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Dancing Into Love
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This is a KL Fast & MK Moore short story of instalove set in the world of dance.
There might be a bit of brisé, breeding, and babies. Oh my!
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She has no idea just how long I’ve been watching her. Her grace and elegance as she glides across the dance floor are nothing to the filthy, depraved, and fucked up things I want to do her perfect, lithe body. She is literally the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Ever. My fucking princess.
Calliope Johnson has no idea how obsessed I am with her, but she will. I swear to God, she will.
Through several seasons, we’ve competed against each other on the Rocky Mountain Dance-Off tv competition. On previous seasons, we were paired up with what I nicely referred to as B-list actors, sports players, and musicians. We’ve squared off with our partners over the years either coming in first or second each time. Trust me when I say that I want her more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. In the last three years, I haven’t even looked at or thought about another woman. At twenty-one, I know that I am ready to settle down, as long as she’s the one walking down the aisle to me. She is the total package. From her bangin’ body to her personality to the way she moves, she checks all my boxes. I’d do anything to be her man. You might be wondering why I haven’t made a move in three years and the simple fact is, she hates me, and I have no idea why. Won’t give me the time of day, but I aim to change that.
This season, they switched up the format and when we were asked to compete, neither one of us realized that it was professional couples only. As we are both Contemporary dancers, the director, Darcy, suggested we team up as we would create a bigger draw together. I was all for knowing that it would finally get her in my arms, she on the other hand, was not so eager to agree. Plus, the bonus they offered us was just too big to pass up.
Now we are in for four months of rehearsals and pretty much learning to dance together, followed by six weeks of preliminary competition, then by the semi-finals and ultimately the finals. There are twenty-five couples competing, all professional dancers.
Today is day one of that. We have learned that the first week of the competition will be an interpretive contemporary dance to James Arthur’s “Can I Be Him.” She is currently stretching, and I have to adjust my cock. Thank fuck, the cameras aren’t in here today. I am going to have to get a handle on this and quick. I do my static stretching quickly and when she turns to me, she scowls at me.
“Are you ready to do this?” she asks, sassily.
“Ready,” I respond.
“I need to listen to the song no less than ten times before I can even think about dancing to it,” she says with her hands on her hips.
“Okay,” I say smirking as I walk over to my phone which I have already connected to the Bluetooth surround sound in the room. I hit play on the song, and it fills the room. I have a similar method of listening before jumping in. I watch her as she listens. Her eyes are closed, and she sways with the music. It’s as if she can feel the music as it speaks to her. After several loops of the song, she finally opens her eyes and looks straight at me, like she knew I was mesmerized by her. I go ahead and pause the music, ready to listen to whatever she has to say about the song.
“This is a song about unrequited love. I am seeing the longing and, and,” she falters when she looks at me.
“Jealousy,” I offer, and she nods.
“I have some ideas for choreography, but I think we should do some basics and check our chemistry. Do you agree?” I ask.
“I do.” We have a brief interchange about my calling her “princess.” I love that she hates it so much. I am getting to her. Now that she’s finally legal, she’s mine. She steps into my dance space and the energy in the room changes. I hold out my hand to her and when her much smaller hand connects with mine, it becomes difficult to breathe. She gasps and it goes straight to my balls. My sweats were not the ideal choice to wear today. She has to feel my cock digging into her hip, but she’s too professional to mention it. My other line of thought pisses me off, so I try to shut it down, but it keeps coming to me that she’s so used to her dance partners popping wood that she no longer notices it. How dare any other man think they can be turned on by my girl.