Page 82 of Unstitch

56

DARCY

The curtain has well and truly been lifted tonight.

The veil I usually erect between me and the audience, for reasons to do with both technique and mystique is shot to hell, because when I emerge onto the stage for Diamond Night, the first person I lay eyes on is Dex. He’s standing by himself at the front of the crowd, all in black, tumbler in hand.

He’s grinning right at me, and even in the dim light I can tell his grin carries none of the circumspection from our first meeting or the anguished uncertainty from our hookup the other night.

It’s a really great grin—though it might have something to do with the fact that I’m wearing a diamanté thong and what’s basically a Victoria’s Secret Fantasy Bra gone porno.

No bodystocking tonight.

Just barely-there, glittering underwear, heels and an enormous white feather boa made from the most lavish plumes. (Note to my sister: this is what you get when you give Cal too much creative licence with his events.)

I shoot him as big a smile as I can without ruining my carefully crafted aura of mystique for the rest of the crowd, and I let myself go to the music. It’s more upbeat tonight. Diamond Night should be called Diamond Disco, if the music is anything to go by.

I let rip to an epic remix that goes from Atomic to I Feel Love to Young Hearts Run Free, and I can tell you right now, my moves put Mercutio’s to shame. The audience goes crazy, and it’s impossible not to get swept up in the infectious atmosphere. I play up to the adulation like the queen that I am, the strobe lights slicing my movements, my poses, into a series of fleeting tableaux and lending the room, with its pulsing, grooving audience, a trippy feel.

Even better, I get enough glimpses of Dex to know he’s a seriously good dancer. Bro’s got moves. Not that I didn’t know that—the memory of him moving inside me with gorgeous, rolling thrusts flashes through my mind—but he looks seriously sexy down there with the top few buttons of his black shirt unbuttoned and his sleeves rolled up.

He’s going for it with Cal and Aida, who’ve materialised next to him. But he’s here for me. He’s smiling at me. And I hope to God he’s waiting for me to finish.

I wrap my set up to wolf whistles and cat calls and applause, treating the audience to a little wink and a shimmy of my thong-clad bottom before chucking the feather boa straight at Cal. He catches it and gleefully wraps it around himself, earning an eye roll from Aida. And when I wave goodbye to the crowd, my skin slick with sweat and my legs trembling from my exertions, Dex is already rounding the stage.

I fall on the door of my dressing room as soon as I hear the knock.

It’s him, and by God he looks dishevelled and good enough to eat, that dark hair hanging over one eye and a light dusting of chest hair visible in the V of his shirt. The grin he gives me is a lot less confident than the one he shot me out in The Playroom. I suppose he’s not sure how warm a reception he’ll get given his ghosting stunt.

‘Hey,’ I say, resisting the urge to climb him like a tree.

‘Hi,’ he says. ‘Can I come in?’

‘Sure.’ I stand back and close the door behind him. This room is small enough that his presence fills it, and the intimacy only increases when he looks my practically naked body up and down with a hunger that’s frankly astounding, because I’ve had it in my head since Monday that Dex’s brain would be full of Max, Max, Max and not much else.

‘You look fucking incredible,’ he says, dragging his orgasm-inducing eyes up from my boobs to my face with visible effort.

I smile coyly, never one to resist a compliment. ‘Thanks.’

He takes a step closer. ‘I want to say sorry, but—do you think I can hold you while I do?’

‘Okay,’ I say. I’m really sweaty, but it looks like he is, too. Besides, I’m wearing a fucking diamond-studded demi-cup with my nipples sitting prettily on top of it, so I figure he wins out, sweat or no sweat.

He hooks both arms around my waist and tugs me against him, running his fingertips up the groove in my spine. I look up at him—I’ve kicked my heels off so I need to crane my neck. His eyes are hooded. Haunted.

‘Leaving you hanging like that after the other night was despicable,’ he whispers. ‘I’m a complete twat, and I’ve been beating myself up so much. I just—I was so busy getting my knickers in a twist about the whole thing that my solution was to bury my head in the sand and pretend it never happened.’

My eyes widen, because it physically hurts to hear that statement, but he backtracks.

‘Fuck—I didn’t mean… Jesus. Okay, let me start again.’ His hands are still moving over my damp skin. I need to put a robe on or get in the shower before I get cold, but I don’t want to move. ‘Every single second with you was incredible,’ he says. ‘All of it. The bed. The shower. The things you let me do to you. It’s no exaggeration to say it was the most incredible night of my life by a million miles. Do you understand?’

I nod, relief coursing through me. He wraps me up tighter, dipping his head lower till it feels like he might kiss me, and I wind my arms around his neck. It feels so, so good to be this close to him. My nipples are pressing against his shirt, his heat a balm to my rapidly chilling body.

‘But the stuff with, um, Max was’—he chokes out a laugh—‘a fucking can of worms the like of which I’ve never had to deal with, and when I tell you it sent me into a shit-spiral all week… I was far too busy freaking out and being in denial that I didn’t take care of your needs, and I’m so, so sorry. I know that night was a big deal for you, too, and you handled the whole thing so much better than I did, and I’m thoroughly ashamed of myself.’

I consider my response. ‘I know you were freaking out. It was pretty obvious from the way you left, and that’s why I wanted to check in. But I needed some reassurance, too, that you didn’t hate me for my part in it.’

Because no girl wants to be a part of someone’s memory from hell, no matter how liberated they are, and no matter how much of a confident, sassy front they put on on stage. So when a guy comes inside your body twice and then leaves you on read for days and days, it’s hard not to take it personally and it’s really hard not to feel stupid and clingy.

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