd streaming around me.

  Then, to my relief, he laughs. “We’d better get that sorted as soon as possible,” he says. “In the meantime, if you’re still interested in coming away, I’ll work something out. You are still interested, aren’t you?”

  “Of course I am!” I reply.

  “In that case, I’ll pick you up at six pm on Friday. Sound okay?”

  “It sounds perfect,” I say, excited again. “Can you let me know what I should pack?”

  “Hey, don’t rush me,” he laughs. “I’m still figuring this out ...”

  And after we’ve said goodbye and hung up, I think that it seems like for once we’re both making a pretty good job of figuring things out, this second time around.

  CHAPTER thirty-ONE

  I wake up and for a moment I don’t know where I am. I’m in a strange room, bright white morning sunlight streaming through the blinds. And then I remember. I turn over onto my side and there’s Dylan, still fast asleep. And today, I’m not going to sneak out on him. We’ve got the whole morning together, in fact the whole weekend here in New Orleans.

  New Orleans!

  Dylan picked the perfect destination for a weekend away. A city full of culture and music and dancing and dare I say it, maybe even romance?

  We got off to such a strange start, and things between us have been so complicated. I mean, how many relationships begin the way ours did? But it looks like we’re finally getting there, approaching something close to a normal relationship. And since our new ‘non-arrangement’, we’ve still not slept together. Last night, when we arrived here, we just crashed out in bed, watched a little TV and then I must have fallen fast asleep.

  I look over at him. He’s sleeping like a baby. Very gently, so as not to disturb him, I reach over his slumbering form for the guidebook he bought me on the way to the airport, resting on the little night table by our bed. But it’s hard to concentrate on the book when he looks so gorgeous and for once even vulnerable. I pull my eyes away from him and begin to leaf through the pages of the book, looking at all the many awesome things we could do today: the art gallery, the park, the beautiful cathedral, and most of all the French Quarter, where we’re staying. We didn’t land until late last night, so I haven’t had a chance to look around it yet. But I’ve heard it’s an area full of the most beautiful buildings, all painted such bright colors. And even more excitingly, this is the birthplace of jazz. Louis Armstrong was born here – and I just can’t wait to go to the park named after him.

  Beside me, Dylan slowly begins to wake from his slumber, turning onto his back, opening his big dark eyes. I want to snuggle into him, but I also want to give him the same experience of slowly waking up to find out that he’s here with me. And soon enough, he sees me, before breaking into a sleepy smile.

  “Good morning,” he says, before grabbing the book from my hands, throwing it across the floor and pulling me in towards him for a long, deep, delicious kiss. I don’t have any time to worry about whether my breath is bad or the fact that I’m not wearing any makeup.

  Is he like this every morning? I wonder. Because I could definitely get used to this ...

  And even better than that ... he sleeps naked, too.

  His hands move to my shirt, pulling it upwards, and I do nothing to stop him. In fact, I climb over him, so that I’m straddling him, feeling the head of his cock pressing against me, stimulating me through the cute cotton shorts I’m wearing, while his hands uncover my breasts. He pushes himself upwards, his lips enclosing my left nipple and I sigh, arching my back, as a deep shiver of pleasure runs right through me, my flesh responding so powerfully to him.

  I secretly wanted this so badly last night, too – I mean, I was so excited to be taken here. But it just seemed like I was giving it up too easily. Like all a guy had to do to get me was charter a plane and take me
to a beautiful hotel. But it’s more than that, I see now. What he has to do is hold me while I sleep, to make me feel safe and secure. And it looks like that’s the biggest turn on of all.

  I’d thought a lot about the next time we might have sex: and in all my fantasies, I’d pictured myself looking really glamorous, not like this: with bed head, no make up, and still dressed in the shorts and t-shirt I’ve brought along as pajamas. But I guess I’m learning that this is maybe as romantic as it gets. Because the things that seem to be good, the things you imagine you want, aren’t always the right things for you.

  The right things are the things that just feel ... well ... right.

