Dance with the Billionaire (14 page)

I close my eyes, sucking on his fingers, stifling my moans as he finger-fucks my pussy, faster and faster, until with a final gasp I come, my muscles clenching tight around his fingers, my whole body shivering and bucking as the sensations flow through me, my mind splintering, my body slicking with the delicious warm water, Dylan’s muscular form pressed so tightly against me.

Just as I’m returning to my senses, he scoops me up in his arms so easily, carrying me out of the shower stall and through to the bedroom, both of us still dripping wet, our tanned bodies shining. He throws me playfully onto the bed, and I squeal from the surprise of it. But when he joins me, I feel overcome with the urge to cover him in kisses – knowing this will probably be my very last chance.

So I climb over him, pushing his slicked wet shoulders back hard against the white cotton sheets, my nipples grazing against his broad tanned chest as I steal a quick hungry kiss from his lips, before working my way further downwards, over his taught pecs, his abs, towards his cock. And this time, I don’t want to tease him.

I take him in my mouth with an urgent gasp, both hands caressing him, cupping his balls, stroking his shaft, as I suck him as deep into my mouth as I can, wanting to feel myself so full of him. And as I do, I feel his hands begin to toy with my tender nipples, tweaking and thumbing them, each motion of his fingertips causing fresh shivers of pleasure to ripple through me.

I pull my mouth away from his cock, but only for a moment.

I quickly turn around, still on all fours above him, but this time I’m throwing my leg back over his shoulders, and after a suggestive glance at him, I bring my head back down between his legs, eagerly taking him once more into my mouth, just as I feel his hands close over my hips, urging me back towards
his
mouth, too.

I moan loudly, gasping around his cock as I feel his lips touch against my sex, his tongue quickly plundering me, his rough hands parting my buttocks wide as he drives his tongue even
deeper
inside me.

I try to focus my attention on his cock once more, pumping his shaft with my fist as I kiss and nuzzle the swollen purple head, but each time I’m distracted by the amazing things he’s doing to my pussy in return, his tongue taking me in slow sensual laps right to the edge of pleasure.

I draw as much of him into my mouth as I can, so deep that he’s nudging right at the back of my throat, my lips clamping tight around his shaft in a stifled moan as he sucks my clit hard between his lips, flicking it playfully with his tongue, finally pushing me over the edge.

As I come for the second time, it’s like my whole body explodes in a crescendo of pleasure, my limbs trembling, my muscles clenching, and even as I’m still coming, I feel Dylan come too, pumping his warmth deep into the back of my throat, his mouth finally breaking its tight seal on my cunt as he cries out in a low, manly groan.

I gulp him back, still moaning and trembling with my own pleasure, our bodies so slicked and shiny with a mixture of water and sweat.

“Looks like we could do with
another
shower, what do you say?” I murmur when I can finally speak again, my voice trembling a little, and to my relief, he laughs warmly in reply.

I wake up, and the first thing I realize is that it’s Monday, which means the week is finally over.

The thought races through my mind:
I’ve got to pack
. But then I remember that I don’t
have
anything to pack, just the dress I came in, now washed and dried and folded in a neat little square by the bed. I put it back on and look myself over in the mirror.
Damn
, I think.
Why did I wear such a tight little black dress for that meeting a week ago?

Because this does
not
look like a Monday morning dress. This looks like a walk of shame dress.

I wasn’t planning on taking any of the outrageously expensive clothes from the closet home with me, but I feel too awkward leaving the house in just this dress. And luckily, nestled among the sportswear, I find a plain gray American Apparel hoodie and zip it up over the dress. I doubt anyone’s gonna miss it, and besides, it’s nice to have a souvenir of what a crazy week this has been.

Finally I pick up my handbag and my purse, reminding myself that Dylan still has my cell phone. 

As I walk down the corridor and that huge sumptuous staircase for the final time, I think to myself:
You did it, Julia Tate. You signed a contract giving Dylan Campbell everything he wanted from you, for a whole week, and somehow you’re leaving with your virginity still intact ...

