Finally I reach down and grab his arms by the wrists, guiding them up the sides of my body and over my breasts, wanting him to feel just how fucking hard my nipples are for him. I gasp, as he grabs two fistfuls of the white cotton shirt and tears it open so easily, buttons scattering across the polished oak floor around us, as he leaves me bare except for my skimpy silk panties. A moment later I moan as his palms enclose my breasts, cupping them urgently, my rock-hard nipples pressing into his hot rough palms.
“Jesus, you’re so fucking perfect, Julia,” he growls from behind me, the heat of his breath shivering against my neck now. “I’ve missed your body so damn much.”
I arch my back, pushing my ass against him, grinding against his cock in time to the beat of the music, teasing him with my ass, feeling the hot dampness in my panties now as I move, my clit throbbing madly, before I pull away again and turn to face him.
“I didn’t think it was possible to want you more,” Dylan murmurs, his hands cupping my ass, as his mouth moves towards my right nipple, teasing my hard bud in slow sensual circles. “But having to be away from you this much? It’s driving me crazy.”
I straddle him, throwing my arms around his shoulders. And as we kiss, I reach between his legs, unbuckling his belt with shaky eager fingers. When I free his cock, it feels so damn thick and hard in my fingers, like it’s carved out of rock. I just love the way he groans as I stroke him. Part of me had planned to tease him for longer: with my fingers, with my mouth, with my tongue, but right now, all of a sudden, I just can’t wait any longer.
“Dylan, I need you inside me,” I whisper, my voice trembling with desire.
He replies with a hungry kiss, crushing his lips against mine, pushing his tongue deep into my mouth, bruising my lips with his own as I reach down and guide him between my legs, tugging my thong to the side just enough to grant him access – just like I’ve been craving, stretching me so wide, pushing so deeply inside me that I moan into his mouth.
His hands hold my ass as I start to ride him, slowly at first, then faster, my arms slung tight around his neck, my back arching, my clit grinding against the base of his cock as he fills me to the hilt with his hot hard thickness.
I push my tongue deep into his mouth, moaning and shivering, as his hands slip into my hair now. And from the way he’s breathing, I know we’re both on the brink now. My own orgasm is fast approaching and I can feel him tensing and straining too, trying to hold off for me. But I pull away from the kiss and lock eyes with him, just wanting to feel him let go, wanting to feel him come deep inside me.
“Dylan, I love you so much,” I gasp, the last words I can say before I’m thrown over the edge, my whole body shuddering from the explosive force of my orgasm.
“I love you too, baby,” he growls, before he too lets go, flooding me with his warmth, both of us hugging so tightly, our bodies bucking and trembling, gripping each other so tightly, it’s as if we’ll never let go.
But I know that soon enough, he’ll be back to London – leaving me here for another week without him.
CHAPTER THREE
“Holy cow!” I blurt out laughing when I meet Natalia outside Home Slice – our favorite pizza joint – late on Monday afternoon. “What are you wearing?”
Because today she’s swapped her usual uniform of massive gold hoop earrings, gold vests, disco pants and sneakers for a classic Little Black Dress, complete with elegant black stiletto heels, and a fitted black jacket to match. With Nat’s figure, anything would look good on her, but this outfit is just so different to her usual style, I can’t help but comment on it. She looks like a supermodel, photographed as she goes out for dinner at LA’s hottest new restaurant.
And you know what’s even weirder?
For what must be the first time in her life, I swear Nat’s actually blushing too.
With her head bent down, she looks up at me meekly through her eyelashes, like a cute little girl. Something or someone has gotten into her. I wonder what’s going on.
“I know what you’re thinking. I just went shopping, that’s all,” she states, taking my arm as we head inside. “Isn’t a girl allowed to change her style once in a while?”
“Sure, sure,” I say as we settle down in our usual corner booth. “But you have to admit, this is a pretty different look for you. In fact, what are these things.” I tease, gesturing to her arms. “Are these ... sleeves? I’ve never seen your arms covered before. I didn’t even know it was possible!”
