Daddy’s Forbidden Fantasy (An Erotic Romance Series)

Chapter 4

Sasha

So yeah, ballet lessons were definitely out of the question given our dire financial circumstances, and slow tears began to roll down my cheeks. I was thirteen, remember, and this seemed like the end of the world.

“I’m sorry honey!” cried my mom, leaning in for a hug, cuddling me close.

“I’m sorry, we’ll figure it out, I promise! I’ve already asked for more work from the shop, I’m sure they need help.”

I remained stiff in her arms, my heart sinking. Because there was no way Mary could support us with her part-time job. Even if she went full-time, which wasn’t an option, her hourly rate just wasn’t high enough to make a living. So we really were up s**t creek, and ballet lessons were out of the question.

But miraculously, things took a turn. The stock market swung wildly upwards for no apparent reason, and this time, I made sure Mary got her hands on the money.

“Put it in a bank account,” I commanded, eyes serious.

“Really Mom, we can’t go through another scare, it’s not cool.”

“Oh, of course, of course!” she babbled, waving her hands wildly.

“I already put it in our local bank.”

I frowned.

“No Ma, put it in a real bank, not that weird investment club that Mr. James has going downtown. That’s not a real bank, and he’s doing something bizarre. Put it in a national chain, one that we know won’t disappear overnight.”

“Oh of course!” said Mary, airily this time.

“Don’t be such a worrywart Sasha, I don’t need a thirteen-year-old looking over my shoulder.”

I snorted under my breath, but there was nothing I could do. After all, I was still a minor and the money wasn’t in my name, not technically. But hopefully this time, Mary would be a little wiser.

Besides, now I was at Miss Harrison’s dance school, and the lessons were going amazingly well. Even though I’ve never done ballet in my life, the steps were like magic, the music moving my soul. I loved every part of it, rising to the challenge.

“Higher, higher!” Miss Harrison would call.

“Lift your leg straight up, like a string’s pulling it from the ceiling.”

I arched backwards while raising my toe, and evidently, that was the right thing to do because Miss Harrison applauded wildly.

“Bravo, bravo Sasha! Beautiful, girls, look at Sasha, isn’t that the perfect arch?”

Even with my head almost touching the ground, I flushed. Because compliments have always made me embarrassed, and now was no exception.

But I love ballet, I love the passion of the dance, how it takes me away from things like high school and money problems, and the compliment made me flush happily.

So when the scholarship to the NYC Academy of Dance came through, it was a dream come true.

“Oh my god!” I squealed, running into the kitchen where Mary sat in front of her sewing machine, hemming a pair of men’s pants.

“Oh my god, I got it, I got it!”

I’d received a two-year apprenticeship with the corps, a starting position that would pay for all room and board while allowing me to train with the most elite instructors.

Mary hugged me, pulling pins out of her mouth.

“Sweetheart, I’m so happy for you,” she said in a low voice.

“I couldn’t be prouder.”

“Then Ma, why are you crying?” I asked.

“It’s going to be awesome.”

She raised one withered hand to stroke my cheek, tilting that gray-haired head.

“My baby girl is growing up, that’s all,” she said softly.

“Growing up faster than I expected and flying the nest. But it’s time,” she said to herself sternly.

“It’s time, you’re seventeen now, and this was always going to happen. You’re talented Sasha, really talented, and I’m so proud of you.”

I threw myself into her arms then, burying my face in her shoulder.

“You’ll be fine here, Mom, totally fine. And I’ll call, okay? We can always talk on the phone, and there’s the internet too. We can video call, doesn’t that sound cool?”

I didn’t think Mary was going to be able to figure out how to use the camera on her phone, but maybe, just maybe, it’d work.

“Video calls do sound wonderful,” she said softly, murmuring into my hair.

“Seeing your pretty face on camera does sound amazing. And I want you to have a good time in the big city, I want you to knock the socks off all those big-city folks, you’re good enough. They’ll adore you, the same way I do.”

I’d sniffled then, sad to leave my mom. But again, the scholarship was like a gift from the heavens, and I couldn’t wait to leave. I couldn’t wait to see the bright lights of the big city, to train with the best instructors, to work with the best ballerinas, and to be spun around by the most talented male dancers.

Except that now, I’ve been in NYC for three months, and it hasn’t exactly worked out according to plan. I practice with the corps for sure, I’m surrounded by dancers day in and day out, but it hasn’t been easy. A lot of the other girls are really competitive and mean, their words like daggers coated in honey.

And my heart dropped when the queen bee of the group, Viola, strolled into the studio early one morning. It was just the two of us so far, and bowing my head once more in a stretch, I tried not to look at her, focusing on the floor.

But no such luck. Immediately, Viola dropped her bag in the corner and turned to face me.

“Sasha, did you put on weight?” she asked, voice as sweet as sugar.

“Looks like you’re having a little trouble there.”

In answer, I tilted forward even more, hiding my face. Because the truth is that I’ve always struggled with being heavy. Ballet dancers are supposed to be whip-thin, but I’m on the curvy side. I’ve got real t**s, a real ass, and thighs that are strong and sensuous, not the gristle and bone that a lot of professional dancers have.

So I gritted my teeth where Viola couldn’t see.

“No I haven’t,” I replied in a low voice. “I’m fine.”

But Viola couldn’t be deterred.

“Really?” she asked in an arch voice.

“There’s definitely some jiggle there. Have you been eating cheeseburgers again?”

My face flamed as I stared blindly at the floor, fighting the urge to hit her or cry. God, why did people in New York City have to be so mean? Why did this girl have to be so awful? Why did we have to be the only ones in the studio this early in the morning, warming up? I cursed, eyes flooding with hot tears, but made myself keep it together.

“No, I haven’t eaten a cheeseburger since the time in the cafeteria, thank you very much,” I said in a low voice, standing to look her in the eye.“And besides, it wasn’t a cheeseburger, you know the cafeteria doesn’t serve stuff like that. It was a turkey burger made from lean meat, very healthy.”

Viola sniggered, her eyes going up and down my body like it was a garbage dump.

“Well it must have been the cheese,” she giggled nastily.

“I swear I saw you chowing down on a burger oozing with cheddar, that s**t’s full of fat. Real ballet dancers don’t eat dairy,” she said with a huff, spinning on her heel, blonde hair flying.

And at that moment, other dancers began entering the studio, chatting and talking, interrupting us. Of course, Viola was all smiles, greeting our seniors.

“Hi Anna! Hi Rebecca!” she called the prima ballerinas.

“Hi … oh!” came her gasp.

I didn’t want to look, there were tears in my eyes still and I fought to make them stay down. I didn’t want anyone to know how Viola had just body-shamed me, how ugly and disgusting she made me feel. So swallowing thickly, I made myself take a deep breath and look up. Because I wasn’t going to be a loser, I was here to make the most of the big city, and Viola wasn’t going to win.

But when I looked up, I gasped too. Because standing there was the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. Thick black hair dropped over penetrating blue eyes, topped with a strong square jaw and straight nose. But it was the man’s physique that made my mouth go dry. He wore a black suit, but the loose fabric couldn’t hide the body of a former dancer, perfectly balanced and symmetrical. This awesome specimen was toned and athletic, with muscled thighs and strong arms, perfect for lifting girls in the air.

Trust Viola to know power when she saw it because she moved towards the man like a magnet drawn to a pole.

“Hi!” she simpered, throwing that blonde hair back prettily.

“Hi, you’re Mr. Hamburg, right? You’re the CEO of NYC Academy?”