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2025-06-30 23:17:51
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Touch Me, Daddy 6 - Alain.
“You shouldn’t have done that. You shouldn’t have danced with me that way in front of everyone.”Her voice is quiet in the empty studio. It’s risky for her to sneak back after class, and I scan the windows quickly before striding to shut the door. Camillia stands in the center of the studio, her arms wrapped around her middle as her satchel hangs limp off her shoulder. A full day’s dancing has made her skin flushed and dewy, and her poor muscles must ache.I remember that. The pain of a day’s training.I miss it badly sometimes, but not right now.Right now, I’m too busy devouring Camillia with my eyes. Taking in every flushed, trembling inch of her.“What about alone?”“Huh?” She blinks, confused. Gives her head a little shake, like she got caught up daydreaming the same way I did. “What do you mean?”“You said I shouldn’t dance with you that way in front of everyone. What about alone, angel?”Her chest heaves under her baggy sweatshirt. All ballerinas do this—swamp their delicate fr
Touch Me, Daddy 5 - Alain.
I’m such a fool.I’ve arranged my own torture: watching Camillia in the arms of another man. She dances the steps perfectly, her movements lithe and primal, a secret extra swivel to her hips and smile curling her lips.She’s the perfect black swan. Half the men in this room are panting just watching her, and I tuck my fists behind my back to hide the whitened knuckles.The way she dances… it’s more erotic than a strip tease. More tantalizing than any burlesque. She dips into a backbend, and a groan rumbles through my chest.Camillia. Fuck. I’d give anything to touch her.“What do you think, Monsieur?” Madame Ophelia drifts up to my elbow. “Have you found your star pair?” Her eyebrow twitches, like it’s a nonsense question. Like it’s already clear who I’ll choose.I don’t care.“Yes. Camillia and… that boy.”“David,” Madame Ophelia supplies.Whatever. It’s not like anyone will be watching him. The only thing he brings to the dance is his supporting arms, lifting Camillia, and the shock
Touch Me, Daddy 4 - Camillia.
Why the fuck is he here?Alain Paris could be in any room of the art world. He could watch the star dancers of the biggest companies rehearse in their studios, casting a judgmental eye over their technique. He could attend galas and red carpets; he could judge competitions and give interviews.So, what is he doing here?This academy is great. One of the best in the country, despite its small size. But it’s still a class of students, far below Monsieur Paris’s pay grade.His dark eyes land on me again.I shiver.He seems different today. More agitated, like he didn’t sleep well. He can join the club—I went home last night, ranted to my roommates, then locked myself into my bedroom and tossed and turned until dawn.I even tried to soothe myself. To run my palms over my heated skin; to touch myself in those forbidden places.It didn’t help. The sensations built, fast and hard, but they left me hollow afterwards. Still wanting.Seeing Monsieur Paris again this morning… those thrumming, ti
Touch Me, Daddy 3 - Alain.
All my life, I’ve searched for an angel.My very own angel.A girl who sets me on fire. I searched for her in high school. In the dancing halls. In huge competitions I was made to attend.In the goddamn streets.Everywhere.But here.I’ve found an angel in this class.My angel.Her soft hair glints golden in the sunshine spilling through the windows; her rosebud lips part on a sigh as she dances the arabesque, her movements like the slow spread of honey. I frown at her, transfixed, as the students progress through their exercises, trying and failing to pinpoint why she captivates me so.She’s not the most technically perfect.She does not have the highest extension or the most arched feet.She does not even have the best focus, her attention slipping regularly from the dance and landing on me. Usually, I would snarl in frustration at such lack of focus.But I find I like this—her distracted gaze on me. The pink flush on her cheekbones when I catch her looking; the way her nipples bead
Touch Me, Daddy 2 - Camillia.
“Camillia.”All around the studio, reflections of me jerk in the mirror. Madame Ophelia stands at my elbow, watching me run through the warm-up exercises with her mouth pursed.“Yes, Madame?” I murmur, trying not to move my lips. Monsieur Paris watches us from the front of the room, his arms folded over his broad chest. Even under his long-sleeved black t-shirt, the shift and rise of his sculpted muscles is clear.Madame Ophelia starts to say something, then gusts out a sigh. It’s not like her to hold back criticism, and I risk glancing in her direction.Her eyes darken instantly.“Face forward, fool,” she snaps. “Did I tell you to break form?”“No, Madame.”Monsieur Paris watches us, his expression tight. Am I messing up so badly? All around us, legs bend and raise. Limbs float through the air, the movement made to look effortless while we sweat and ache and tremble.“Why so wooden? Let those joints flex!” Her harsh words cut through the music. The tips of my ears burn, but I keep da
Touch Me, Daddy BOOK SIX: UNDER WICKED EYES.
Monsieur Paris is a noble dancing legend.The lyrical kind.He defined my purpose. Occupied my childhood with his furious, magical dances. With his unmatched, relentless skill. And when the famous dancer visits our class, I feel like I'm in a dream.But I keep missing my steps.I keep missing the tune.I keep... flopping.Because underneath his heated gaze, I'm a quivering mess. A disappointment. And I don't know why it feels like I'm the only one in the room, dancing for him? Why does it feel like he wants something else from me?Something unheard of in these sacred halls?Something sweet...but wicked? And why do I want that too?-----------------------"Listen up, girls!"Madame Ophelia's throaty growl comes with a sharp clap that draws our attention from our individual routines. An immediate hush quickly settles over the rehearsal studio. She stands in the center of the floor, her back ramrod straight and her chin tilted high.Madame Ophelia is every inch a perfectionist. Though s
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