My Latin Dancer Wife - Chapter 2: Chapter 2
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The next morning, that video from last night still burned in my mind—undeniable, electrifying.
I couldn't help myself. I pulled Bianca close and took her again.
This time, I got adventurous—testing splits, deep bends, every move I could think of.
Gotta admit, the flexibility of a Latin dancer was something else. She matched me effortlessly, no strain, no protest.
Afterward, Bianca flushed pink and swatted my chest. "You're awful! Where'd you learn those moves? So shameless!"
I smirked. "Come on, you loved it."
Still grinning, I drove her to the Performing Arts Troupe.
At the dressing room, we ran into some tall, chiseled guy.
"Bianca, you look incredible today," he said, eyes locked on her like she was dessert. Only when my glare could've melted steel did he snap out of it. "Oh—sorry! You must be Kevin. Kyle Roscente, Bianca's new dance partner."
I gave a stiff nod.
I knew her old partner, Vincent Laurent—a married guy whose wife I knew too. Their dynamic had always been professional, no red flags.
But this switch? Left a sour taste in my mouth.
When Bianca stepped out later, I casually asked, "Why the new partner?"
"Vincent pulled a muscle. Two weeks off. Director assigned Kyle—I didn't have a say. He's good, though. Why?"
She hadn't even mentioned it. If I hadn't seen him today, would she have told me?
Irritation prickled my neck. "Never mind. I'll pick you up after the show."
"Okay, honey. Rehearsal time."
Kyle was waiting. The second she joined him, they walked off laughing, hips nearly brushing.
My gut twisted.
On my way out, I nearly collided with Drake Langley.
"Kevin! Here to drop off the missus? Sit, chat a minute," he said, slapping my shoulder.
I passed him a cigarette. "Bianca's got a new partner. What's the deal with this Kyle guy?"
Drake leaned in. "Word is he's the director's brother-in-law. Don't sweat it—if he steps out of line with Bianca, I'll handle him myself."
Big talk. I wasn't buying it.
I made up my mind—I'd be at that show tonight.
"Hey, about that video last night…" Drake's grin turned filthy.
"Who was she?" I asked.
"Lola Evans." He chuckled. "She hit me up first. Husband's out of town, big show tonight—needed to 'relax.' Said I blew her old man out of the water."
I rolled my eyes.
If she needed to unwind, she could've used her hands or a damn vibrator. But no—went straight to Drake. Just an excuse to cheat.
I knew Lola. Not a knockout, but she cleaned up nice.
Problem was, she had that look—the kind that lingered too long, smiled too slow.
Poor bastard of a husband had no idea.
"Seriously, though, I'm amateur hour compared to these Latin dancers," Drake went on. "Those guys play it cool at home, then turn up the heat in rehearsals. Right before shows? They get their partners to… help out."
I stared. "You're kidding. How?"
I couldn't help myself. I pulled Bianca close and took her again.
This time, I got adventurous—testing splits, deep bends, every move I could think of.
Gotta admit, the flexibility of a Latin dancer was something else. She matched me effortlessly, no strain, no protest.
Afterward, Bianca flushed pink and swatted my chest. "You're awful! Where'd you learn those moves? So shameless!"
I smirked. "Come on, you loved it."
Still grinning, I drove her to the Performing Arts Troupe.
At the dressing room, we ran into some tall, chiseled guy.
"Bianca, you look incredible today," he said, eyes locked on her like she was dessert. Only when my glare could've melted steel did he snap out of it. "Oh—sorry! You must be Kevin. Kyle Roscente, Bianca's new dance partner."
I gave a stiff nod.
I knew her old partner, Vincent Laurent—a married guy whose wife I knew too. Their dynamic had always been professional, no red flags.
But this switch? Left a sour taste in my mouth.
When Bianca stepped out later, I casually asked, "Why the new partner?"
"Vincent pulled a muscle. Two weeks off. Director assigned Kyle—I didn't have a say. He's good, though. Why?"
She hadn't even mentioned it. If I hadn't seen him today, would she have told me?
Irritation prickled my neck. "Never mind. I'll pick you up after the show."
"Okay, honey. Rehearsal time."
Kyle was waiting. The second she joined him, they walked off laughing, hips nearly brushing.
My gut twisted.
On my way out, I nearly collided with Drake Langley.
"Kevin! Here to drop off the missus? Sit, chat a minute," he said, slapping my shoulder.
I passed him a cigarette. "Bianca's got a new partner. What's the deal with this Kyle guy?"
Drake leaned in. "Word is he's the director's brother-in-law. Don't sweat it—if he steps out of line with Bianca, I'll handle him myself."
Big talk. I wasn't buying it.
I made up my mind—I'd be at that show tonight.
"Hey, about that video last night…" Drake's grin turned filthy.
"Who was she?" I asked.
"Lola Evans." He chuckled. "She hit me up first. Husband's out of town, big show tonight—needed to 'relax.' Said I blew her old man out of the water."
I rolled my eyes.
If she needed to unwind, she could've used her hands or a damn vibrator. But no—went straight to Drake. Just an excuse to cheat.
I knew Lola. Not a knockout, but she cleaned up nice.
Problem was, she had that look—the kind that lingered too long, smiled too slow.
Poor bastard of a husband had no idea.
"Seriously, though, I'm amateur hour compared to these Latin dancers," Drake went on. "Those guys play it cool at home, then turn up the heat in rehearsals. Right before shows? They get their partners to… help out."
I stared. "You're kidding. How?"
End of My Latin Dancer Wife Chapter 2. Continue reading Chapter 3 or return to My Latin Dancer Wife book page.