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Dance for Me – Chapter Two

Dance for Me – Chapter Two

He’d always hated waiting.
Brandon sat in the worn armchair in his one bedroom apartment, staring vacantly at the television screen. His finger pressed idly at the channel changer. Nine hundred and ninety nine channels and not a thing to watch. His head ached almost unbearably and it hurt to keep his eyes open but he dared not close them in case he fell asleep and missed Caroline’s call. He’d been expecting the phone to ring for two days now and each time it did he would start forward with pitiful excitement only to see the caller ID wasn’t what he wanted.

It had been a week since he’d left her at the hotel room. That meant seven days of a dreary, dreamlike existence. He’d danced with her on Saturday. Sunday morning and he hadn’t got out of bed until the afternoon. The rest of the week followed with him half-heartedly attending all his appointments with women who collectively excited him a mere fraction of the amount Caroline did.

Obsession wasn’t healthy, he knew that. Love wasn’t healthy either, especially the unrequited kind. He knew all of this, he knew that scores of men had been killed or killed themselves over the love of women, yet he could not stop thinking about her. Every time he closed his eyes, all he saw was her effortlessly beautiful face. He’d turn back in the street, convinced she’d walked past him only to realise it was another dark-haired girl who on second glance looked nothing like the real thing.

It was idiotic at best and insane at worst. But then again, Brandon had always known he wasn’t like anyone else. How could he be? Ever since he was a kid he’d stuck out like a sore thumb, the kid who was tagged by his teachers as a ‘cause for concern’, the kid who always fought and never cried, the kid whose mother died when he was six, and whose father drank himself to an early grave ten years later.

Sixteen years old and no one to give a shit about him; it was the kind of thing most teenagers could only dream of. School was finally over and the next thing on Brandon’s journey through life was girls. Girls, girls, girls. Fat ones, thin ones, blonde ones, brunette ones, light skinned, dark skinned, loud mouthed, shy, promiscuous, frigid… and the list went on. He didn’t know why he had a desire to experience so many different kinds but all he knew was that he was looking for the perfect one.

That was him at sixteen, shut off from everything, seeing other people as objects only, as a means to an end. He was seventeen by the time he realised he wasn’t God’s gift to women. Sure, he could fuck, but girls had emotional needs which he had no idea how to handle. He couldn’t even handle his own emotions, preferring to shut them up in a rarely visited corner of his mind, so how could he be expected to sympathise with anyone else?

Brandon ? Yeah, he was good in bed but fucked-up in the head.

Mary-Lou’s voice came back to him. She’d been one of his last ‘girlfriends’. A couple of years older than him with long blonde hair, a hot body and high expectations. Expectations which he’d failed to fulfil. A week into their relationship it was over and Mary-Lou was reciting the same rhetoric to anybody who bothered to listen.

Brandon ? Yeah, he was good in bed but fucked-up in the head.

Brandon took a deep drag on his cigarette and let his eyes drift close for one precious second. He sighed. He was breaking one of his own rules again. Never dwell on the past. The past sucked. It was full of dark thoughts and mistakes, things that he wanted to shove into one big suitcase, chain up, and toss into some distant ocean, never to be seen again.

Brandon ? Yeah, he was good in bed but fucked-up in the head .

Oh, fuck off Mary-Lou, you goddamn bitch . Her voice went round and round in his head, taunting him, wreaking her revenge, ten years on. Fuck off, fuck off, fuck off, all of you. All the ghosts from his past were there, the sweet voice of his mother, the gruff one of his father and the vague undecipherable sea of female voices all full of pleas and concerns and insults and utter shit.

He opened his eyes and brought himself back to the present. Back to the damp, depressing flat, to the drone of the television, to the silent cell phone that lay on the cheap wooden table in front of him.

C’mon Caroline. Call me. Make it all go away.

He muttered the words under his breath. Part of him feared she’d done the thing he dreaded; found another guy to fuel her fantasies, someone who didn’t give a shit about her. Oh, sweet Jesus, please no. He almost laughed at his own desperation. Maybe his inevitable mental breakdown had finally arrived.

He focused his attention on the television. Reality shows, soaps, awards ceremonies, men dressed as women, all of it pointless and materialistic. He watched the news for half a minute wondering whether it was wrong of him to think that the thirteen year old refugee being interviewed was beautiful. Innocent and desperate and beautiful.

The phone rang.

Brandon ’s breath caught in his throat. It won’t be her, he told himself. Don’t get your hopes up. It’s not her. It’s probably the agency, or maybe the debt collection, or even the cops. It’s not her.

