Dance to a Different Beat

  Evernight Publishing

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2013 Raven McAllan

  ISBN: 978-1-77130-399-6

  Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs

  Editor: JS Cook

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  To Paul for dancing with me, and helping me with my steps.

  DANCE TO A DIFFERENT BEAT

  Dance Studio, 2

  Raven McAllan

  Copyright © 2013

  Chapter One

  Damn shit and bugger, when will I ever learn to keep my mouth shut?

  Jane stared at the message on her phone.

  'Got a class at nine pm tonight. Buy candles. Wish me luck.'

  Jane's skin stung, and her stomach heaved. The surge of red-hot jealousy that filled her was so intense that it brought tears to her eyes. Did Alison know what she'd let herself in for?

  Candles my aunt. Did she even read the disclaimer? Luck? Ah, she'll need it all right. I wonder who her teacher will be? Not even to herself could Jane accept how betrayed she felt at the thought it could be Sean. She replayed their conversation she'd had with her friend the previous week in her head.

  "Oh come on, Jane. It'll be fun." Jane had shaken her head. Why the fuck did I ever mention that bloody dance studio? She knew why. Alison had been wondering why she couldn't get hold of Ava, and Jane had answered without thinking.

  "She's gone for dancing lessons."

  That was enough for Alison. She'd pestered Jane ever since.

  "We'd enjoy it, you know we would." Well Jane knew she would, and wasn't going to. However she didn't think the type of dancing that occurred at the Dance Studio would be Alison's cup of tea. She was so straight that to her a kink was a bend in the road. In the end she'd told Alison the email address to shut her up, confident any reply she received would be of the 'sorry we're full up' type. It seemed somehow it hadn't and now Jane was worried. Alison wanted to jive and quickstep. At the Dance Studio she'd jive all right but not to Bill Haley, and the only quickstep would be as she ran away. She knew Alison; they'd been friends since nursery, and straightforward vanilla everything was her. She'd even confided to Jane that she thought her ex-boyfriend weird because he's asked if he could blindfold her. That had been the end of that budding relationship. Jane had spent the best part of a week consoling her friend and persuading her that Martin wasn't a pervert, and she shouldn't report him to the police. That some people liked that sort of thing. Alison had looked at her as if she had two heads and shuddered.

  "I don’t believe you."

  Jane didn't enlighten her.

  Now she scrolled down the list of contacts on her phone and pressed call…

  "Hi hon, what you up to?" The velvet tones of her cousin's business partner came down the line.

  As per usual, every time she heard Sean O'Connor's voice her clit clenched and her juices ran. Bugger the man, why does he sound like sex on legs? Dangerous sex on legs. She pressed her thighs together to discourage her free hand from straying in that direction. Damned if I couldn't get myself off just listening to him recite the alphabet, let alone anything else. Without using any toys.

  "Er." Also, as per usual, her throat went dry and she stuttered like a schoolgirl with a pop star. "How did you know it was me?" Lame Jane.

  "Caller recognition. So, you just want a chat or what? We've a class starting soon."

  "You have? I thought you weren’t teaching?" Damn, damn, why show I'm interested?

  "Did I say I wasn't?" His tone was smooth, but oh so I'm in charge that her clit did another forward somersault. "So honey, what do you want?"

  Jane took a deep breath. How on earth could she explain without sounding whiny or bratty? Two things she really hoped she wasn't.

  "My friend. She's booked a lesson. Tonight, and I don't know who with or what for. Hell, Sean, she's as vanilla as a freshly picked pod. Who's going to take her? What in? If anyone screws with her I'll screw them clockwise whilst squeezing their balls. She says it's by candles. She wants to do Latin … dancing, not a bloke. And definitely not wax play. She saw one of my candles and wondered why I wouldn't let her use it for the dinner table decoration. When I told her it was specially designed not to scar, but sting in a good way she just said ohh that’s nice. And still lit it."

