Hell Is A Dance Floor Novels & Stories

Still craving a man who's shown me I'm nothing but a piece of ass to him. So I lift my glass, drain what's left, and paste the smirk back on my face like armor. "C'mon, cuz. Let's dance. I don't wanna talk about men problems tonight." Daisha grins. "Now that's the energy I'm lookin' for." She grabs my hand, dragging me straight into the crush of bodies. The dancefloor moves like one giant wave under the flashing lights, shoulder to shoulder, heat and sweat rolling through the air thick enough to taste. Daisha's already in her element—dropping low, throwing her ass back like she's auditioning for Beyoncé's next tour.

I bet there were so many rich and fucking handsome guys like Shane over there. I walked out of the bathroom, dancing to 'Bad Guy by Billie Eilish' which was playing on my phone. Yeah, I'm a pretty good dancer who loves shaking her ass and whining her tiny waist and because of my dancing skills, so many club owners had offered me a job to dance in their clubs.

So, she decided to meet him. The Mind Bar was already buzzing with revelry when Hallie arrived. The place is made like a smoke and wine. The floor was littered with platforms on which a gorgeous, half-naked young woman danced. As pieces of their clothes flew in the air and kissed the floor, the men watching them howled, mad with excitement and lust. Hallie calmly made her way through the raging crowd on the dance floor and saw the man she was meeting in booth 502.

The Glitter Hole doesn’t shy away from playing classic songs from gay icons and I couldn’t be more grateful because they just don’t make music like this anymore. I continue to serve drinks, but when the chorus drops Cassandra and I simultaneously lose our composure – if we had any – and bust out some classic seventies dance moves. I reach out for her hand, which she takes as I spin her into my arms and spin her back out with smiles plastered on our faces. Everyone is cheering and hollering, loving every second of it, that is until my shoe catches on the rubber matt, and I end up flat on my ass on a sticky as hell floor. Sticky asses aside, I can’t get back up because I’m too busy laughing, a

He gives me that sharp little nod—the one that says, We’ll talk later. The floor is alive with excess. Strobe lights glint off polished skin. A girl with gold chains around her nipples straddles a hedge fund bastard twice her age. Another crawls past on all fours with a leash around her neck, her master sipping bourbon and ignoring her completely.​ A couple fuck against the glass wall overlooking the dance floor. People watch. Some cheer. No one pretends to be shocked.​ This is Vortex—my altar of indulgence.​ My kingdom of rot.​

𝗛𝗲 𝗯𝗹𝘂𝘀𝗵𝗲𝗱 𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗱𝗼𝘄𝗻 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗲𝘅𝗰𝗲𝗽𝘁 𝗺𝗲. "I want you to transform the place. I'll bring the music becaus𝖾 I'm gonna dance with him." 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗲𝗰𝗼𝗻𝗱 𝗵𝗲 𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 '𝙙𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚' �

I hate leaving on a bad note after he just opened up to me, but his mind games just piss me off. As I angrily walked to the door, I tripped on the desk we were playing our dare or drink game tumbling the wine bottle that poured all over me. Yep, all those thousand dollars all over my body, not even my hair was spared. Heath tries to contain his laugh as he approaches to help me up, “you, okay?” he asks. “Do I look okay to you?” I say, red with the wine and cards sticking all over my face, he couldn’t help but laugh at the scene, “if you continue laughing that will be the last laugh you ever make Heath Duncan.” I glared at him angrily.

The music was loud, a pulsating beat that reverberated through my entire body. The entrance led us into a vast, open room filled with fog from smoke machines that created an ethereal atmosphere. The dance floor was a sea of bodies moving to the beat of the music, a throbbing pulse that seemed to sync with the pounding of my heart. The DJ, perched on an elevated platform, controlled the crowd with expert precision, mixing tracks that ranged from deep house to pulsating EDM. Laser lights cut through the haze of smoke, casting vibrant patterns on the dance floor. Strobe lights flashed in time with the music, creating a dizzying effect that added to the club's surreal atmosphere.

The hallway echoes the footfalls of stomping darkness. But as the mute walls give way to the caress of a slow and brooding piano motif, the huge, two-way door at the hallway’s end brings us the pleasantries of a room screaming sanity and proper celebrations. A descent of steps in front of me leads to the dance floor, where pillars are still but bodies swing. With the roof high and ‌unending, the floors are as slippery as the devil’s tongue, absolutely unfit for a person to walk on.

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. The music started, and Alfred guided me to the dance floor. The room transformed as the lights dimmed, casting a soft, ethereal glow over the polished marble floor. Crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead, their reflections dancing like stars in the mirrored walls. The melody was a waltz, delicate and elegant, wrapping around us like a comforting embrace.