Chapter 7
Rye
“You’re not going,” Rye says as I finish my Facetime with Mom and Dad.
Dad beamed at me. Said how happy he was when I told them I’d moved on to the next stage. I think I caught dad even wiping away a tear.
I roll my eyes. “Daddy, you saw how pleased they were for me. Can’t you be happy, too? Pleeeease?”
He seethes. “I don’t trust him. I’m not leaving you at his house for an hour, let alone for days.”
“Look, I know you don’t like other men looking at me, but I’ll be fine.
He’s probably gay anyway, and even if he isn’t, Sophia will be there.
And there will be other dancers, too. I won’t be alone with him.
” Even as I say it, I’m not sure it’s the truth but I need this to happen.
“You think I’m the only one applying for this?
We’ll all turn up, spend a few days at his mansion or whatever, I’ll make some new friends, and then I’ll get the chance to make all our dreams a reality. Won’t that make you happy, Daddy?”
He growls. “What would make me happy is knowing that you’re safe and close. I’m going to sit outside the house in my car the whole time.”
“No, you’re not.” I laugh. “Seriously, what do you think this is, like, the Bates Motel or something?”
I climb into his lap, and feel his bulge harden against my bottom. It’s nice.
When I turn and take hold of his neck, pulling myself to his face for a kiss, I wriggle just a little, knowing exactly what I’m doing.
“Daddy, please, let me do this. I promise I’ll be a good girl. And since I’m not going to be here for a few days, let’s do something special together before I go.”
I’m using all my powers of influence and manifesting. I wiggle against his erection, poking my bottom lip out for good measure.
He’s still frowning, but his eyes soften when I cup his face in my hands.
“Pleeeeeassse?”
He releases a low growling breath, his jaw set hard before he asks, “What do you want to do, baby?”
I shrug. “Something Mom would hate. Pizza?”
I pull the trump card. Hitting him where he can’t resist. Rubbing on his dick, a pouty lip and the offer to eat.
The manipulation may not have been pre-meditated, but I still feel a tinge of guilt when he finally nods.
“Fine. Pizza but I’m picking the place.”
“Where is everybody else?” I ask as we walk through the doors. Uncle Rye’s arm is around my shoulder. I’ve never heard of this restaurant before, but it’s big. “Is that a ball pit?”
“I paid them to clear the place for us. No way I’m sharing you with anyone else.”
I take in the huge, warehouse-like space. There are climbing areas, video games pinking and chiming, a stage with animatronic animals and a slightly lost-looking lady in her late thirties at the counter trying to act professional as she looks me up and down.
Daddy insisted I wear a yellow and pink polka dotted dress he had delivered with white Converse high-tops. Something I’ve always wanted but mom said they weren’t good for my feet. Or, they were boy shoes depending on her moon. I love the mix of what he picked out. It’s very…me.
If I was allowed to be me before.
“Welcome to Marvin’s Marvelous Magic Pizza Palace,” she says, forcing a smile. “I’m Maggie and I’ll be your server for tonight.”
“I’m El—”
“This is my daughter, Allegra,” Rye says, cutting me off. “We’d like two large veggie and pineapple pizzas, iced tea as well and bottled water.”
Twenty minutes later, I’ve exhausted myself on the play equipment, and I sit down at the table opposite Rye before he scowls and nods toward his lap.
I switch places and his arm wraps around my waist, pulling me across his thighs so I’m sitting sideways on his legs.
He picks up a slice of pizza and brings it to my lips, but I frown as I turn away.
Telling him I wanted pizza and actually eating it are two different things.
“I know this was my idea,” I say, “but Mom really will be pissed if she gets home to find I’ve put on weight. And with the dance stuff still going ahead tomorrow and everything, perhaps it would be best if…”
“You’re having pizza.”
“I like salad. Really, I do. And it’s going to be so much easier if Mom comes home to find I’ve stuck to my diet. You don’t want her to go off on you, do you?”
