Dancing With A Dom: A BBW Romance (10 page)

“Stop.”

“What?”

“We don’t want to mess up your hair, do we?” He grinned and helped disentangle me from all the chiffon. “You were wrong about another thing.” He led me back to the dressing room so I could fix my makeup.

“Yes?”

“The
just fucked
look is perfect for the waltz. Let’s go take control of the dance floor. Then we can finish the rest of the list later tonight.”

I was about to waltz on live TV with my Dom, my partner, my lover. And we were going to make history.

***

The waltz was perfect. His partner had been a vision of grace and beauty, her lines exquisite and feminine. The symmetry between them poised, refined and elegant. The way the competition was going, they might end up in the top two. But it was anyone’s game. The calls were slowly trickling in with each video clip and live dance.

He sighed and readied his outfit. In a polyester tuxedo, complete with cuff links and the leather belt he had whipped Macy with hours earlier—he appeared the epitome of a wealthy aristocrat. Macy showed off her stunning curves in a seductive, deep-brown silk brocade dress. Her wardrobe had a surprise, though.

It was a very calculated maneuver—one his uncle might not appreciate—but they were going for broke. If they were going to up the ante in this competition and save the company, they needed to spice things up. Their salsa was the last dance of the night. It was going to be sexy, passionate, sure to turn a few heads. The question was, how many people would they offend? And how many votes would pour in?

“You look ravishing.” He kissed the back of Macy’s neck as they waited in the wings for their turn to be called out for the final dance of the night. Everyone watched their video footage.

Macy shivered against his hold and turned to him with a lopsided smile. “I want to change things up a little.”

“Now?”

The stage manager shushed them.

Two minutes until show time.

“Yes, now.”

Already planning a risky wardrobe swap for the middle of the dance, a “malfunction” would totally screw them. Sexy was good. Naked breasts popping out in an “oops” during a live TV show—even if at 10:30 p.m. on a local channel was not acceptable. But he trusted Macy. If his always-in-control, had-things-planned-out-to a-T woman wanted to let loose a little, he would hear her out.

“What do you have in mind?”

She’d grinned and given him a look that would be forever seared into his brain. “I’m thinking a dollar bill and some jungle beats.”

His cock surged against the front of his pants as he appraised her skintight black leather pants disappearing under her dress, envisioning her thrusts and grinds. “I like the way your kinky little mind works.” He wanted to run his hands through her hair, mess it up, kiss her, smear her lipstick all over her plump lips. Groaning, he pulled her into him for a much too quick peck on her soft mouth. “What about your list? We have all the moves planned out, so you’ll feel comfortable and in control.”

“You lead. I’ll follow.”

On the stage manager’s cue, she traipsed her way out to the center of the floor. He caught up quickly and held her waist as the lights slowly illuminated them.

One
save-the-station dance fuck
 coming up.

***

The music started—an authentic, Cuban salsa, complete with bongos and guitars, the claves mastering the rhythmic beats. Taking Macy’s outstretched hand, he pulled, twirling her into his arms. He ran his hands down her cheek, across her neck as the music filled the room. The audience clapped, and the tote board continued its slow illuminations of intermittent calls.

One press and push out, followed by one hard tug back. Was Macy thinking about their first dance? She shuddered in his arms as he caressed her hips. Was she remembering all the deliciously devious things he had done to her body? One more shimmy and body roll. The audience seemed to be enjoying the fast-paced music, and the chemistry. He was.

Time for phase two. Hell, when had he become such a planner? Macy relaxed, enjoying the music, embracing her sensual side in front of all these people, finally letting go. And all he could do was plan the next—get ready for the lift. He lifted her. The crowd oohed and ahhed, clapping and whistling their approval as he released her to the floor. Dammit. Macy was right. He needed to let go. Enjoy the moment.

With a tap on her shoulder to let her know it was coming, he reached for the hem of her bodice. And ripped the dress right off her.

