Page 16 of The Dance Deception
I ignore it at first, furious with him for abandoning me all day. But at the same time I’m so relieved to see him at last that all I really want to do is fling myself into his arms. Instead, I look around and drink in the huge space around us. It doesn’t make me feel any better.
Behind the judges’ chairs there are rows and rows of seats for the audience – which look daunting enough when they’re empty, never mind when they’re full of people. I try to convince myself it’s nothing to worry about, but I couldn’t be more intimidated. It’s so different to our Kensington studio – it feels so exposed.
Kelly from costumes has put me in an emerald-green sequinned catsuit and I can feel my skin prickling with sweat beneath it. I’m glad I didn’t eat any lunch – it’s too tight to hide any lumps or bumps – but that does mean all the caffeine I’ve drunk on an empty stomach is making me even more jittery.
Merle’s biceps are bulging under a skin-tight black top with a flash of green sequins across one shoulder. His black trousers hug his bum and thighs, and another green flash shines across one hip. He looks hotter than ever, but as much as that makes me want to kiss him, what I really need is a comforting hug.
He leads me out onto the dance floor and calls out ‘music please’ to a man I hadn’t spotted at the side of the stage. As our track starts streaming through the giant speakers, he reminds me to keep my eyes on him while we’re dancing, which isn’t hard. But the rehearsal is a total disaster.
All the things I feared might go wrong do. I mix up the order of the steps and crack my knee against Merle’s, making both of us wince and me lose the timing.
‘Don’t stop,’ he says as I start to apologise, but I’m two beats behind him and I bump into him a second time, forcing him to strengthen his lead and practically drag me through the rest of the routine. It’s the worst two minutes of my life and by the end of it, I’m fighting back tears of frustration.
‘I’m sorry,’ I sob. ‘I can’t do this.’
‘Yes, you can. We’ll go again.’
But when he sees the distraught look on my face, he takes me firmly by the hand and pulls me away from the imposing rows of seats.
‘Don’t smudge your make-up,’ he says. ‘Layla won’t like it if she has to start all over again. Come with me. I know how to fix this.’
I follow him down the corridor and into a dressing room tucked away at the end.
‘Is this your …?’
‘Shh,’ he hushes me, pulling off his top as he walks me back towards the dressing table.
He lifts me onto it and pushes my knees apart, watching me intently as he finds my clit with his thumb. Even through the sequins he makes me tingle.
He steps in towards me and kisses me hungrily while he locates the zip at the back of my catsuit, which he pulls down, then pushes the material aside to expose my bare breasts. He presses his groin against mine as he reaches for them, so I can feel him getting aroused, and I sigh into his mouth as my nipples harden from his touch. This is exactly what I need to stop me panicking about our dance. All I can think about now is how much I want to feel him inside me.
In a flash he sweeps me off the table and spins me round to face the mirror, pulling the catsuit all the way down and moving one of his hands back between my legs. He tugs his trousers off with the other and our eyes meet in the mirror as he guides himself into me. I briefly wonder if we’ve got time for this, but I’m not about to stop it.
I press my hands against the table and grind my body back against his as he starts pumping behind me. His reaches for my breasts and I watch his eyes flick from my reflection to the real me and back again. I just can’t get enough of how transfixed he always seems to be with me.
He clings to my hips as his thrusts take on an extra urgency, and his orgasm arrives quickly and with its usual roar. As his judders slow to pulses, he reaches for my clit again, to make me come too. It doesn’t take long as I watch him stroking me in the mirror and he groans as I climax with him still inside me.
We stay like that for a minute, catching our breath, until we hear voices approaching in the corridor. Glancing back I realise Merle did not fully shut the door.
‘Merde,’ he mutters, withdrawing and hastily crossing the room to push it closed.
‘Merle?’ Olivia calls from outside. ‘It’s time.’
‘Just coming,’ he calls back, and the double entendre isn’t lost on me as we scramble for our clothes.
He smooths down his hair and I check my make-up is still in place. When I’m ready, he reaches for my wrist and I realise he’s taking my pulse.
‘Much calmer,’ he says. ‘Follow me out in a few minutes.’
And with that, he’s gone.
Chapter 9
The next hour passes in an absolute blur. The judges are in their seats, the spotlights are glowing on the set and the audience members are ready for some action, their eyes glued to the stage. I’m huddled in the area at the side with the other dancers as the show’s host, Kimberley Ross, waits for her cue then welcomes everyone to ‘the brand-new dance extravaganza that isFire on the Dance Floor!’
She introduces herself and the three judges – Mariana Gomez from the prestigious Brooklands school of dance, four times UK salsa champion Sophie Shaw and Jacques Flores, a master of Argentine tango who has also won multiple accolades. Then she explains the format of the show – how there will be seven of us competing, each doing a different dance, how the judges will give their comments and critique, but it will be up to the audience to decide our fate.
She reminds us the whole thing is live, so the person whocomes bottom of the seven will be sent home immediately. Which makes my legs feel like jelly – although that might also be down to what just happened in Merle’s dressing room.
