His Love - Cassandra Dee Page 0,26

ever done. Because this particular move requires full extension as you raise one thigh, legs parting, stretched almost at a ninety degree angle all the way from the tip of one finger to the back of one toe.

But the problem was that it was too good. Because as my form lifted, poised gracefully into the air, the spot at my crotch became obvious. The wet pink material and corresponding streaks on my thigh were out in the open for anyone to see, the answer to her sniffing nose.

And when I came back to earth, gracefully resuming first position, there was a smirk on Miss Lane’s face.

“So that’s why you have to change,” she sneered. “You’ve got cum smeared all over that slutty body.”

I blushed. Those words were so nasty! How could she say them in public, here in the practice room? Did anyone overhear? But there was no sense in pretending to be dumb.

“I’m so sorry,” I rushed, head down, biting my lip. “I’m sorry.”

But this was never going to do because after all, I was the new Kitty. Besides it was Luke’s semen leaking from my snatch, and I loved every ounce of juice he’d deposited. So I lifted my head and looked Miss Lane straight in the eye.

“It is,” I said with a deep breath, voice trembling but firm. “I was with a man this morning and we had a good time. If I’d known there was going to be so much, I would have taken precautions.”

Although what precautions weren’t exactly clear. Because thinking back to my early session with Mr. Lyons, it’d been so good, so thorough, that I couldn’t have stopped that big male body if I tried. He’d pushed me down, cheek smashed against the coverlet, pumping into my pussy with that fat dick.

“Aw FUCK!” came the male roar. “Fuck fuck fuck!”

And I’d cried out, eyes closed, heavy boobs dragging on the bed, fists gripping at the sheets. Because Luke was spurting in me again, filling me up, giving me my daily dose of cum, hot, thick, and virile.

So how could I say no? How could I turn down a snatch full of bubbly jism, the stuff of life? I couldn’t and I wouldn’t, because his semen is my personal boom-boom juice, the spinach to my Popeye, and I need as much as I can get, as often as I can get.

So I looked Miss Lane in the eye again.

“I’m sorry,” I repeated, voice even. “But if you’ll excuse me for a moment, I’ll change and everything will be fine.”

Smiling confidently, I bent to pick up my bag, swinging it over my shoulder. Thank god I had an extra practice outfit stashed. But then Miss Lane’s voice stopped me in my tracks.

“Don’t think you’re the first,” she said, voice like nails on chalkboard. “You’re not anything special or unique.”

I stopped, turning slowly to face her.

“I’m sorry?” I said, meeting her eyes. “I’m sorry?”

“You heard me,” she hissed, coming up close, expression like a nasty viper. “Don’t pretend you didn’t hear.”

I shook my head, silent for a moment.

“No, I don’t think I did,” I said firmly. But inside, my belly was churning, liquid splashing about. “What did you say?”

She leaned in close, the garbage smell of her breath hot on my cheek. And smiling evilly again, the words came like bullets.

“You’re not the first ballerina Luke Lyons has fucked. You think you’re special? Guess again.”

I couldn’t breathe for a moment, the air evaporated from my lungs. But then I forced myself to inhale. Of course I’m not the first woman Luke’s ever slept with. The man’s forty-five for crying out loud, and handsome as sin, with a body to die for. I never expected him to live like a monk.

I shot her a frigid look.

“I didn’t think Mr. Lyons was a virgin,” came my voice tightly. “I never thought that.”

But the woman hissed like a cobra tracking its prey, invading my personal space.

“Of course, the girls never think he’s a virgin,” she cackled. “It’s just they don’t realize this is his schtick, either.”

I frowned. Shtick?

“I’m sorry, I don’t get what you mean,” came my voice, trembling and low. “What are you talking about?”

Miss Lane skinny nose wrinkled again.

“Oh please,” she spat. “Don’t make like you’re so fucking naïve. I hate these girls from the Midwest, they’re full of “family values” and “godly behavior,” but it’s all bullshit,” she snarled. “You’re a bunch of hos, fucking whores.”

My blood ran cold in my veins. What in the world?