  His hands move to my ass, as he grinds himself against me, and very softly we rock like that, his cock brushing between my legs, stimulating me through the cotton of my shorts, my lips once more finding his, his tongue pushing urgently into my mouth. I know he wants me, bad, but just like before, he’s holding off, contenting himself with this – with us dry humping like a pair of lust-crazed teenagers. And I know that it’s down to me if I want to take things to the next level. And I do. I really, really fucking do ...

  I tug off my t-shirt, feeling the warm air on my skin. Then I climb off him, just long enough to wriggle out of my shorts too. My whole body’s tingling now – tingling with excitement and expectation.

  I’m about to climb on top of him again, but as I turn, he’s already moving over me, pushing me back into the bed, his body covering mine completely. I shiver beneath him, my body flushing, my nipples standing to attention, his fingers touching between my legs, finding me so wet and ready for him.

  I reach between his legs too, wrapping my fingers greedily around his cock, stroking his hardness, feeling him swell even bigger and harder in my grip, his shaft slicked with the pre-cum that’s pulsing from the tip of his cock now. And while part of me wants nothing more than to take him in my mouth, another part of me is just too damn impatient. I buck my hips, feeing the hot head of his cock graze against me, and with my hand still around his cock I start to rub the head of him against my clit, tracing it in slow delicious circles, sending waves of pleasure through me as I close my eyes and moan softly, feeling his other hand cup my breast in his hot rough palm, kneading my tender flesh.

  A moment later, he’s pushing inside me, spreading me open, his cock slipping so deep inside me that I cry out, my muscles clenching tight around him as another intense burst of pleasure rockets through me.

  “Dylan,” I gasp, my voice just shivering breath. “I love the feel of you inside me ...”

  He growls, thrusting even deeper in response, his mouth moving to my neck, pinning me between his teeth for a moment before his kiss becomes tender.

  “I don’t know what I want more,” he purrs, his cock sliding in and out of me now with such a teasing slowness. “To fuck you so slowly like this, or to fuck you so hard and fast that you scream ...”

  “Please,” I gasp, my whole body begging for more of him, my hands moving to his perfect ass, urging him deeper. “Please fuck me ... Fuck me hard ...”

  And he does just as I ask, slamming his cock so hard and deep inside me that I feel lost and dizzy, trembling and moaning beneath him, each fresh thrust sending my mind spinning and my body pulsing with pleasure.

  But just before I come, he pulls out, leaving me gasping and begging for him, confused.

  “Don’t stop,” I whisper.

  “Turn around,” he commands, and I do just as he says, knowing right now that he could ask anything of me and I’d give it to him.

  I get on all fours, arching my back, offering myself to him like that, waves of electricity flowing through me when I feel his touch once more between my legs, tracing my slick wetness with his fingertips, back and up between my cheeks, the tip of his thumb tracing around my asshole before pushing inside it, causing me to gasp. Holding me in place like that, both hands cupping my buttocks, his thumb deep in my ass, he pulls me back towards him, and then a moment later I feel him inside me again, filling me up, fucking me from behind, slowly and sensually this time, his cock hitting a sweet spot inside me that causes me to moan, my hair falling in my face, my ass thrust high in the air, the thickness of his cock stretching me wide, his thumb pushing even deeper into my ass.

  “Touch yourself,” he growls behind me. “I want you to play with your clit until you come on my cock.”

  Steadying myself with my left hand, I lift my right between my legs, shuddering as my fingers touch against my swollen clit. I only have to work it with a few slow strokes before the orgasm crashes through me. I arch my back, whimpering, stroking my clit in circles, as I feel my pussy clench tight around his cock and my ass clamping around his thumb.

  He moans, his cock sliding out of me, and I turn and fall onto my back, gazing hungrily at his muscular body, glistening with sweat, his eyes burning with desire as he jacks his cock and then, a moment later, he stiffens, his come shooting in powerful spurts over my stomach and breasts, which he massages into my tender skin, as my whole body still shivers from my own orgasm.

  Then Dylan falls down beside me, both of us just breathing for a while, too overcome to speak.