Calmly, he turned the television off. He reached forward, picked up the phone, avoided looking at the caller ID and pressed Answer.



It was her. It was her . He felt like doing cartwheels, or drinking champagne or something else crazy and unnecessary.


He cleared his throat. “Uh-huh. What is it?”

“You free tomorrow?”

Her voice was soft and husky and incredibly sexy.

“Lemme check,”

He didn’t need to check, he knew he had one appointment in the morning and after that the day was open. He took his time to answer though.

“Yeah, I’m free from midday.”

“Great. I emailed you a scene.”

“You did?”

“Uh-huh.” She sounded faintly pleased with herself.

“Okay. I’ll, uh, check it out. Time? Place?”

“Half one. It’s all in the email, Brandon.”

His heart leapt a little when she said his name.

“Right. See you wherever then.”


He didn’t say anything for a good few seconds.

“Brandon? You there?”

Oh, the way that girl said his name.

“Still here. Anything else?”

“No. I look forward to it.”

“Me too. Goodnight Caroline.”

“Night Brandon.”

She hung up quicker than he would have liked but the euphoria coursing through his veins drowned any traces of disappointment. The first genuine smile he’d had in days stretched across his face and he shook his head, unable to believe how he could let one girl affect him in such a powerful way. But it was Caroline. Caroline. Her name in itself was an excuse for anything.

Brandon stubbed out his cigarette with superfluous joy, picked up his phone and made to access his rarely visited email account.


The following day was fresh and bright, the first breath of spring after a long and tiresome winter. As soon as he got home from taking some rich bitch to lunch, Brandon threw open every window in his poky apartment and let the cleansing breeze drift through the four small rooms. He showered, carefully styled his hair and slipped one of his few button down shirts on over his shoulders. The jeans followed and after deliberating over his three pairs of shoes, he picked the cleanest and pulled them on. Slipping his wallet and phone into his back pocket, he checked his reflection in the cracked bathroom mirror and decided he was good to go.

The Cedar Wood Hotel was posh. The kind of posh where the families had a mother, father and no more than two kids. The kids were clean and dressed like their parents. Then there were business people, stiff and awkward in their suits, dark circles under their eyes and papers and phones in their hands and pockets. And then there were people who looked over their shoulders every couple of moments just to make sure they weren’t being watched. Old guys with girls young enough to be their daughters, clearly enjoying the thrill of an extramarital affair. The girls looked like money. Designer clothes and designer smiles too, as they looked Brandon up and down with barely concealed appreciation.

He ignored them all, went over to the desk and gave the lady a name and a signature in return for a key. His watch read twenty seven minutes past one so he took the stairs rather than the elevator. He didn’t want to be early and he definitely didn’t want to be late. Reaching the third floor he paused to check the time again and smiled to himself. One minute to go. He turned the key over and over in his anxious fingers as he found the room he was looking for. He followed the second hand of his watch until it was five seconds to half past and then he slid the key into the lock and turned it to hear the familiar click.

The door brushed softly over the thick cream carpet as Brandon entered the hotel room. He locked it behind him and let his eyes pass over the clean, luxurious room. Caroline was nowhere to be seen. But he’d expected that of course. He walked further into the room, his feet making no sound against the carpet. The door to the en-suite was open, just like he knew it would be.

He saw the shape of her figure, the long legs, the slim waist and that perfect ass. Brandon smiled. He felt like he’d died and gone to heaven. She was wearing a provocative little French maid outfit, all black and white with short sleeves and an even shorter skirt. She was insane, he knew she was but what he didn’t quite know was why he admired her insanity.

She was cleaning the mirror, or at least pretending to. He wondered if she really knew how to clean. Somehow he doubted it. She seemed like the kind of girl who’d had everything done for her since she was born. That would probably mean she was spoilt and high-maintenance but Brandon couldn’t have cared less.

All of a sudden, she seemed to acknowledge his presence. Startled green eyes locked onto his in the mirror, and her lips parted ever so slightly. Brandon walked forward, his eyes never leaving hers. She opened her mouth to maybe say something but by then he was behind her, his body inappropriately close to hers. He rested his hands either side of hers on the counter and leaned forward, pressing hard against the length of her body.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

God, this girl and her games . He cast his mind briefly back to the email, running through its contents in his mind, trying to remember if he’d forgotten anything. No, he hadn’t, of course he hadn’t. This was exactly what she’d wanted.

He let his hands drop to her waist, pulling her sharply back so her ass pressed firmly against the hardening cock in his pants.

