Page 8 of His Love

But I didn’t say anything real. Not really. Because getting to where I am takes a shit ton of blood, sweat, and tears, and no sweet thing deserves that. Innocent girls shouldn’t have to walk the gauntlet. They shouldn’t have to get down on their hands and knees, scrubbing the floor while begging for scraps.

So I kept the conversation light.

“I’ve got a ton of secrets, but they’re locked up here for now,” I rumbled, pointing to my head. “You’ve got to show me that you deserve it. You’ve got to show me that you’re worthy before I’ll tell you anything.”

Kitty bit her lip.

“I danced my best this morning, sir,” she said in a low voice. “I’ll do it again if you like.”

I leaned back and chuckled.

“You think you can do better this time?” I asked, voice smooth. “If so, then be my guest,” I said, flicking a button. And the girl gasped as a motor rumbled, one of the walls discreetly rolling back to reveal a studio, complete with polished wood floors, mirrors, and a long barre on one side.

Because there are certain benefits to being CEO of a dance troupe, and one of them is my office. When you come in, it looks like standard corporate fare with a huge desk, chairs, sofa, and computer. The Academy didn’t hold back and there are deep pile carpets and floor-to-ceiling windows looking out on the bustling streets of Manhattan.

But I’ve also got a hidden studio. That’s right, as a former dancer I asked to have some practice space installed, and the board complied. So now, all I have to do is flick a switch, and the fake wall rolls away, revealing my private studio.

Kitty’s eyes opened wide.

“Really?” she gasped. “Oh my god, you’re so lucky, Mr. Lyons!”

I laughed deep in my chest then because only a true devotee of the dance would think that I was “lucky.” Right now, the brunette was already practicing eight hours a day, putting her body through the works. If “lucky” meant practicing even more, then I suppose I was lucky.

But Kitty was up in a flash, wandering into the brightly lit space, twirling joyfully as brunette curls flew outwards.

“I’m happy to dance,” she laughed, brown eyes sparkling. “What would you like me to do?”

I leaned back, appreciating that curvy female form.

“Anything,” I rumbled. “But first you’ve got to take off those warm-ups. I’ve got to see every gesture, every move up close.”

She flushed.

“I can’t, Mr. Lyons,” she murmured, looking down. “I didn’t realize I’d be dancing again, so I’m just wearing my leotard underneath, and nothing else.”

I frowned.

“So? A leotard’s fine, that’s standard practice wear.”

The girl blushed even hotter.

“No, not that,” she stammered. “I’m wearing a leotard, but nothing else under. Nothing, sir,” she stuttered wildly, unable to look into my eyes.

Ah ha, so that was the problem. My little girl was practically nude underneath those warm-ups, with nothing but the thinnest piece of cotton shielding those curvy assets. Well, no worries. This was right up my alley. In fact, it was almost too perfect if you asked me.

“You can do what you like,” I said mildly. “But I can’t see a thing with those baggy sweats on.”

She nodded, biting her lip.

“I know, I just didn’t expect …” her voice trailed off.

“You didn’t expect to find a hidden studio in my office?” I asked, voice smooth. “You didn’t expect to dance for a man?”

She nodded shyly, picking at the edge of her sweater.

“If I had known, I would have worn something different.”

I interrupted then.

“Baby trust me, I’ve seen everything,” I said in my best father-figure voice. “I’m forty-five, and I’ve been on stage since I was fifteen. I’ve seen everything, and I mean everything,” I added with emphasis.

Kitty nodded again, biting her lip before lifting her head and shooting me a quick glance. I thought she was going to back off, making some excuse. But instead, those small fingers gripped the hem of her sweater, trembling a bit.

“Okay, I guess I’ll give it a try,” the girl whispered.

And in a flash, that sweater was off. My dick jerked in my pants because oh shit, the female was luscious. The girl wore a pink leotard underneath, so sheer that it was like a body stocking, and those huge tits swung, heavy and full. My cock literally spurted then, unable to hold back. I had to get into her. I had to taste that luscious white flesh, and suck those huge nipples into my mouth.

But Kitty wasn’t done yet. Slowly, she tilted her hips and slid the track pants over those thighs, revealing meaty, luscious legs. The pants and sweater were tossed to the side, and as she bent over to put on ballet slippers, I realized why she’d been so embarrassed.

Because the girl wasn’t wearing panties. Most professional ballerinas don’t wear panties because they rely on their tights to shield them. But in this case, Kitty wasn’t wearing tights either. The only thing she had on was that sheer pink leotard, and now a pair of matching ballet slippers.

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