  “Let’s just spend the whole day here in bed,” he murmurs after a little while, his fingers tracing the curve of my cheek now as I nuzzle in close to him, my head resting on the muscular broadness of his chest.

  “No chance!” I laugh in reply, pushing myself up onto my elbow and giving him a you’ve got to be kidding me look. “You brought me here, to this amazing place! If you wanted to spend the whole day in bed, you should have taken me somewhere really boring ...”

  And with that, I’ve jumped out of bed, ready to take a shower.

  “Come on!” I laugh, savoring the look of surprise on his face for a moment, before I skip towards the bathroom. “Let’s get up. I want to explore this city!”

  CHAPTER thirty-TWO

  The city is slow to wake up, but soon comes to life around us as we stroll down the breathtakingly beautiful street, taking in the wonderful brightly colored buildings, so much more amazing and vibrant in real life than any picture in any guidebook. And in a tiny out of the way boutique, Dylan convinces me to try on a sleeveless red silk dress. It’s low cut with spaghetti straps, and the kind of skirt that flares when you move. It hits me right above the knee. It’s beautiful.

  “You look just how a girl in this city should look,” Dylan grins over my shoulder, watching me dance in the fitting room mirror. “I want you to wear it to dinner tonight.”

  §

  After a long leisurely stroll throughout the city, he takes me to the most romantic restaurant for dinner. I sit down at our table, glad to take the weight off my aching feet, and overcome by an absolutely ravenous appetite. The food when it arrives isn’t fancy or anything – it’s just traditional New Orleans gumbo, a hearty mixture of chicken, shrimp and sausage, all cooked together in a delicious stew. I’m apprehensive at first, but it tastes incredible. And just the thing after a long day’s exploring.

  He was right; this dress is the perfect thing to wear, too. I feel so pretty and comfortable, and aren’t I just the hot stuff tonight? I seem to be getting all sorts of admiring looks from the other tables! As I look happily around the beautiful room, the live jazz band playing their heart out in the corner, I start to suspect that the delicious wine is making me feel slightly tipsy.

  “Thank you for taking me here,” I say. “It’s really beautiful.”

  “I know it wasn’t our first choice,” he replies, “but I’m glad you like it. I think this was the right place to come after all. I love travelling. And sometimes I neglect the many amazing places that are right here in America.”

  “Do you want to travel more?” I ask.

  “Absolutely,” he says. “In fact, we’re currently looking into setting up a London office. It should be up and running within the year. I’ve always wanted to live in England, and now it’s actually on the horizon, it’s a very exciting ti
me for me ...”

  England? I think. Wow. That’s a long way away. And actually living there? That’s a serious, permanent commitment. He remembers that I don’t even have a passport, right?

  And then it hits me, the thought stunning me into silence.

  I’m totally getting ahead of myself, aren’t I? Dylan remembers full well that I don’t have a passport. After all, we were just talking about how this place wasn’t even his first choice. Nope. He’s not thinking about this long term. He’s moving to London, and when he does, he doesn’t want me to come with him. This is just a little fling, before he starts his real life in England ...

  “Everything okay?” Dylan asks.

  While I’ve been thinking all this, I’ve been totally quiet and the smile has fallen from my face.

  “Yeah, everything’s fine,” I reply, perhaps a little too quickly. But if he senses my mood, he doesn’t let on.

  How can I trust him? I think angrily. How do I know this isn’t just another extension of our ‘deal’? Except one where I’m not even in on the negotiations anymore ...

  You see, guys like Dylan aren’t used to losing. And I walked out on him, didn’t I? Is he just reclaiming his property by any means possible, I start to wonder, even if he has to play the perfect boyfriend in order to do it?

  I let out a long, exasperated sigh, beginning to feel like I’m never going to trust him after all.

  How is our relationship ever going to be equal? It only began because he tried to buy me. He can never really respect me. Damn it. I don’t even really respect me. So why should he?

  I can’t help it. My thoughts plunge me into a moody silence for the rest of the meal. But again, if Dylan notices, he doesn’t push the point. He’s asked me if I’m okay once, and I’ve told him I’m fine. So he seems to be taking me at my word.