“I own sleeves,” she mutters, snatching a menu from the table, not quite meeting my eye. “I own sweaters. Hell, I even own a coat. We live in New York, Julia. It gets to minus twenty in February, remember? I know covering up a body this beautiful is a crime, but it’s gotta happen occasionally.”
She smiles, and I’m relieved. I was worried I’d gone too far and offended her, but she’s taking it in good humor.
Even so, I can tell she’s distracted about something, because why is she looking at the menu? In the whole time we’ve been eating at this place, we’ve only ever ordered one type of pizza: the Mike Special (extra large peperoni, spinach and anchovies to share, with two coke floats).
Yep, I think to myself, as I watch her scanning the menu. Something is definitely up.
A moment later she drops it back on the table and meets my eye.
“Okay, so what if I am dressed a little differently?” she says, a little more confrontational than I was expecting. “Because you know what, Jules? Maybe I’m just getting a little sick of every sleazy guy I meet thinking he can grab my ass simply because I’m wearing hot shorts. Maybe I want to meet me some classy guys, too? So I got to thinking: if my girl Julia can bag herself a billionaire, maybe Natalia Martinez can do the exact same thing! What is it they say? Dress for the job you want not the job you have? Well, I’m in the market for some class. So just you let everyone know that Natalia is now in business.”
Even though I can tell she’s being deadly serious, I can’t help but laugh. Because when Nat wants something she won’t stop until she gets it, and it’s clear that she’s got her heart set firmly on finding Mr Right.
“Okay, okay, girlfriend,” I reply, throwing up my hands in defeat, but secretly glad when she grins back too, glad to see that this brand new Nat still has at least some of her sense of humor remaining. “I get it. You more than anyone I know deserves a perfect guy. But you gotta remember, money sure as hell don’t make a guy perfect. I mean, some of Dylan’s crew are guys you’d run a mile from.”
“Maybe,” she says with a shrug. “But you can’t blame a girl for trying. I mean, it’s not like I’ve had much luck with my usual type of guy. The guys I meet out in the clubs, even if they don’t make a grab for it, they’re only interested in one thing. Maybe there’s something about me. The way I am, the way I look, the places I go, the way I dress. D’you know how many dates I’ve been asked on in the last month?”
I nod sympathetically.
“That’s right. One. One lousy date. I know you remember ‘cause he’s the guy who took me out for dinner and then forgot his damn wallet. And worse? He still thought he was coming home with me at the end of the night! I am so over all that. I’m gonna start fresh. A whole new scene, a whole new look. A whole new Nat. Come on, Julia, what was the last date Dylan took you on?”
“Hey, no fair,” I protest. “I’ve had my fair share of loser assholes too! I know how lucky I am. Please don’t make me say it.”
“No, no,” she insists. “I leveled with you. You level with me.”
“Okay,” I say, “Dylan isn’t perfect. D’you know who he brought along, last minute, total surprise, on our last date? His parents!”
“Oh, boo hoo!” says Natalia. “Eating at a Michelin-starred restaurant with a gorgeous billionaire who loves you enough to introduce you to his parents? My heart bleeds for you. And what about the date before that?”
“You got me,” I sigh. “He booked us a suite at a five-star hotel in London. It was amazing
. I can’t deny it.”
“So you gotta admit, Jules, you’ve got a pretty sweet thing going on and I want a piece of that action. So I’m serious, baby. Tell Dylan to let all his friends know: if they’re looking for perfection, then give me a call.”
She locks eyes with me, and once again I realize that yep, she is deadly serious about this.
“Okay, okay, I’ll make sure he tells everyone,” I reply, just wishing we could change the subject. “But first, can we please have some pizza? I’m starving.”
§
I get home a couple of hours later, stuffed full of pizza. And as I close the door behind me, I take a moment to look around in wonder at the perfect apartment I find myself living in these days, a million miles away from my last shoebox. As always, the whole place is totally spotless – not because I’m any tidier these days, but because a freaking maid comes around every day while I’m out at school to clean it from top to bottom. I’m on the fifteenth floor so I’ve got a killer view, too. And my bed is insane – 6ft wide and so, so comfortable. Not to mention the bath, which is like something you’d imagine Princess Jasmine might have: a gleaming white roll-top tub, standing proudly in the middle of the most beautiful, oak-floored bathroom.
