DADDY’S PERFECT BALLERINA

  AN M/M NOVELLA

  K.L MANN

  CONTENTS

  Author’s Note

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Epilogue

  Endnote

  Author’s Social Media

  Other Works

  Copyright © Dec 2023

  All Rights Reserved

  Intellectual Property of K.L Mann

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

  The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

  Editing by - geekygoodedits

  Created with Vellum

  For the ones obsessed with fictional single daddies.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Hello reader! This little number is just a fun time I felt compelled to write. Single dads are one of my favorite things to read and with struggling to finish full length books recently, I’m excited to bring Ezra into reality. Don’t take this too seriously, and have a fun time. Hope you enjoy Leo and Ezra.

  Side note, as a former dancer of many years, I’m aware that most male ballet performers would be referred to as ballet dancers, or in Italian ballerinos. But for the sake of this story, ballerina is used to refer to any ballet dancer. It’s a pretty word, what can I say.

  Also, for my fellow romance readers, this is more of an erotica novella. There is not a full love story, but there is a HEA.

  CW/TWs

  Explicit Language and Sex

  Age Gap

  No Condom

  Daddy Kink

  CHAPTER ONE

  Leo

  They do not teach you how to avoid crushing on your clients in University. They instruct you on countless other things—most of which you hardly need—but they don’t tell you how to resist the ridiculously hot dad whom you will inevitably come face to face with on a weekly basis.

  Nor do they warn you about how said dreamy dad will bombard you with heart palpitations on sight, or how, once you’re alone, he’ll creep back into your mind to stick you with an incurable desire for the remainder of the night. Trust me, I speak from experience.

  In my case, this soul-aching crush has been brewing for six long months.

  Six. Months.

  It may not seem like a very long time, but I haven’t had sex once since laying eyes on this man. I’m pretty certain he’s happily married and blissfully unaware of the way he makes me feel with just one look. And yet I’m as celibate as a nun because of him. I wouldn’t be able to even look at another guy long enough for a quick hookup, let alone get my dick hard. He’s ruined me.

  I’m a twenty-three-year-old ballerina, and I’m gorgeous. My dark blond hair is soft and shiny, my eyes are a dreamy caramel brown, and my body is a perfect tool of my craft. I’m flexible and mouthwatering to look at. I should have absolutely no problems in the sex department, and still, here I am; obsessed with someone I can’t have.

  Ezra Jones has consumed me. All six foot two, brawny, brown-eyed bit of him. He’s got big meaty hands, a muscle-riddled body, and a thick beard I need to feel scratching up my neck. His eyes though… they are the deepest, magnetic eyes I’ve ever seen. I just can’t get enough of them. He’s an absolute dream. And fuck, he’s a perfect dad.

  His daughter Miley is the cutest little thing. She’s three years old and full of smiles, especially when Ezra comes to pick her up after class. He dotes on her, and there’s just something about a man who takes care of his own. I mean, really takes care of them. Loves them openly, would fully take a bullet for them… and that’s Ezra. He looks at his daughter like he’d fight anyone or anything to keep her safe.

  I could see that from day one of having Miley enrolled in the ballet school. Six months later, his appeal hasn’t diminished in the slightest. He still gives me butterflies on sight and makes my mouth dry with nerves just by speaking to me at pick up.

  So… yeah, Daddy Jones has destroyed me.

  “Alright, class,” I start, clicking off the soft, classical music. “We’re almost done for the day, does anyone have any questions?”

  Six little hands shoot up and I chuckle, beginning to call on them one by one. My apprentice Emmily helps, fixing exactly two ponytails and one braid upon request. Whether or not their hair will be taken down again for bath or bedtime at home is quite irrelevant. The little ones get, what the little ones wish.

  “Yes, Miley?” I ask, finding her hand in the air after all the others have fallen.

  She smiles wide. “My daddy is here!” She points excitedly toward the parent’s viewing window, and my eyes follow, finding him there.

  Larger than any of the other guardians, his frame dominates a large portion of space. His black flannel makes him even more noticeable in a sea of business casual attire. I fight back against a shiver and clear my throat, clapping my hands together.

  “Okay!” I announce with a smile. “Class is dismissed; I will see all of you lovely ballerinas next week.”

  All ten of my students perk up and rush toward the door at once, tutus flailing wildly behind them. This class is a small one, all girls from three to four years old. It’s also my last class of the night, and the last one utilizing this specific studio. So without rushing, I start packing up, knowing that at least one or two parents will want to speak with me before leaving. It’s a guarantee when instructing the younger ones, but I don’t mind. Parents are very protective at this age, and being actively involved in their kids’ education whether it be school or dance is a good thing.

  “I’m heading into Studio J,” Emmily tells me. “The intermediates have Tap tonight, and Julien needs an assistant.”

  “I bet he does,” I taunt, offering her a grin. “Have fun with that.”

  Her cheeks redden, and she rolls her eyes. “Shut up.”

  I mime zipping my lips and she huffs, leaving me behind. Those two will either kill each other or be married by the end of the month.

  Within seconds two parents are asking to speak with me, wondering if their daughter has had an easier time focusing since changing her shoes. I kindly explain that she’s been nothing but a joy since the switch. She was clearly uncomfortable with the previous fit and fabric but that’s not uncommon. Lots of kids are particular about what they’re comfortable wearing. They thank me with words and smiles before leaving.

  I’m disappointed that Ezra and Miley have already left, nowhere to be seen as I exit the small studio. Normally, he stays behind to simply ask if she had a good class. If he hasn’t stayed within the building for the entire thing—which he does often.