  He laughed, and sent another gush of liquid over her clit, before his tone changed. "Sorry, client confidentiality." His voice now oozed disapproval, and Jane's mouth was suddenly dry. She coughed and swallowed before she saw a bottle of water on a side table. "You know that, Jane," he went on. "Why, if she wants to learn, should she not come here? We're the best."

  Jane took a swift mouthful of water. "Because she's not interested," she almost shouted and then spoiled the intended defiance with a cough. "She wants to learn to dance, not sub. She's my friend. I don't want her messed up."

  "Listen to yourself, Jane." His voice was disparaging. "Who's messed up? Woman, I could paddle you. Tomorrow, six am, be here." The line went dead.

  Six am? What planet was he on? If she had been going to book a lesson—which she wasn't—no way would it be at six am. If she was going to meet him, and she wasn't, it would be at Sensible O'clock. Six am was for street cleaners, night workers, cats out on the tiles, and not her.

  Now she not only had Alison to worry over, she had her tummy dancing to a 'will I, won't I' beat.

  Damn the bloody man. He knows how to pull my chain every sodding time. Well he can bugger off. Not now, not him and not ever. Jane had the terrible suspicion that to dance in any way with Sean would be life changing. It was a damned if she did, damned if she didn't scenario, and every bit of it scared her witless.

  So why did she set her alarm for five am?

  ****

  Jane was still asking herself that question when she got out of her car the next morning in the deserted car park outside the Dance Studio. As ever the elegant sign made her raise an eyebrow. Whatever were her cousin Ryan and Sean thinking about when they named it? Surely it caused more problems than it was worth?

  She grabbed her bag from the passenger seat and slung a baggy cardigan over her shoulders. Combined with old disreputable fleece lined boots, jogging bottoms, and a wide-necked, faded rugby shirt, she accepted she didn't look very prepossessing, but that had been her idea. Once Sean had finished the phone call, she'd switched her phone off, and ignored her laptop. She didn't trust Sean not to bug her with demands. If she turned up, it would be on her terms.

  With an inward grimace at the naïve thought she might have ignored his diktat, Jane switched the phone back on—after all he might have rung to say don't bother to come, and she could turn round and go back to bed for an hour, and thrust it in her bag.

  Lame again because if I thought that I'd've switched it on before I left home. She locked the car and walked across the tarmac toward a nondescript door set in the side of the three-story building. The temperature had dropped during the night, and her breath made wispy circles in the crisp atmosphere. At any other time she'd enjoy the chill, but at that moment, she couldn't have told anyone if she was happy or not. As she neared the entrance the phone beeped, to let her know she had a message. It was typical that she couldn't find it in the trunk-sized bag she carried around. Of course it
was in the last pocket she looked into. I only put it away a minute ago, gah brain-fry. Why she ever thought a multi-compartmental shoulder bag was a good idea, she couldn't fathom. She switched it on and had a blank moment when it asked for her password. 14…no 57…Dammit, calm down and think. Mum's birthday. Carefully she typed in 6666 and sniggered. Poor mum, having all those sixes in her birthdate. A least it meant no one forgot the date. Her phone opened and she clicked on the message icon.

  'Just come in, third floor.' With a muffled mutter, Jane rolled her eyes and put the instrument into her pocket. That way she'd know exactly where it was if she decided to ring anyone for help. She ignored the fact she wouldn't know whom to ring; it was the thought that counted.

  For two pins she'd send a sod-off answer and take herself to the all night coffee shop around the corner. Who'm I trying to kid? I knew damn well if he asked, demanded or even begged I'd turn up. Even if my tummy's doing its own dance. Bugger it. Jane pushed at the door. With a muffled click it opened inward, and swung closed behind her as if an unseen hand pushed at it.