The crowd roared and cheered, clapping so hard his ears hurt. Macy stood before the audience in the skintight black leather pants a jungle-patterned bra barely covering her beautiful tits.
They
were covered. Her midriff was not. She had chosen to go bare, to make a statement about the beauty of all body sizes. An intricate line of dark henna circled her navel, running up to her chest, stopping in a ribbon of curls along her bare shoulder. She was gorgeous. And everyone seemed to agree.

The tote board lit with a few more red lights, as excitement built in the both the television and live audiences. The studio audience perched on the edges of their seats, anticipation in their wide eyes. And by the small surge of red lights sparkling on the board, the rest of the viewers liked what they saw as well. People didn’t call
this
number to complain. This was the “vote and save the station” line. And it was already getting amped up. And the viewers were about to get another surprise.

The music changed to a jungle beat complete with bamboo drums, wooden xylophone, and seed shakers. He took his place on the other side of the dance floor. A quick wink to make sure Macy wanted to continue
. Hell yeah.
She nodded and blew him a seductive kiss.

“Come.” He mouthed the word with a firm glare and pointed at his feet.

She came all right.

Dropping down to all fours, she slunk across the floor. Her gaze never leaving his, she reached—no, she clawed her way to him. She crept toward him like a tigress, with a hunger in her eyes, raw, powerful, the strongest female he had ever seen. He was powerless against her, and they both knew it.

The audience sat silent. The wild beats thrummed in his head, commanding him to yield to them, to yield to her seductive spell.

She knelt between his legs, clawing her way up his pant legs. Dark, raw passion made her eyes huge and animalistic.

Yanking the clip from her hair, she whipped her head from side to side before running her fingers up the seam of his pants. She smelled like lavender and sex. She smelled like raw, animal power. Shaking her ass, she shimmied her hips in a seductive figure eight in front of his cock while he stood there enjoying the show.

He took a fistful of her hair and flipped her around, pressing her back to his chest. They swayed and rocked in time with the music. They fucked in front of hundreds of people. Her heated ass against his throbbing cock. She groaned when he gripped her hips tighter. Tracing his finger around the intricate henna patterns, he leaned in to bite her neck. She screamed. A lusty, low-throated shriek one could have heard a mile away.

The music wound to its final beats, and all he could hear was her heavy breathing against his chest for several seconds.

Papers flew wildly in the production booth, letting him know how pissed off his conservative uncle was for ruining their show and their comeback.

And then everything happened at once.

Every light on the tote board lit up, the backup operators suddenly called into frenzied action to take donations. The audience went wild. Everyone cheered, shouted, and clapped, creating a deafening roar.

It would seem their dance was a success. But only one person’s approval mattered to him at the moment. He had to yell in her ear to be heard. “Are you okay? That was quite a show you put on.”

She grabbed his hand, turning him to pull him against her bare tummy, and kissed him hard, bringing another round of louder applause. Raising their hands high in the air, she smiled and hugged him again. “
We
put on quite the show.”

“So do you like Valentine’s Day now?” He grinned and twirled her around for another set of bows.

“It’s on my list as one of my favorites.” She giggled. “Happy Valentine’s Day, sir.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, little girl.”

***

When I went into the tryouts a few months ago, I had only one thing on my mind.
Negativity
. I resented my ex, I despised a holiday meant to share romance with the world, and, most importantly, I hated myself. It’s true. I didn’t realize it until now, but all my actions stemmed from my own insecurities and dislike. It took a few hard bare-assed spankings, mind-blowing sex, and the love of a man to show me the light.

I
was
lovable. And I saw my own love reflecting in his eyes every time we were together.

Valentine’s Day has been the worst and the best holiday for me.

My heart broke, but it mended. I experimented with new things: I performed in front of thousands of people and saved a television station, and I found real love.

All because I danced with a Dom.

