Chapter 10 Calum
Calum
Two days later, I’m standing by the studio’s only window, frowning out into the inky blackness. Basil is in the opposite corner and between us are the current group of dancers. Basil leans down close to one ballerina, his black-clad body looking rather like a knife.
“You can leave,” he tells her. He looks her up and down, his expression severe. “Your pirouettes are disgraceful.”
The twenty ballerinas and dancers surrounding her don’t stop moving, even when she bursts into loud, sloppy tears. Basil turns on her classmates, sighing silently. He watches their movements like a hawk.
I fold my arms across my chest, my eyes tracing the dancers’ arms. I can see that half of the dancers here are lacking in the natural grace with which Honor was so proudly blessed. There are also a lot of nerves right now.
Even though the class has been instructed to impress Basil and not worry about me, I am getting plenty of looks. Not because I’m handsome. Not because I’m rich, though I’m sure that’s part of it.
No, they are looking at me because it was announced earlier today that I will be directing all of the spring productions.
And I won’t be pulling a single punch.
“Stop!” I call out, shaking my head. I look to the corner where the piano player sits. “Stop playing.”
The room is abruptly silent. All eyes are on me. I walk to the middle of the room. Several dancers back away, making room though I ask for none. I look around, pushing my cheek out with my tongue.
“This is going to be the last combination we’re going to do tonight. I would suggest that if you’re going to impress me, the time to start doing that would be right the fuck now.”
I look to the piano player, signaling him with one hand. He starts playing the same notes, a lively Chopin number.
I draw myself up, starting in first position. As I execute each move, I call out to the class. “Ladies! You start with a this, a this, into a this. Then you’ll do four pirouettes and finish with a big jump. As wide and exaggerated as you can.”
The ballerinas nod, most looking tense.
“Gentlemen! You should begin by the wall…” I head for the wall and the dancers get out of my way. I ready myself, starting in first position once more. “Move, move, move. Pirouette, rond de jambs, arabesque, hold it… for… as… long… as… you… can.”
I finish with a little bow. The male danseurs look a little shocked that they are being asked to do an arabesque, which is traditionally considered a ballerina’s move.
But if they are to be compared to the ballerinas, I need to see them do the same thing.
I start clapping time. “Come on. Let’s go. Ladies, line up. One and two and three and…”
I watch the ballerinas and dancers twirl and hold their poses for the next few minutes. I’m looking for strength and beauty, grace and expressiveness.
When the last note is played, I call to the piano player. “Thank you. You can go.”
I turn my eyes on the class again, frowning. “You can go too. Rosters of those staying with the company will be posted tomorrow morning.” I dismiss them with a wave.
The dancers all take off at a run, whispering amongst themselves. Soon the room is empty but for Basil and me. I lean down and rub my right knee, feeling the ugly surgical scars.
Basil walks over, nodding to my knee. “Giving you trouble, is it?”
I snort. At the moment, I’m in real pain. It arcs down from my knee like white hot sparks, burning and tight. “Something like that.”
He jerks his head over to the long wooden bench. “Let’s sit, then. You can tell me what you thought.”
I move stiffly over to the bench and drop on it, rubbing my knee. “You had to know that last batch was all but useless. We’ve seen five classes today, ranked best to worst. And that was definitely the dregs.”
He plunks himself down, plucking his water bottle up. He looks thoughtful as he squeezes a little water into his mouth. “They weren’t great.”
I scoot down and raise my leg to lie out straight. Almost instantly, the burning pain subsides and leaves a low level throb. I’m so relieved I could almost cry.
“There were some hopefuls in the first two classes,” I say, screwing up my face. “But there weren’t any that had it, if you know what I mean. I was looking for someone with star quality.”
Basil nods absently. “Someone to replace Honor.”
“Yes.” I rotate my shoulder, reminding myself to have RehabGuy look at it later. “When are you going to have the American Ballet Academy and the School of American Ballet try out?”
His eyebrows lift a little. Usually the company deals with that, not a patron or a guest director. “I think sometime next month, maybe.”
I roll my head over to him. “No. Make arrangements. I want people in here to audition tomorrow morning.”
He blinks. “Excuse me?”
I heave myself up off the bench with a groan. “Make it happen, Bas.”
As I walk away, he explodes.
“This isn’t your private tech company, Calum! You have everyone here running around like fools, desperate to please you. I’m telling you now, that won’t last.”
I roll my eyes. “I get shit done, Bas. I don’t have enough time in the day for all the niceties. I just tell people what is expected of them and fire them if they can’t or won’t comply.” I lean over, scoop up my duffel bag, and sling it over my shoulder. Then I glance back.
“Someday, you’ll meet some girl that makes you fall to your knees. And she won’t behave according to your rules.” He favors me with a twisted smile. “Then we’ll see who is crying uncle.”
I shake my head, walking toward the door.
“Love is for people who are foolish enough to have hearts. Meanwhile, I’ll be here tomorrow morning, bright and early.
So you’d better start sounding the alarm right now, because there had better fucking be a shitload of dancers for me to judge when I get here. ”
“Calum—“ Bas calls. But I hit the doorway, checking my phone.
I grumble a little. There are still no emails or missed calls from Club X. That means that they are still processing the rather lengthy contract that Cerise and I signed, officially making me her patron.
I drum my fingers on my thigh, then take an abrupt right turn into the men’s locker room. I run through a quick shower and change into a fresh white collared shirt and black pair of slacks. By the time I walk out of the changing room, I’ve settled on a plan.
Since Club X can’t offer me what I want, I’ll look elsewhere. As I push out the great glass doors and head into the cool night air, I quickly head for my waiting limo.