  Typically, the lift had a Do Not Use sign on it. Did he want her so knackered she'd have to rest for half an hour before she got the breath back to do anything? Or was it a ploy to reduce her resistance? Jane decided it didn't really matter. Both she knew, and Sean knew, that she was fit enough to run up the damned stairs if she wanted, which she didn't.

  She began to climb, taking her time, and looking at the pictures on the wall. Nothing too blatant, but if you'd entered the building as an innocent you'd have started to wonder just what went on between the walls. As she reached the first floor, her phone bleeped again.

  'Stop dawdling. You have three minutes.'

  Bastard. Even though her mind rebelled, her feet sped up. As she reached the third floor landing, she glanced at her watch. Twenty seconds to spare. She stood still, brushed her hair back off her face and swept it into a twist, which she secured with a barrette. Then she let three or four red strands curl around her ears. One of the things she knew Sean disapproved of was hair scrunched up so Jane reckoned she was playing with fire. However that moment she couldn't care less. She'd turned up, and that was more than she thought she'd intended. Who was she trying to kid? Not even to herself could she lie and say she had been determined to stay away. She knew she hadn't, not really.

  Gah I'm like a programmed robot. He calls and I come.

  As the second hand swept to the end of her allotted three minutes, Jane took a deep breath and rapped on the gleaming mahogany door that faced her. The thud of her heart echoed the timber of her knock.

  Chapter Two

  Sean heard the knock and smiled to himself as he glanced at the large clock that took up most of one wall. Trust Jane to push her luck. Right up until that moment he hadn't been sure if she'd turn up. It was one thing telling her to, but to expect her to meekly accept his diktat was a whole new ball game. Jane might be a sub, but no way was she a pushover.

  Sean had lusted long and hard for her, ever since he'd watched Ryan demonstrate wax play with her years before. His chance had come to do the same and he'd been both honored and humbled when she'd agreed. As he watched her flush and bloom as the tiny drops of wax he created fell onto her like delicate snowdrops he knew. She was his completion.

  Expecting Jane to agree was of course too much. Once she'd returned to the present, wrapped in a cozy blanket on his knee, she'd thanked him, and walked away. Sean had left her for a day or two, and then approached her with his desire.

  Jane had heard him out, smiled in such a way his cock shriveled and said in a clear voice, laced with sadness.

  "Thank you, but no thank you. I'll never allow myself to be collared, ever." She'd offered no explanation, and Sean had been too proud to ask for one, from her or anyone else. The brief reason Ryan had passed to him was just that—brief, and still didn't tell him much. She hates things around her neck, but it's up to her to tell you why.

  A few days earlier, Ryan had approached him with a smirk on his face. "Okay. Sean, now's the chance to see if you can collar Jane." The double entrendre hadn't passed Sean by. His version of a collar was safely locked away until his desired recipient saw sense. Until that moment he thought he had about as much chance of that happening as a snowball in hell. Now? Well, all he could do was wonder and hope. The fact she'd turned up had to be a good sign—didn't it?

  "It's open, come in." What would she say when she saw where he'd brought her? He'd only finishing renovating this floor into his own private place a few days earlier. Sean had contemplated doing something about the empty rooms and the roof terrace for long enough, but it wasn't until Ryan had told him that he and Ava were definitely a couple and were thinking about their next steps that Sean decided he needed to sort his own life out. Now he had a perfect apartment, complete with playroom. Not that you'd know about that from this warm and conventional foyer. He even had a nice homely lounge for visitors. His bedroom and the playroom were along a locked corridor away from any wandering guests—not that he intended to have many guests, wandering or otherwise. Sean accepted from the very first lick of paint to the last shackle and candle, the only person he wanted to entertain in anyway whatsoever was Jane.

  The phone call from Jane had come as a surprise, but Sean was quick to see if he could turn it to his advantage. When he'd commented on it to Ryan, his friend had raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, not even to comment on her friend's booking except to tell him not to worry.

  And here she was.