In the mirror her eyes gazed into his with some emotion he couldn’t quite decipher. She was meant to be playing reluctant but all the vibes he was getting were alive and ready.

“I said, what the hell do you think-”

“I heard you,” Brandon interrupted. “Now shut up.”

Her teeth bit down hard on her lip in a way that he knew he’d be reliving in his mind for however many nights they’d be apart after this was over. He gathered her long dark hair in one hand, pulling her head back so he could kiss the smooth taut skin of her neck. She smelled sublime.

“Stop it!” Her voice was frigid and insistent but he could feel the accelerated beat of her pulse under her warm skin and he knew she was enjoying it.

“Didn’t I tell you to shut up?” He tightened his hold on her hair and pulled her head back further to allow his teeth to graze across her throat. She was still watching him in the mirror, her body tense and unyielding.

Thankfully, he knew it was going to be a quick scene, something he could carry off with ease before finally getting his cock back inside her.

He flattened his palm against her stomach, holding her flush against him before he let his hand meander north and cup the weight of one of her breasts. She struggled, twisting her neck away from his mouth, her hand connecting with the side of his face just before the heel of her stiletto wreaked worse damage against his shin.


It hurt more than he’d expected. Caroline’s eyes flashed with momentary concern but by then he’d forgotten the pain, wrapped his arms around her struggling waist and made for the bedroom.

“Put me down!” she ordered so he did, dropping her flailing form onto the immaculately made bed.

She looked over her shoulder to glare at him in a way he found inappropriately sexy. “Don’t even think ab-”

Brandon reverted to the script. “How many fucking times do I have to tell you to shut up?” he demanded in a voice far more arrogant than he’d ever used in real life. “Or can’t you understand simple instructions?”

His hands found her wrists and he held them tightly behind her back. He hesitated, waiting for her to respond. This was the part where she was meant to gasp out a variety of profanities, mainly directed at him. But she didn’t say anything. It struck him as odd. For a girl who was such a perfectionist, she usually did everything just how she’d written it out, rarely improvising.


She turned her head to the side and gazed at him wilfully. “What?”

“Your line?”

“Forget the line.”

“You mean-”

“Yeah. Just skip to the fucking.”

He hesitated a moment, almost disappointed that he’d spent so much time memorising her script. “You sure?”



He released her wrists and slid his hands down her legs to rid her of the patent black high heels that covered her feet. She sat up on her knees to hurriedly pull off the short dress, her impatience palpable. Brandon watched the material slip seductively off her body, his breath quickening as she revealed herself to him. His hand fumbled with the fastening on his jeans, hastily guiding his hard cock out, stroking it as he watched her discard the rest of her outfit, right down to the scant lacy panties.

He swallowed hard, wrapped his arm around her slim waist and guided her backward towards his erect cock. Caroline looked over her shoulder, pushing her hair to one side as she sank her wet pussy down onto it. The relief in her sigh was evident. Brandon gripped her gently by the waist, letting her do the work as she moved up and down on his cock, her moans like music to his ears.

“I’ve been waiting all week for this,” she sighed contentedly. “You have no idea, Brandon.”

He didn’t reply, not sure how he was meant to, but eventually contented himself with just watching her lithe body tremble with concentration as she moved on and off his dick. When she seemed to tire, he grasped her ass in his hands and began moving himself, slamming deep inside her before pulling out almost to the tip each time. She gasped out her pleasure, and he strayed from her instructions for one moment to let his hand slap down hard against her perfectly round ass.

Caroline cried out and looked at him over her shoulder, half-amused, half-exasperated. “What was that for?”

“For the way you hurt me.”

“I did?” She smiled at him sweetly. “I’m sorry. I guess I hit harder than I thought. Forgive me?”

“No,” Brandon slapped her ass again and grinned at her shocked expression.

He ran his finger up her spine and down to her tail bone, loving the way she arched her back in response, her pussy spasming softly around his invading cock.

“Do you like fucking me?”

Her question came out of nowhere, throwing him off balance and allowing her to slip off his cock and turn to face him.


She eyed him speculatively. “You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not,” He felt incredibly defenceless all of a sudden.

“What do you like best about it?”

He gazed at her for a second. “Well, I like the sounds you make. Lets me know I’m doing a good job. And I like the way your body quivers, like you’re secretly scared.”

“It does not.”

He smirked at her. “It does.”

The corner of her mouth curled up into a sexy smile. “Well, you’re very perceptive.” She hugged her knees to her chest and looked him up and down. “You want to fuck me some more?”

It was more of a statement than a question but Brandon nodded anyway.

“So you do like it.”

“I told you I do.” He moved closer to her. “Open your legs up.”