The End

Thanks so much for reading Dancing with a Dom. Would you please take a moment and review it?

Liked it, didn’t like it, loved it? I would love to hear your feedback. Thanks!

And if you like erotic romance with sexy alpha males, and sweet scenes that make you smile, check out a few of my other stories.

Wren’s Redemption

Nineteen-year-old gymnast Wren Montgomery was America’s golden girl, but then it all came crashing down. As far as the media is concerned, it was a devastating ankle injury which began her downward spiral, but in her heart Wren knows better. The truth is that things started going wrong the day her beloved coach Jonathan Reilly not only rejected her romantic advances, but actually spanked her bare bottom as if she were a silly little girl when she tried to hide her heartbreak behind an angry outburst.

Now at twenty-two, after one poor decision after another Wren has become the “bad girl” of the gymnastics world. Desperate to break out of her slump and with nowhere else to turn, she decides to accept help from the best coach she ever had… the same man who spurned and then spanked her years ago.

Jonathan watched Wren’s fall from grace, and he fell with her. He still blames himself for leaving the team—and more importantly, leaving her—and now that he has the chance to help his little rebel get back on track, he isn’t going to let it slip through his fingers. This time he’ll be there for her no matter what, both when she needs a loving embrace and when she needs a firm hand applied to her bare bottom. Most important of all, if she still wants him to be more than just her coach, this time he won’t let anything keep him from claiming what is his.

Publisher’s Note:
Wren’s Redemption
is an erotic romance novel that includes spankings, sexual scenes, elements of BDSM, and more. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.

Excerpt:

“You ready for something a bit more difficult today?” Jonathan asked as he strode across the mats for their next session.

The meet yesterday had gone great—except for the uneven bars, of course. Ugh. She sucked at the bars, and Mr. God’s Gift to Bars, had promised he would get her through her bar rotation by any means necessary. She shuddered when she saw the familiar gleam in his eyes. “Do I have any choice in the matter?”

“Hmmm.” He set his bag down next to her feet and contemplated her. “Well, of course you have a choice. You can choose to continue losing points in your worst event because you don’t have the core strength—”

“Ouch.”

Smiling, he pulled her into a quick hug. “Sometimes the truth hurts. Now come on. Do you want to get better at the bars or not?”

“Yeah.” But it didn’t mean she had to like it or like his methods, right?

“You’re not going to appreciate what I have in mind, but I think it will help.” Yeah, he was a mind reader.

He pulled out a few small, marble shaped balls, and handed them to her. About an inch in diameter, they were cool to the touch, metal with a smooth, silky finish. “You ever use Ben Wa balls before?”

Shaking her head, she handed him back the shiny objects, not liking where this conversation seemed to be going. “Where exactly would I be
using
these things?”

He raised an eyebrow and cleared his throat, his gaze traveling down the front of her leotard.

“Oh hell no!” She turned to stalk away from the crazy man that wanted to put shiny balls inside her hoo-ha.

“Stop right there.”

She froze. She hated when that happened. His deep voice did things to her, making all rational thought escape, making her desire to obey every order he gave—whether she wanted to or not. “I don’t want shiny ball things inside me.” She pleaded, praying he would change his mind.

“I’m sure you don’t want to hold balls inside your vagina while you do your bar exercises.”

“What?” Did that terrified squeak come from her?

“The object is to tighten everything down there while you are doing your kips and rotations. That’s why you keep over- and under-maneuvering. If you can keep those s
hiny things,
as you put it, from falling out, you will also feel just how controlled your body needs to feel while lifting your lower body to the bar.” He kissed her forehead gently, and she almost sagged against him, loving his clove and musk smell. “But it’s up to you. Only the toughest athlete, with the kind of attitude to tell press to fuck off and dye her hair crazy colors to piss off her parents, would be mentally strong enough to do this kind of training. It’s not going to be easy, and a quitter would never make it through.” He shrugged and reached to place the balls back into his bag.