Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 39764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 199(@200wpm)___ 159(@250wpm)___ 133(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 199(@200wpm)___ 159(@250wpm)___ 133(@300wpm)
Not to be outdone, Kristoff withdraws, pumps his cock in his harsh fist, and comes all over the woman’s puffy sex, too.
But that big finish isn’t satisfying enough for Kristoff.
He grabs the other man’s shoulders and urges the buff guy to kneel beside him, between the woman’s widely splayed legs. They stare at her dripping, swollen pussy before bending together to lick her. Deep. Clean. Until she orgasms against their dueling tongues.
During the clip’s final moments, the camera pans back again to reveal the most damning aspect of the video: the trio performed the whole scene for a rapt audience.
Even the memory of it has me groaning, fuming, and bracing my head in my hands. What am I going to do? If the stodgy judges of ever-elegant ballroom dance ever see this footage… The thought of what they could—and would—do to our scores at the California Dance Star makes me panic. Kristoff and I will go from first to worst in the standings.
Equally unnerving, I’m still more than vaguely aroused. Not that I’m attracted to Kristoff, especially after the position he’s put me in. But the freedom to just let loose and fulfill my fantasies, particularly with a certain Latino billionaire, flips my switch way too much.
No. I put Alejandro Diaz out of my mind. I have to. My neglected libido is irrelevant until I figure out how to ensure Kristoff’s video doesn’t fall into the judges’ hands. If I don’t, everything I’ve worked for will slip through my fingers like sand.
From the time my mom took me to a dance studio and I smelled the mix of fresh wax, sweat, and determination, dance became my everything. I lost myself in it. The studio was the only place I felt free to express myself. From my very first competition, I wanted to win. Dance was my escape when my mom got sick. And after I lost her to cancer, I was determined to make her proud and prove that all her hours of driving and waiting and watching me weren’t for nothing.
Kristoff’s fiasco puts all that in jeopardy.
Not only that, I’ll have to contend with the judgmental stares of my father and my brothers: a former champion weightlifter, an Olympic sprinter, a world-class decathlete, and a pro football player, respectively. They’ve never said they’re disappointed, but I know what they’re thinking. Their judgment is a hulking weight on my shoulders. I’m a failure in their eyes because I’ve never been a champion. And by their definition, ballroom dancing isn’t even a sport.
This year, I intended everything to be different. I wanted to prove that I could win. Instead, it looks as if I’ll be proving them right once and for all.
Where is Kristoff, damn it? I have questions, and that Russian better have answers. He must know his recent jaunt to that damn sex club, Sneak Peek, will haunt us. I warned him. Clearly, he didn’t heed a word.
When the door of my small dressing room bursts open, Kristoff glides in. The graceful bastard moves like glass, especially on the dance floor. “Three minutes, Shanna. Are you ready?”
When he holds out his hand to me, that’s usually my cue to take it and follow his lead.
Not tonight.
“To beat the hell out of you, yes!” I snatch up the flash drive and shake it in his face. “Did your brain fall into your pants? Why didn’t you wait to get your jollies until after the California Dance Star?”
He frowns. “What do you speak of?”
“Your recent threesome at that sex club.”
Kristoff’s polished smile dissolves. “I was just, um, how do you say, blowing off a little steam. You know about that?”
“Someone filmed you and sent me the footage. Full color, high quality, great sound. No question it’s you, near a sign that said Sneak Peek.”
He pales. “No.”
“Yes. It also came with a note informing me that if we compete in the California Dance Star, they’ll distribute the clip to all the judges. And we’ll have no chance in hell of winning then. You know that.”
He curses, a popular Anglo-Saxon syllable that starts with an F. I shake my head. He already did that, thanks so much.
“I agreed to take you as my partner for two reasons: You’re an amazing dancer, and you’re driven. I thought you were discreetly gay. Gay, the judges can handle. Discreetly gay, even better. Clearly, I was wrong.”
Kristoff flushes. “I am, um…equal opportunity when it comes to sex.”
“And that’s fine. I don’t care what you do in your private life as long as it’s private. But if the judges see this footage, none of our hard work or talent will matter to them.”
“One minute!” someone shouts from the hall.
Squatting, I peer into the mirror at my dressing table, secure a pin holding back a lock of my pale blond hair, then smooth a hand down the silver sequins of my tiny costume. God, I feel sick to my stomach. All the years of sacrifice and work…gone.