Dance with the Billionaire (25 page)

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!”

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 time 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.

“Let me take you out,” he says, once he’s settled up the bill. “I want to see you dance in that dress. Let’s go to a jazz club.”

“You don’t need to get me drunk, you know,” I say, unable to fully hide the bitterness from my voice. “I’ve already given in to you.”

“Come on,” he says, shrugging off my attack and getting to his feet. “Let’s go dancing.”

§

We walk through the streets, and I still can’t bring myself to talk to him. So he fills the silence for both of us.

“I remember the first time I came here,” he says. “It was a school trip when we were sixteen. I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was a world away from my stuffy prep school. So much music and dancing. Everyone went to a bar and tried – and failed – to get served drinks, so they thought it was kind of lame. But I just walked around, taking in the atmosphere. I promised myself I’d come back, as soon as I could. And sure, it’s been a little bit longer than that, but I’m glad to finally come here again, with you ...”

He tries to take my hand, but I pull it roughly away.

“Do you know where
I
went on a school trip when I was a kid?” I say sharply. “Nowhere. We couldn’t afford anything like that. In fact, our school didn’t even have a
library
let alone tennis courts and an orchestra and whatever the fuck else you had at your fancy prep school. Don’t you ever stop to think that not everyone in the world is as privileged as you? Most of us didn’t get everything we wanted handed to us on a silver plate.”

“Woah, Julia,” he says, stopping me in the street, standing in front of me and holding me in place by my shoulders. “Where’s all this coming from? Listen to me. I
know
how privileged I am. My parents brought us up right, and they always taught us to remember how lucky we are. Okay, so maybe Isabella didn’t take that particular lesson in. But me and Spencer? We’ve
always
been thankful for what we have and tried to remember how fortunate we are. But our parents wanted to give us everything they had. What parents wouldn’t? I like having money. I like what it can buy.”

Like my panties
, I think.
Like me ...

“Let’s just enjoy the evening,” he says.

I begin to walk ahead. He takes my silence to mean ‘okay, everything’s cool’. But inside I’m still smoldering. It’s
not
okay. No little speech about being grateful and remembering the poor little people is going to get him off the hook tonight.

And I realize as I walk that my building anger at him isn’t even about one thing: it’s about
everything
. Him. Myself. Our situation. And I just want to scream, scream at the top of my lungs, right here in the middle of the street in this throng of people.

Instead I bite my lip and keep my mouth shut. There’s another way I usually deal with this frustration, with this kind of anger. And luckily we’re going in the right direction ...

§

In the club the music’s loud – the beat pumping from the speakers at an ear-splitting volume. And praise the Lord for the loud music. It means we don’t have to talk. Instead, I dance out my frustrations. Or at least I try to. But no matter how hard I dance, it’s just not quite working. 

Because every time I start to think my anger at Dylan is subsiding, it rises up inside me again, even more powerfully than before – a massive tidal wave of venom that I just can’t control.

“The bar,” I shout at him, pointing in the direction of the large lit-up bar that runs the length of one wall. I turn and march towards it, not even caring if he follows. But when I reach it, he’s right there behind me. I scan the long rows of gleaming spirit bottles greedily. Tonight I just want to forget everything. Tonight I just want oblivion.

“Four shots of tequila,” I shout, the moment the nearest bartender reaches me.

“What are you doing?” Dylan shouts at me, his eyes full of confusion. “Slow down.”

“We’re
out
aren’t we?” I shout back. “We’re young. I want to have fun. I want to get wasted.”

“Hey, we don’t
need
to get wasted tonight,” he replies, grabbing my arm, trying to pull me in close to him. But I wrestle myself away from him. “After all,” he adds, “don’t we want to have some
fun
later? When we get back?”

“Right,” I say, shrugging. “So just because I let you sleep with me this morning, you think you can get it whenever you want? Well, guess what. Think again.”

He looks confused, like he doesn’t know whether or not I’m joking. And he chooses to take it that way, smiling and shaking his head. “I like a girl who makes me work for it,” he says. “But seriously, Julia,
slow down
.”

He says this just as the barman places the four shots of tequila I ordered on the bar in front of us. I slide one across to Dylan.

“On three,” I say. “One, two, three ...”

We down the shots, and I’m glad for the sharp burning taste of the tequila at the back of my throat. I don’t even need any lemon to sweeten the pain. I slide him the next shot a half second later.

“And again, on three,” I shout. “One, two, three ...”

“No, no, no,” he says, shaking his head. “Not for me.”

“Too bad,” I reply, quickly knocking back my second, and then his too for good measure.

He looks at me in confusion. “Okay, but that’s enough for now.”

I push away from him and propel myself into the crowd, wishing I could lose him completely, trying to give myself up to the music, dancing like a wild thing. I know that people are watching me but right now I don’t even care.

I try to dance as hard as I can, but soon I’m starting to feeling woozy, the extra tequila shots catching up on me even quicker than I’d anticipated. And all the while, Dylan’s right there with me, not leaving me alone for a second in this heaving pulsing crowd of bodies.

“Let’s get another drink,” I say.

But on the way to the bar I stumble, and it’s Dylan who catches me moments before I fall. “I really think you’ve had enough,” he says gently.

“Come on, don’t be so fucking boring!” I insist. “All I want is another drink.”

“Seriously, Julia,” he says, his voice low and commanding, just like that first night I met him. “I’m taking you back to the hotel. Come
on
.”

And at this, he actually grabs me by the arm and drags me out of the club.
What the fuck?
I start fighting and thrashing against him but it’s no use, he’s just too strong for me, especially in my current state. And I don’t even care that practically the whole club seems to have stopped to watch as he marches me outside, into the cold night air.

Out on the sidewalk, the raging anger bubbling away inside me finally spills right over to the surface.

“How fucking
dare you
tell me what to do,” I scream, right in his face.

“Hey, calm down,” he says, finally letting go of me. “I just think you’ve had enough to drink and it’s time to go home. That’s all.”

“No, you don’t get it,” I continue. “You didn’t
buy me
, Dylan Campbell. I know you
think
you did, but I’m not your fucking property. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

At this, I turn and run away, not even looking where I’m going, charging through the crowds, the tears running down my cheeks, ruining my makeup, but I don’t care what I look like, even though I know confused tourists are watching me, open-mouthed, as I run.

I run and run, through street after street, until I’m totally exhausted, and when I finally look around to get my bearings again, I see that I’m right by the entrance to a park. So I go in and take a seat on a bench, thankful for the peace and quiet the shaded greenery offers me. It looks like I’m the only person here, and before I can even catch my breath again, I’m overcome with another crying fit, the sobs juddering through my body, the hot tears streaming down my face, as I think about how I’ve lost everything, and how stupid I was to think that I could ever get it all back together again. Life just doesn’t work like that. So it makes me jump when I feel a hand touching softly on my shoulder.