I drop by bag then pad over to the fridge to grab myself a bottle of sparking water from the fridge, before flopping down on the huge corner sofa and flicking on the gigantic widescreen TV, the sound of Dance Moms filling the large empty room.
And all of a sudden it crashes over me. Despite everything, despite everything, right now I just feel so ... lonely.
That’s what I couldn’t tell Nat.
Things aren’t quite perfect.
While I might have this beautiful apartment, and every other weekend I’m jetting off to see my rich boyfriend, well, the rest of the time, five nights a week, it’s just me – alone here in this huge empty place.
If I’m honest, I’m so scared, too. Scared of what might happen in the future. I know we have our contract, but really – what does that actually mean?
Our relationship is still so new. How can it survive all this? Because Dylan’s going to be in London for a year or more at least, and what then? What happens when he has to go to China or Dubai for a year, to oversee yet another new business venture?
Before I even know what’s happening, the tears are streaming down my face, as I hug my knees, wishing it was Dylan’s arms wrapped around me, comforting me.
For a moment, I consider calling Nat, asking her to come over. But she already thinks my life is perfect. Everyone does.
She just wouldn’t understand why I’m so upset right now.
I’m totally on my own with this one.
Or am I?
All of a sudden I realize there is one person I can call – one person who might understand where I’m coming from.
I check the time on my phone. It must be after midnight in London. That’s not too late, is it? I tap Dylan’s name on my favorites list – requesting to Face Time him.
And as I wait for hi to answer, I can see my face reflecting back in the screen and man, I don’t look pretty right now. I’m all puffy and red, my cheeks streaked with tears, but I gues I want him to see me at my worst. So much of our relationship is made up of stolen moments and magical weekends – far from real life.
But this is real life.
This is how I’m feeling right now, and I need Dylan to know that.
“Julia,” he says, a moment later, my heart leaping as I see his gorgeous face filling the screen of my phone, “what’s the matter? Are you okay? Who’s upset you?”
“Oh, Dylan,” I sob quietly. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry to call you so late like this. You must have been asleep.”
“It’s okay,” he says, “I was in bed but going through some papers. And anyway, I don’t care how late it is, if someone’s upset you, you have to call me, no matter what time it is, you understand?”
I nod, choking back the tears.
“So, what is it? What’s upset you?”
“Oh it’s nothing,” I sigh. “Nothing and everything. I just, well, I just don’t know how much longer I can do this.”
“Do what?” he replies, puzzled. “What is it Julia? What can’t you do?”
“This!” I practically wail, suddenly hysterical, gesturing around at the apartment behind me. “I can’t be here alone in this big empty place without you. I just miss you so much, all the time. It’s too much, Dylan.”
“Oh, Julia, darling,” he says softly, “I miss you too. And I know exactly how you feel. Because I’m not even on home turf. I fucking hate these faceless hotel rooms. But more than that, I hate being away from you. I know it all feels too much sometimes, but it’s not. You’re strong – I know you are. And so is our relationship.”
“What relationship?” I interrupt, unable to stop myself. “We’ve only known each other for a few months. You don’t know anything about me. And as soon as you’re bored, I just know you’ll go out to some bar in London and pick up some gorgeous girl and I’ll be forgotten.”
“Now Julia, that’s enough,” he says. “You don’t sound like yourself. I thought our relationship wasn’t conventional – I mean, wasn’t that the point? And sure, we’ve only known each other a few short months, but I don’t need to know you any longer than that to know who you are deep down inside. You need to believe me when I say I would never cheat on you. Sure baby, I know how you feel because I’m so far away, and we’re never going to know what each other is doing every damn minute of the day. But we have trust. And this separation won’t be forever. I want you to use this time positively to grow, to study hard. To become the person I know you can be. And I promise I’ll see you again in a few days. And when we’re in each others arms none of this will even matter.”
