I bounce up and down on his steely cock, my breasts aching for his touch. The head of his sex hits deep and stimulates my G-spot until I’m coming undone again, my pussy gushing with my orgasm. Riding him tight and hard, I come in multiple waves that course through my body until I’m numb and spent.
Dashiell rolls me on my back, never separating our connection. He props his upper body in a kind of plank over me and thrusts into my pussy, sending shockwaves zinging from my clit to my toes. He only gets a few thrusts in before he’s coming inside me and groaning his release.
He nuzzles my neck and kisses my jawline before pulling out and rolling onto his back, where he contemplates the ceiling, a look of satisfaction on his beautiful face.
A couple of hours later, I awake with a start. We’ve both sacked out on top of the covers naked. I roll out of bed to pee and pull one of Dash’s t-shirts from his drawer. I wander out the kitchen to make sure the pizza got put away.
When I’m walking back to bed, I notice the light in Dashiell’s office is on, so I step in to turn it off. I’m drawn to the framed photos on his bookcase and I pick them up one by one. They’re all photos of Dash and Lizzy from the time he was small to his winning night on Dance Props. I realize that he’s got scrapbooks in addition to the photo albums and I pull out one labeled ‘Sam’ when it grabs my attention.
I open the book to find page upon page of my dance career carefully clipped and cherished under laminate. Every time I made the paper, every time I won a prize, it’s all there. I wipe at the tears that escape from my eyes. This is something a mother would do—not my mother certainly—but it is the loving and unconditional love a mother would give.
“You found my stalker-level fan art, huh?” Dash asks from behind me.
“You made this?” I ask him in utter disbelief.
“Yeah, well, Mom helped me. We saved all the articles, and eventually, Mom got a book for me to keep them in. I was your biggest fan. You were the best and hands down the most famous dancer I ever knew,” he says.
“I don’t know what to say.” I close the book and hug it to my chest.
“Say you’ll keep giving me things to fill that book with. That one day, we can pass it on to our kids and say, look at what a star your mommy was.”
I practically choke on a sob when I imagine that scenario. A loving mother, doting on her child, sharing their lives. “You mean that?”
I can’t help but run into his arms, and he pulls me into a warm hug, kissing my hairline.
“We were always meant to be, Sam. From that first sandwich. You’re the love of my life.”
“I love you, Dashiell Cunningham.”
“I love you, too, Natayla, and I can’t wait to spend my life with you.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Natayla
On our third and final performance of Limerence, Bronson falls ill with what he thinks is food poisoning. Tate Donavan calls us in the morning and asks us to arrive early at the auditorium.
The understudies are already on stage when Dash and I run up in our warm-up clothes. I just got off the phone with Bronson, and he apologized like he’d done something wrong. I assured him we only cared about him recuperating, and we’d make the final show work someway-somehow without him.
Dashiell stands by my side because he understands how nerve-wracking it can be for a dancer to switch partners at the very last second.
“Well, the good news is that the reviews are in and we’re a smash hit. The bad news is we might not be able to live up to those expectations if we shake things up too much,” Tate tells the dancers.
“I’m happy to run through it a few times before curtain call with whoever is going to cover,” I offer. It’s not a perfect solution because doing so will kill my energy for the actual performance, but it might be our best bet.
“Dash, do you know the choreography for Bronson’s part?” Tate asks him.
“I think so. I mean not perfectly, but I know the blocking, and I can sight communicate with Taye pretty easily,” he says confidently, squeezing my hand.
I know we have chemistry together when we dance, but for the most part, we just play around.
“Cunningham, I’m going to sub you in for Bronson, and I’ll ask Angel to step up and dance Cunningham’s part tonight if you’re up for the task.”
Angel steps forward from the other dancers and stands next to Dahlia in solidarity.
“Don’t worry, I’m a huge Cunningham fan so I learn all his parts by heart,” he tells a smiling Dahlia.