She smiled widely. “No.”

“What do you mean no?”

“Make me.”

So he did. First he rid himself of his clothing. Then, he pulled her to him and tried to disentangle her but she held tight, laughing at him the whole while. Reaching under her, he let his fingers locate her slippery entrance and he eased one finger inside the tight hole, forcing it up as far as it could go and crooking it to stroke her sweet spot.

Her eyes closed and she sighed. “That’s cheating.”

“Isn’t.” He took advantage of her moment of weakness to pull her legs apart and replace his finger with his thick cock.

Caroline moaned as it entered her again and she lay back on the bed, gazing up at him open-mouthed as he began fucking her pussy hard and fast. He let his hands explore her body, feeling the ribs beneath her skin and following the firm curves of her breasts, his thumb rubbing across her nipples. He found her hands and pinned them above her head as he settled into a deep, punishing rhythm, driving his cock in over and over until she gasped out his name and begged him to carry on.

Her hips rose from the bed each time he thrust into her, and he could feel his balls smack against her ass every time he buried his cock inside her.

“Kiss me,” Caroline whispered and ever-obedient, Brandon leaned down to seal their lips, his tongue thrashing around her mouth, wrestling with hers as he tried to convey the passion burning inside him. His stomach ached with need, sweat was breaking out of his every pore and his breath was coming out in ragged pants.

Caroline arched her back, pressing against him as she moaned with pleasure, her eyes closed tight.

“Let it out,” Brandon heard himself gasp. “All of it Caroline. Don’t hold back.”

She didn’t. Her body was shaking as he took her closer to the edge, his cock slamming smoothly in and out of her tight pussy with reckless abandon. He knew that for the rest of the week he’d think about nothing but her and he wanted to make the latest memory a good one.

Her eyes gazed into his at the last moment and then she let go, her hands straining against his as he held her tightly against the bed. Her body trembled and shook as she writhed beneath him, clenching repeatedly around his plunging cock until she took him over the edge with her and he shot his come deep inside her, grunting with pleasure.

His mouth found hers again and he kissed her hard, finally letting go of her hands. For a second she didn’t respond and he feared he’d crossed the invisible boundary but then her hand was on the back of his neck, intensifying the kiss, her body pushing up against his.

Like all good things it had to come to an end. Later, he lay beside Caroline, staring up at the ceiling and wondering when she’d tell him it was time to leave and whether or not he’d have the strength to tell her he didn’t want to go.

She spoke softly. “Thank you.”

He smiled at the ceiling. “It was my pleasure.”

“Mine too.”

She propped her head on her elbow and looked down at him. “Do you think I’m crazy?”


“Not even a little?”

He smirked at her. “Maybe a little. But isn’t everyone?”

“I guess.” She touched the tip of her nose against his playfully. “So I suppose you’d better go now?”

Brandon hesitated. “Not really.”

Her eyes locked onto his. “It wasn’t really a question.”

“Wasn’t it?” He held her gaze. “Why didn’t you just tell me to leave then?”

“’Cause I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

He scoffed. “I didn’t realise you knew I had any feelings.”

She sat up. “Why are you being so argumentative? You’re ruining everything.”

“Ruining what? The afternoon you’re paying me for?”

She looked troubled. “Yes. That.”

“Do you want me to go?” Brandon asked blatantly. “’Cause if you do, I will.”

“I do.” She said without conviction.

Brandon eased himself off the bed and put his clothes on, feeling he’d achieved nothing but a fuck.

“We’re still… good, right?” Caroline asked. She stood up and rummaged through her purse to count money off a wad of banknotes.

“Depends what you mean by good.” Brandon snapped as she handed it to him. “Good as in on good enough terms for you to call me next week for another of these… fucks,” He spat the word out and paused before saying, “Or good as in friends and happy with each other?”

Caroline stared at him. “I… uh… both, I guess. But the first one mostly.”

“The first? Well then, yes, we’re good.” Brandon had one shoe on and for the life of him could not find the other. He would’ve liked to have stormed out by now but he could hardly make a dramatic exit with one shoe.

“Are you mad?”

“No.” Brandon growled through gritted teeth. “I. Am. Not. Mad.” He finally located the shoe under the bed. His shirt buttons were done up wrong and he looked a mess but he was too pissed off to care.

“So I’ll call you then?” Caroline asked tentatively, still gazing at him with those lost green eyes.

“Yes, call me, whatever.”

Brandon finally made it to the door which he successfully opened and stormed out of.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Copyright © Copyright Emilia Adams 2011-2015. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior permission of the author.

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