  Sean stood, arms crossed, his butt resting on the window ledge, as Jane shut the door and walked slowly across the room. Each step in those silly boots exuded reluctance. If he hadn't seen a very faint shadow of worry in her eyes, he'd have taken her as all out defiant.

  A few feet away from him she stopped, and her head began to dip before she jerked it upright.Fighting her natural inclinations then.

  Sean firmed his lips and made himself stare without blinking. Jane's eyes widened, and she bit her lip. He concentrated on her outline, her lush curves, and glorious red hair. He recognized why she'd tied it back. One paddle on the way, that's dissing the Dom a step too far. Even the newest newbie knew the whys and wherefores of what a potential Dom would want from them. Jane was far from that even if she chose not to practice. Her attire screamed defiance.

  "Well?" she asked him once the silence had stretched past whatever she though acceptable.

  "You tell me. You came." Oops, poor choice of words. He was determined if he had any say in the matter she would though. More than once, and on his command.

  Jane paled. What on earth had he said for her to have that reaction?

  "Actually," she said so softly he had to bend forward to hear. "I haven't, not lately."

  Sean was sure his mouth dropped open.

  "Elucidate."

  Her throat moved as she swallowed, and looked around wildly. She blinked and actually rubbed her eyes. "Where are we?"

  He wondered when her brain would click into something other than her apprehension.

  "Home."

  She licked her lips. "Home? Whose home?"

  "Mine. Ours. Up to you."

  She began to back away, and held her hand up as if to ward him off.

  What the fuck does she think I'm going to do? Grab her and force her? Before he had a chance to say or do anything, she turned on her heels and was grabbing the door handle. Sean blessed the foresight that had it automatically locking on closed. Only he had the combination.

  "Oh no, sorry er no." She was babbling.

  "Jane." He made sure his voice was firm. Not harsh, not demanding, but even and unthreatening. "Stop it. Come back. Let's go and have breakfast. Talk and then … well over to you." His scalp was tight and his skin crawled as he waited for her answer. Such a small question but so many things the answer could lead to. For long seconds she hovered near the door. Finally just as he was about to take things into his own hands she nodded.

  "Okay? Where?"
<
br />   "Here, this is my home. It's a lovely sunrise, and I've set breakfast on the terrace. The patio heaters will ward off the chill. No strings, Jane, just some answers I should have dem ... er asked for ages ago." Did she catch his almost slip of the tongue? If so she didn't mention it, but walked back across the room to him.

  "You live here?" He inclined his head. "Since when?"

  "Just a few weeks. Since Ava and Ryan…" He stopped, not sure how much Jane knew.

  "Got together, yeah, and now they're all loved up." She giggled. "Argh love… No that's not fair. Ava needed to kill her demons, and I couldn't think of anyone more suited than Ryan."

  Sean opened a door at the back of the room and ushered her into his 'visitors lounge'. Yes he hoped one day they'd use his own personal one with its quirks and unusual pieces of furniture, but he'd got her this far, and he wasn't going to hurry things and ruin any small chance he had to see what might happen. As Jane stepped through the doorway she made a sweet mewl of pleasure.

  "Sean, this is beautiful. So not what I expected." She blushed the color of her hair. "Shit that was rude I'm sorry S … Sean."

  Had she been going to say something else? Sean didn't comment on her momentary stammer. "Thanks, it's for visitors, my snug is more personal. Come on, the terrace is over here." He gestured to where double doors stood open and several tubs of shrubs rustled in the breeze.

  As he watched under hooded eyelids Jane ran her hand over the back of a leather chair, and caressed the smooth shape as it swept in a dramatic curve and became the arm. Her fingers splayed out over the wooden covered strength. She'd always been tactile, and Sean could only wish her hands would touch him in the same erotic way. The thought of her mouth on his cock, or himself buried deep inside her pussy, had been the basis of more than one of his climaxes. He despaired of ever seeing if his fantasies lived up to the reality. She looked at him. "So this is vanilla?"