Break

“Don’t play with your food,” a husky voice commands me.

I look up to see Dashiell smirking down at me. He looks like he’s showered and changed to go out. I’ve still got my leotard on under my street clothes. “So you ditched the first day of rehearsals to come and get drunk?” He lifts the bread, now fully smothered with butter, and holds it to my mouth.

“I…” I don’t even know what to tell him. That I was too jealous to watch him dance with someone else? He’d laugh in my face. We’re professional dancers. All we do is dance with other people.

“Eat the goddamned bread, Sam,” he says softly.

I rip it from his hand and bite into the crust, savor the rich sweet cream of the fresh butter, the feathery pillow of the soft inside.

“Oh, Jesus,” I whisper.

Dash swipes his finger through the whipped butter and lifts it to my lips. I suck it off of his finger.

“Where’s douchebot?” he asks.

“Paying.”

“Want to ditch again?”

With you? Hell yes.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Dashiell

I take Natayla’s hand and tug her in the opposite direction of the restaurant exit. A dividing wall leads to a VIP section of the Oyster House, and we’re immediately hidden from view if douchebot should come back to the table. But I pull her deeper into the cavernous establishment, passing the empty dining halls and a swinging door that must lead to the kitchen.

The last dining area is reserved for private parties. I came here once for a Dance Props promo dinner and sunk into the deep burgundy booths covered in crushed velvet while I slugged back free cocktails.

Sam is drunk and angry, and she paws at me while she scolds me for dancing her part with Dahlia. Yanking her into a booth in the corner, I pull her onto my lap, my cock already hard in response to her licking my fingers.

“Dahlia is a spoiled brat who dances like a TikTok star, not a trained professional,” I tell her.

“But she’s beautiful and you seemed so captivated with her,” she pouts.

“It’s called performing. You should try it,” I tease her. “What the fuck were you doing with Lance again? You’re never going to get rid of him if all you do is hand the idiot mixed messages. He’s not astute enough to read how you feel.”

“How do you know?”

“Written all over his pudgy face.”

“And you? You can read me easily?” she challenges. “What do I want right now?”

I raise an eyebrow at her, unable to hide my subtle smirk. “Dick.”

I lean into Taye and push her up against the wall of the booth. Grabbing her breast in my hand, I rub my thumb over the hardened stub of her nipple. “You want me to fuck you so hard you can’t see straight. You want to suck my cock, pound it into your throat, and drink my seed as punishment for trying to make me jealous.”

With my other thumb, I caress from the base of her neck up to her chin and watch as gooseflesh rises on her bare forearms. “You want me to suck your titties until it hurts, until you’re so wet, I could fill a martini cup with your arousal.”

I capture her lower lip in my teeth and shove my tongue into her mouth. Her breath catches and a low moan escapes her. My hand dips directly into her pants and passes through the labyrinth of her tights and leotard until I make contact with her wet heat. As I thought, she’s soaked through her clothes with desire for me.

“I want you to ride my hand while you suck me off,’ I say, rising to my knees and undoing my belt buckle. My cock falls out and bounces slowly before rising to a full massive erection that presses up as my balls cinch.

I jam my fingers inside her pussy and she whimpers and lets her head fall back onto the sill. I don’t give a fuck if someone walks in on us.

Grabbing my shaft, I massage my cock, rubbing my precum up and down the length. Taye is thick with silken arousal and it coats my fingers as I thrum them inside her and massage her tender clit, making her nipples pucker.

“Suck my cock, Sam. Tell me you’re sorry for making me jealous and you won’t do it again.”

Her head jerks forward and her eyes are glazed with desire and gin. She sloppily sucks my massive erection into the heat of her mouth.

“Tell me who you belong to,” I demand.

“You,” Natayla says, her voice muffled around my cock.

“Not that little bitch, Lance. Whose dick do you want?” I ask as I fuck her face ruthlessly. Saliva spills down her chin and her eyes raccoon as her mascara smears.

“You, Dash. Only you,” she huffs when I pull out and let her breathe.