I find him in the breakfast room a few minutes later, drinking coffee.

“Good morning,” he says when he sees me, pushing himself out of his seat, dressed as usual in a sharp suit, his thick black hair shining in the morning light, his cufflinks glinting, too. “Let’s go.”

§

On the plane on the way back, there’s a strange atmosphere between us. Both of us remain quiet, as if there’s no point in conversation anymore, and it’s as if the cabin crew know to leave us alone, the awkwardness growing with each second that we remain silent.

I suppose now the week’s over, he’s done with me, isn’t he? No more contract, so I guess we just have to get on with our lives as if we’d never even met.

I look over at him. I’m not sure just what he’s thinking, but me? I’m busy wondering what happens next. I mean, for starters, how do I even get paid for something like this? Do I send him an invoice? After all, I’ve not exactly been in a situation like this before ...

“I know what you’re thinking,” he says, meeting my gaze for the first time since we took off. “And don’t worry. Just write down your bank details and I’ll arrange a transfer for the money. You don’t have anything to worry about in that respect. However,” he adds with a pause, darting me a look I can’t quite read, “I’ve been intrigued by your ... performance over this past week, Julia. You’ve piqued my interest in a way that not many girls have managed to. I want to see more of you, and what you can do. So I’m proposing an
extension
to the contract ...”

I’m genuinely blown away when I hear these words. The way we’ve always spoken about it was that once this week was over, the deal was off. I know I’ve surprised myself by the ways I’ve started to enjoy his company, but I never let myself hope that he was starting to feel the same way about
me.

But is that what he means? Does he really want to get to know me better? Or does he just mean another week, another hundred grand, and another chance to try and fuck me?

“I could be interested,” I say, examining my nails in an attempt to try and hide my mounting curiosity. “Tell me more.”

“It hasn’t escaped my notice that we haven’t fully explored
all
the possibilities of working together yet. If you know what I mean?”

Oh, I know exactly what you mean, Dylan Campbell
.

“So for that reason, I’m willing to extend the contract for another month at the same rate per week,” he says, shifting a little in his seat to turn and face me directly. “But I want you available at my beck and call, Julia. You will have no other duties except to be available for me. What do you say?”

“No,” I reply, my voice trembling, almost unable to believe what’s coming out of my mouth.

Am I really doing this? Am I really turning down four hundred thousand dollars?!

“This is a
very
good deal, Julia,” he says sternly. “I strongly suggest you reconsider before throwing a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity like this away.”

“Maybe,” I say, surprising myself with the confidence in my voice and the conviction in what I’m about to say. “But let’s get this clear. I’m certainly
not
available to be at your beck and call, twenty-four seven. I’m not a possession, Dylan. I’m a busy woman with responsibilities. And next week, as you well know, I’m starting my place at the Eldridge School of Dance. As you remember, I’m a
dedicated student and a hard worker
, right? So no, I
won’t
be there just to please you whenever you wish. But all that said, I’m still interested in negotiating further.”

He raises an eyebrow, and I can tell he’s surprised that I’ve turned him down. And I understand why. It’s a crazy amount of money, and if I’ve said yes to this first week, why not extend it for another month?

“I see,” he says, nodding to himself, obviously enjoying the back-and-forth of our little ‘business deal’. “In that case, let me make a counter offer. You’re free to attend to your studies, from 9-5, Monday to Friday ...”

“And one evening a week,” I cut in.

He considers my interjection for a moment then nods again. “And one evening a week,” he repeats. “ You will live in one of my apartments, and we can come to some sort of arrangement regarding the salary. I was thinking somewhere in the region of ...”

“Counter offer,” I say firmly, interrupting him again. He falls silent, letting me speak. “The dates and times are acceptable to me,” I say. “I accept on those conditions. However, I will
not
be accepting any kind of ‘salary’ for this. I don’t need any more money, and certainly not from you. Perhaps you can make a donation to one of your charities instead ... I’m sure you support many.”