I nod. I’m not crying any more. His words – so forceful, so clear ,and so honest – have soothed me, calmed me down. And suddenly I feel so stupid and embarrassed about my silly little outburst.
“I’m so sorry,” I say. “You must think I’m nuts.”
“I think nothing of the sort,” he insists. “And I want you to promise that you’ll call me any time you feel like this. You understand? Hell, even if you’re feeling just a little bit lonely. I want to know about it. So? Do you promise?”
“I do,” I say, smiling for the first time in what feels like forever.
“I love you so much,” he says, smiling back.
“I love you, too,” I say. “Thank you.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“Listen up everybody, today we have a new arrival!” Madame Lyon announces the following morning. “Class, I want you to meet Liliya Konstantinov.”
All eyes turn to fix on the girl who’s standing proudly next to Madame Lyon. For a start, she’s gorgeous and no mistake. Tall, willowy and pale, with piercing ice blue eyes and a neck as graceful as a swan’s. Her white-blonde hair is swept back in a severe bun and she’s holding herself with the most incredible poise, like she’s a prima ballerina, like she’s just about to take her final curtain call, like she was born to dance.
“Liliya’s been training at the Moscow State Academy,” Madame Lyon continues, “but her family have just transferred over here and we’re honored that she’s chosen to continue her training at Eldridge. I know you will all be most gracious in welcoming Liliya to our academy and of course to New York.”
I can tell by the way she’s talking that Madame Lyon is seriously impressed by this Liliya chick.
Damn, I think.
I’ve never heard Madame Lyon say anything so nice about anyone before, at least not while they were actually in the room.
Maybe this is another one of her little tricks; she wants us to show this Russian girl that we’re just as good as her. Maybe Madame Lyon is just using her to make us up our game.
But then again, just look at her. Everything in the way she’s standing there makes her look like she already is a prima ballerina, not just training to be one.
But I quickly console myself with the thought that we’re here to study modern and contemporary dance, not freaking Swan Lake. And Liliya doesn’t exactly have ‘contemporary’ written all over her, so I’m guessing that’s not her forte.
Madame Lyon claps her hands together, then looks around the group. “Okay class, that’s enough chit chat. Let’s show Liliya that we mean business. She’s come to America to dance not to slack off. So, a-one, two, three ...”
Music bursts from the speakers and we begin to dance – working our way through the routine we’ve been rehearsing non-stop since the start of second term. For a moment, I’m too busy watching Liliya from the corner of my eye to truly concentrate on my own moves. She’s moved to the back of the room, no doubt so that she can try to pick up the steps.
But then a moment later, the music really takes over and I finally let myself go: once again getting lost in the beat, the rhythm, forgetting about everything and everyone except the pounding insistent pulse of the piece and the way my body is responding to the music – like pure energy flowing through me. I dance as if my life depends on it, hitting my cues on time, the sweat pouring from my brow, and when the final note strikes out, I’m left panting and exhausted.
As always, I immediately look to Madame Lyon for the usual criticism and guidance. But for once, she’s not even looking in my direction. I follow her gaze, and what a surprise. Yep. She’s looking at Liliya.
“Very impressive indeed!” she calls out, her voice ringing around the studio. “I knew you were good, Liliya, but I didn’t expect you to catch on quite so quickly! I think from now on, I’d like you right up here in the front row, not back there.”
Looks like I have some competition this term.
Bring. It. On.
CHAPTER FIVE
The next weekend – just as our contract set out – it’s my turn to visit Dylan, over in London. And if you think that I’ve got used to this crazy jet set lifestyle, I can most certainly assure you that I have not. Honestly, I’m still as excited as a little kid on Christmas day by the whole process. Everything. Sometimes I even look at my passport, still amazed at all the stamps, not to mention how exciting I still find the luxurious flight itself (in Dylan’s private jet, of course). And as I recline in my seat, I can’t help but think again about just how far I’ve come.
Dance: The Collected Series Page 24