“Don’t care what she does, she’s not my concern, you are.” He brings the pizza to my lips. I keep them closed. “Dautie, this is happening.”
I open my mouth to protest, and find it filled with warm, cheesy goodness.
And oh my God, it tastes goooooood.
How many years has it been since I last had anything like this? Food with fat and flavor that is not counted in micros and macros and caloric content.
It’s divine. Even as I’m shaking my head, my internal programming still shaming me for eating something off the approved list, Rye is having none of it. He presses it back towards me, and I take another bite.
Then another.
I’m soon helping him to feed me, holding his hand as the next bite comes my way. We share, taking a bite each, and there’s no judgment, no trying to put limits on my enjoyment. It’s like whatever I want, he wants, and I squirm in his lap just to feel that familiar and comforting hardness under me.
“I’m going to dance for you,” I say finally as my stomach tells me I’m actually full.
“Swan lake?” Rye asks, but I’m shaking my head as I climb up on the stage.
The jukebox shuffles and Gimme More comes out of the speakers and I don't even question it. The universe has spoken.
I know this song. I've danced to it alone in my bedroom in the dark approximately a thousand times with zero technique and zero apology and it is the absolute opposite of everything I've trained my body to do since I was four years old.
So I just dance. My own way. Hips rolling, hair flying, no turnout, no spotting, no anything my mother would recognize as valid. I flip the hem of his dress and flash him the frilly panties he picked out and the sharp breath I hear from the table does something very specific to my lower belly.
Maggie is suddenly fascinated by the ceiling tiles. The two attendants have discovered an urgent interest in the ball pit.
Rye is watching me like I'm the only thing in the room.
He stands and I know that look and I feel it everywhere.
"Everybody out," he says.
"Sir, we really can't just—"
"How much." He already has his wallet out. The number that gets named is genuinely offensive and he pays it without blinking and thirty seconds later we're alone in a warehouse full of blinking arcade games, one very judgmental animatronic bear, and Britney Spears.
I'm still on the stage.
He comes to the edge of it and I dance down to him because I'm not stopping on his account, and he puts his hands on my waist and lifts me down and I keep moving against him because the song's not done and neither am I.
He lets me. His hands stay on my waist and he doesn't choreograph a single thing, just holds on while I figure out what my body actually wants to do when nobody's grading it.
I turn in his arms and put my mouth against his jaw. "I want to be on top."
He pulls back to look at my face. He always checks. Every time. "Yeah?"
"I've been thinking about it since this morning."
His eyes move over me, reading. Then: "You set the pace. You want to stop—"
"I know." I take his face in my hands. "I trust you. Now sit down."
Something shifts in his expression and he sits on the edge of the stage and pulls me in and what happens next is mine.
He lifts my dress, releases his monster from his pants and guides me down. The stretch is still extreme but I’m drenched and I love feeling so full.
My pace, my rhythm, my hands on his shoulders deciding everything. He keeps his grip loose on my hips, and when I find what works he makes a low rough sound that I feel more than hear.
"That's it," he says. "Right there."
It's nothing like what happened at the club. It's slow and a little clumsy at first and then less clumsy and entirely mine and he just lets me have it. All of it. Doesn't take over, doesn't rush me, just stays present and solid and says I've got you when I need to hear it and nothing else at all.
Afterward I'm sitting sideways across his lap with his jacket over my shoulders, catching my breath, the jukebox playing something neither of us is listening to.
"The bear watched the whole thing," I say.
He looks at the animatronic bear. The bear stares back.
"I'm buying this place," he says, "and burning it to the ground."
I snort, which is not a sound I've ever made in front of anyone before in my life, and he pulls me tighter against his chest and I let him because it turns out I'm a person who snorts now and I cannot find it in me to care.
"The pizza was really good," I say.
"Yeah."
"I want more."
"We'll get more." His hand moves up my back, slow. "Whenever you want."
We should go. I know we should go. I have things tomorrow that matter to people who are counting on me.
"Five more minutes," I say.
His arm tightens. "Take ten."