I climb in the back, not waiting for the driver to open the door. Tossing my gym bag aside, I look up toward the partition, which is rolled down.
“Sam, take me home. But pull up outside the Continental instead of into the parking deck. I want someone to make me a drink.”
My driver nods, already absorbed in pulling the car out of its spot.
It’s only a short drive to the enormous skyscraper where I own the penthouse. I slide out in front of the Continental, a sleek little cocktail bar that opened last spring.
Since the grand opening, I have spent many meetings and cocktail hours at the dimly lit, wood-paneled bar.
It’s menu is brief but memorable; the customers are either healthy people that either live in the area or people who want a really, really fancy gin and tonic.
The uber rich mingle with the models and actresses and cocktail snobs.
It’s a fantastic place for hooking up, basically.
I stroll up to the door of the bar, swinging the door open.
Hushed lighting greets me. The walls are all dark wood, lined with soft pink velvet banquettes.
I cast an eye over the bar as I approach.
It’s an old airplane wing standing before towering shelves of colorful glass liquor bottles.
There are probably fifteen seats at the bar and only ten of them are occupied.
Adjusting my cuffs, I slide into the first open seat I see. The bartender sees me and recognition lights his face. He heads over with a cocktail menu and a coaster.
“Good to see you, Mr. Fordham. What can I get for you?”
I don’t even have to think about that. “An old-fashioned.”
He bows his head. “What kind of whiskey do you want in that?”
I sit back in my seat. “Elijah Craig or something comparable.”
“Right away,” he says, reaching for a rocks glass.
I turn my attention toward the rest of the bar, where a large group of young girls in high end dresses are now gathering. I watch as one girl orders. Her friends notice me and a couple of them blush, making eye contact.
Like I said before, it’s pretty easy to pick up a hot stranger here. The bartender puts my drink down, but I’m busy narrowing my selection. Sipping my drink, I look back and forth between a blonde and a brunette.
The brunette makes up my mind by getting her martini and taking the empty seat next to mine. She takes a sip of her drink, looking at me out of the corner of her eye.
I lean closer, smirking. “I’m Calum. And you are… not a regular here, I’m guessing?”
She blushes, shaking her head and smoothing her hand down the front of her little black dress. “I’m Olivia. And no, I’m from Philadelphia. I’m just in town for my friend’s bachelorette party.”
My eyes narrow, my smirk grows more pronounced. It couldn’t be more perfect if I’d written her lines out for me.
I pick up my glass, nodding to it. “Have you had their old fashioned yet? Everybody should have one once.”
Olivia smiles coyly and tucks a strand of her curly hair behind her ear. “Why no. Do you want to order me one, Calum?”
Twenty minutes of chitchat and two drinks later, I’m pulling the brunette down a dark hallway in the back of the bar. She kisses me first as I elbow my way into a dimly lit bathroom with a dazzling floor to ceiling mirror. She isn’t a very good or very experienced kisser, her hesitation obvious.
She giggles, tipsy and enthusiastic, as I press her against the back of the door. Her lips are warm and rubbery under mine. I can feel her hand shyly exploring my belt.
Without speaking, I back her against the sink. Here too I am reflected as I unbuckle my belt.
The brunette rips my shirt out of my slacks, her eyes dark with need and full of hunger. I feel nothing except a faint throb from my cock. I push her down to kneel on the floor as I free my cock, staring at myself in the mirror.
If I’m honest about it, watching myself get my dick sucked is most of the reason why I always come here when I’m looking for some action.
She puts my cock in her mouth. It feels good, although she does keep nipping me accidentally.
“Cover your teeth,” I murmur, dropping my head back. “Use your hand.”
I guide her hand to the base of my cock. She comes up for air, breathing hard. “Maybe you should just fuck me?”
Suppressing an eye roll, I yank her to her feet and turn her around, pushing her against a wall. I roll on a condom then take her panties down to her knees. Stepping close, I pull up her dress as press my cock against her ass.
I still feel nothing, although I do have a hard on. Then again, I almost always have a hard on, so…
Running my fingers along the curves of her ass and down to her pussy lips, I turn my head. The only way that I can get off is by watching myself in the mirror, essentially watching porn of myself.
I fit my cock to her entrance and thrust in deep. She makes a strangled sound. I stare at my reflection, unable to stop the hatred from surfacing. I fuck this girl with all the vitriol I feel for myself.
Fucking useless, I think, thrusting deep.
She holds on and moans. I punctuate each thrust with a thought.
Fucking.
Waste.
Of.
Space.
I grit my teeth, hammering my cock home over and over again.
There are a thousand reasons why you’re all alone, I think, glaring at my reflection.
You’re.
So.
Fucking.
Weak.
Look at you. You’re broken. You’ll always be alone.
I’m not even making a half-hearted attempt at paying attention to the girl. My eyes are laser-locked on my reflection, sneering.
“I think I’m going to—“ the brunette husks out. Then her pussy spasms around my cock. She lets out a strangled scream as she comes.
I’m nowhere near finishing. And yet, I pull out of her body, stepping back. It’s a matter of seconds before I get the condom off my dick.
“I fucking hate condoms,” I mutter.
The brunette, whose name at this point I can’t even vaguely recall, blushes. “Well, I’m clean if you—“
Disgusted, I toss the condom in the trash and start zipping up. “That’s vile.”
Her eyes widen as I leave, banging the door open. “Wait—“
But I’m done.
Done with condoms, done with sketchy bathroom fucks. I exit the back way and walk through the echoing marble lobby, my mouth a grimace.
I need to see Cerise again.
I know that she has the right combination of tits and ass and hazel eyes. She’ll make me come without even touching me.
And until I can fucking blow my load, I’m going to be an absolute fucking terror…