He locks eyes with me, and it finally dawns on him that I’m serious about this.

“However,” I continue, “I will gladly accept your offer of the apartment. The rent on my rat-infested fifth-floor walk-up is
astronomical
, and I’d be a fool to turn you down on that.”

“Deal?” he says, offering his hand.

“Deal,” I reply, grabbing his hand and shaking it.

I look around me nervously at the sea of new faces, reflected in the mirrored wall that runs along one side of the dance studio. Young men and women, all dressed in brand new dancewear. It’s kind of like the equivalent of when you bring in a new pencil case for the start of a school year: everyone’s proudly showing off their sparkly new kit, for once even
me
. I’m wearing all brand-new dancewear: a really great peach sports bra and a crisp white t-shirt that shows off my tan. I even went to Lululemon myself and bought some of their insanely expensive yoga pants. In the past, I’ve always thought pricey clothes like this were a total waste of money. I mean, hundred dollar workout pants don’t exactly make you any better at dancing. But at the same time, they’re really comfortable to wear, they don’t fall apart in the wash, and shopping for them was actually kinda fun, as long as you ignored the snooty sales girls, looking you up and down. I knew they were just jealous of my figure. And I’ve got to admit, it’s nice not to have to worry about money for the first time in my life.

Just then the door opens. It’s Maurice Ryman.

“Good morning, fresh meat,” he says as he struts confidently into the room, clapping his hands as he takes his place in front of us. “Enough gossiping. Enough checking out the competition. Let’s get
dancing
.”

He nods to the assistant in the corner, and a moment later music bursts from the large speakers in all four walls of the studio, filling the room with a pulsing, insistent house beat.

“Let’s start with some warm ups,” Maurice calls from his place at the front of the class, clapping his hands in time to the rhythm of the drums. “Okay, and ...
go
, two three four, one, two, three, four ... Very good. Very good!”

He leads us through a fast, intense series of warm-up steps, never letting up for a moment, and wow, it feels so great to be back in a real dance studio. And this time, I remind myself, I’m not only
in
the best, but I’m learning from
the
best, too.

The rest of the day speeds by in a blur of dancing, orientation, and trying to remember a million and one new names, as Maurice and the other teachers all guide us through the different courses we’ll be taking over the first semester, everything leading towards our first production – the end of term recital.

As the tired class streams out through the double doors and onto the campus, the talk turns to the idea of a trip to a local bar for a getting-to-know-you drink. And I do really want to get to know my fellow students, but I sadly have to decline. You see, before I make some new friends, there’s an old one I’ve been neglecting ...

§

“Holy shit, Jules. You didn’t tell me you’ve got a
doorman
now!” Nat squeals as I open the door to my new apartment. “Oh my
God
. You’ve got to be shitting me. You’re telling me this is
really
your new place?”

“I guess it is, and come in,” I say with a sheepish grin.

I step aside to let her pass, watching her as she gazes in awe at my totally enormous new pad, situated right here in the center of downtown Manhattan. It’s got highly polished oak floors, loads of windows, exposed brick all along one wall, and a huge tan suede corner sofa, so comfortable you could live in it, so comfortable in fact that you don’t even really need a bed. But of course there
is
a bed, too: a massive king-sized one, as well as an en-suite with a shower
and
a bath.

“Oh my God,” Nat says as she takes in the apartment. “This is amazing! This is everything!”

She’s running around it, as excited as a kid on Christmas morning, while I lounge on the sofa letting her explore.

From the bathroom, I hear her squeal. Then she comes running back through.

“Sweet mama!” she says, throwing herself down on the sofa. “You’ve got a tub? You don’t know how long I’ve been dreaming of having a soak in a tub. You’ve gotta let me come round here for a few hours to soak.
Pleeeeease?
”

“Of course,” I laugh. “It’s incredible, isn’t it? Before I moved here, I can’t remember the last time I actually had a bath either. Sometimes I wonder why we put ourselves through all this ...”

“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.