Page 19 of Dance Dirty With Me

My words die away and he doesn’t move, he just stands in the middle of his cabin, barely looking at me. At least he hasn’t thrown me out, so that’s something.

The record stops, another disc falls into place, and a new song starts up. It’s a soulful number. He’s still standing there, and it’s now or never, so I rise, and swallowing the nervousness and fear that threaten to send me fleeing out the door, I slowly walk over to him. I reach out and touch his chest, and he turns his head away but he doesn’t stop me. I need to relieve this ache in my chest, the one I have when he’s close to me, the one that makes me feel like it might burst through my ribcage.

“Dance with me?” I whisper.

He hesitates for a second then slowly reaches for my hip and pulls me close. He begins to sway his hips in time to the slow soulful music, and I move with him, letting myself go withthe flow. Feeling bold, I slip my fingers under his T-shirt and hear a sharp intake of breath as I touch his skin. I look at him, and this time he’s gazing down at me, his eyes heavy with lust like he wants this too.

When he tugs my T-shirt up, I lift my arms for him to pull it off, then his large warm hands are on my skin, on my back and hips, and we gyrate in unison to the music. He leads me into a slow spin away from him, and then when I return his thigh slips between my legs. The friction as we shimmy makes me hard and I press myself closer to him.

Lowering his head, he gently kisses my shoulder, and the soft warm touch of his lips makes my skin flutter like a thousand butterflies taking flight.

He pulls off his T-shirt and I run my fingers over his broad chest, mapping out the contours like I’ve only dreamt about. I raise my head. I want to kiss him. I want to know what it feels like to kiss, to be kissed. His lips meet mine. It’s soft and slow but with an undercurrent of need and desire.

My stomach swoops and I love it.

I feel his tongue and I open up, wanting to taste him as he explores my mouth. He tastes of the sea and summer and forbidden dreams. Breathlessly I pull back and look up at his dark brown eyes. I’ve never felt anything like this before. A small smile plays along his lips, and his eyes are alight as if he’s looking at something incredible but unexpected. He can’t think that of me, can he? I’m sure Johnny could have anyone in the world if he wanted them. I entwine my fingers in his hair and pull his head back down. If this is the only chance I get to kiss him, I want to make the most of it. It’s even better the second time—deeper, more urgent. He runs his hand over my arse before lifting my leg, making thecontact with his thigh even stronger. I can’t help the small moan that escapes at the increase of pressure, and his response is to grip me tighter. We still kiss and gyrate to the music, barely noticing when the song changes again. Then he pulls back slowly.

“Please don’t stop,” I whisper, and concern flickers across his face.

“Are you sure?” His voice is rich and low, and full of dark desire.

“Yes.” It comes out breathless and needy. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.

He cups my arse and effortlessly picks me up, then he carries me over to the bed and lays me down gently. Climbing onto the bed, he covers my body with his, resting his elbows on either side of my head as we kiss again slowly. This time when he breaks off he has a little smile.

“What’s your real name, Baby?”

“Francis.”

His smile widens as he repeats it.

“Francis, I like it.”

I muse on how much I like the way it sounds when he says it as he smothers me with another kiss. I run my hands over his shoulders and down his back as he kisses my neck, and my shoulder, working his way down my chest. His tongue on the hard bud of my nipple elicits a moan, which surprises me. I had no idea that would feel so good.

“You like that?” he asks, licking and sucking on the other side, and I groan again in answer. He keeps on covering every inch of my torso in kisses, working lower until hereaches the waistband of my jeans. No longer feeling his lips on my skin, I glance at him, and he’s looking up my body at me.

“Have you ever been with a man before?”

“I’ve never been with anyone,” I reply, then a twinge of anxiety asserts itself. “Is that a problem?”

“Not for me. We’ll go slowly, but if you want me to stop just say so, alright?”

“Okay.” I can’t say anymore because my brain kicks in that this is happening. I thought if I was lucky, I might meet someone at uni. But this is so much better. There’s no way I’ll be saying no. I want to experience it all. Johnny gets off the bed and rummages in a drawer for a minute before returning with a pot and what looks like a condom packet. He chucks them onto the bed and then unbuttons his jeans and slips them off. I’m treated to a view of his muscular thighs, which I’d admired on the beach a few days ago. Then he strips off his boxer briefs and I catch sight of his cock. I can’t help but stare at it. I’ve not seen many dicks before, and never contemplated any except my own, which is fine, I guess—nothing special. His is as beautiful as the rest of him. Erect and jutting out proudly, I can see every vein along its impressive length and a sheen of precum glistening on the angry-looking head. I have an overwhelming urge to lick it, to know what it tastes like, feel the weight of it on my tongue.

“Do you like what you see?” he asks, and I realise I’ve been caught staring. I reluctantly drag my eyes from his dick and look at his face where he’s wearing a cocky smirk.

“Very much so,” I reply, wondering if he’d let me suck him off. He chuckles and kneels back on the bed, settling between my legs. I guess swallowing down his cock isn’t on the cards right now.

“Remember we can stop at any point.”

My own cock is already hard and aching, so I don’t think that will be likely. But he doesn’t continue, so he must need an answer.

“Of course,” I say and he nods. I breathe a little sigh when his hands return to my skin, as if my body already remembers what his touch feels like and has been starved of it. He undoes my jeans and pulls them down. I wriggle out of them.

“Jesus Christ, Francis.” I look up and Johnny is staring down at me . . . in my pink lace knickers.

I quickly cover as much of myself as I can with my hands, squirming in embarrassment.

---