  I sigh but brush it off. He’s probably got a busy weekend ahead of him and needed to leave as soon as possible. I can wait a week to get another glimpse of him.

  Or I can do what I always tell myself I won’t do… and see him digitally.

  The internet is a wonderful thing.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Leo

  I don’t even make it all the way into my apartment before my phone chimes. Only, it’s not a call or a text, it’s a reminder.

  Shit. I grimace looking at it while awkwardly trying to shut the door with my hip. I flip the deadbolt into place, still absently looking at the calendar on my screen. Under today’s date, it reads:

  Noah’s Housewarming 8pm - Must Attend

  Noah Hamilton and I shared a friend group in college. We were an unlikely pair—a football star and a classically trained dancer—but we worked. We even looked alike, kind of. Both fit and blonde with similar jawlines and eyes. Casual friends though, for the most part.

  Until his wedding—which I attended. He got married, promptly slept with his wife’s father, got an annulment, and soon after started a relationship with the dad. Noah and I became closer after that chaos calmed down.

  He needed someone to talk to about all of it, and while I don’t have experience sleeping with my partner’s dad, being with a man… well, I know all about that. Chatting over coffee a couple of times a week became a pretty solid routine for us. Really, he’s my best friend now.

  Which is why I’m allowing him to force me into attending a dinner party to celebrate him and Henry, no matter how badly I want a bubble bath and my bed. The couple is officially moving in together, though Noah has basically been living there for months. It makes sense, really. Henry Donahue isn’t a man to be turned down.

  He’s ridiculously handsome—older, of course—rich, and powerful too. He owns multiple businesses and coaches our alma mater’s hockey team. I hear retirement from the college may be coming soon, though. Why would he want to continue with such a big commitment when he could use the time to dote on and seduce Noah?

  As if I’ve summoned him, my phone chimes again.

  Noah:

  You can come early and eat dinner with us if you want! :)

  Me:

  Can’t. I have a sandwich in the fridge and a shower that must be taken.

  Noah:

  Shower here,

duh. :p

  Um, not happening. There’s no way I’m going to see these two without being entirely prepared.

  Me:

  Are you trying to trick me into helping you set up or something?

  Noah:

  Lol. I’M not even setting up.

  Noah:

  I’m just bored.

  Me:

  Don’t you have a man to help you with that? ;)

  Noah:

  You’re right… Actually, you probably shouldn’t come early.

  I laugh through a breath.

  Me:

  Cue eye roll. See you in a little while.

  Noah:

  See ya! :p

  Little footsteps patter against the restored oak floors of my apartment, a small bell ringing as they approach. My blond tabby kitten trots right up to my feet, blinking her big yellow eyes at me.

  “Toast,” I greet, dropping to my knee to scratch behind her ear. “How was your afternoon?”

  She only purrs, nudging her head into my hand for a deeper pet.

  “Yes, those five hours I’ve been gone must have been rough, hm?”

  Toast is a little rescue I found near the dumpster of the ballet school two months ago. She’s settled in quite nicely since being pampered and taken care of at the vet. She’s likely eight to nine months old and a great little companion.

  I wasn’t allowed to have pets as a child because my mother always claimed they made it impossible to keep a clean house. I suppose a benefit of having dead parents is you no longer need to abide by their rules. The same could be said for turning eighteen and moving out for some, but I would never hear the end of it if Cara Miller knew her son had adopted an animal, one found on the streets no less. RIP Mom, but Toast is here to stay.

  “Well, let’s get you a little snack and check your water,” I coo at her. “I apparently won’t be lounging around with you tonight.”

  Hearing ‘snack’ and no other words, she sprints to the kitchen while I follow behind, chuckling.

  Settling her with two small treats, I get to work, ignoring every urge to pretend to be sick in favor of lying around until I inevitably fall asleep. Toast would prefer this as well, which is nearly enough of a point to make me reconsider. Cats are notoriously easy to change your plans around for. Just her big, loving eyes alone are convincing enough to keep me entirely still when she graces me with her snuggles. I’d almost always rather have cramping muscles for hours than risk disturbing her rest by shifting.

  I like socializing, I really do. I enjoy going to parties and seeing my friends. But I’m in a funk that I can’t escape. At work, it’s easy to focus. I care about the kids and their passion for learning ballet. I don’t have any trouble separating my work from my personal life. Once I clock out… I’m a mess.

  I’m just bummed out. I’ve got an unrequited crush, and to put it plainly, I’d like to sulk about it. All I can think about is Ezra, and it’s so easy to slip into an unproductive cycle when I’m feeling this way. It would be so easy to put on some movie, get all snuggled into my couch, and promptly ignore said movie in favor of jerking off to a far-off fantasy of his hands all over… FUCK.

  No. I have to be a functioning human today. And so I will be, for my friend.

  After a couple hours of eating and cleaning every inch of myself up, I have to admit, I look damn good wearing a navy blue, satin, button-down tucked partially into my gray trousers and some casual shoes. I give myself one last appraising look in the mirror. My hair is styled, but not overly so, and the cologne I’ve gone with is fresh but deep—a lovely combination of my favorite scents: Clean but robust citrus.

  Like she knows I’m about to leave her, Toast trots up to me, meowing her displeasure. I frown down at her, wishing I could put her in a little tote bag and take her with me.

  “I know, little Miss, but I’ll be home later tonight.” She gives me a blank look. “Okay, maybe early tomorrow, I don’t know. It’s only for a little while. You’ll be asleep for most of it.”

  Toast promptly spins, walking lazily to her favorite spot on the couch and curling into a little fluffy ball. I drop a kiss onto her head and leave before I can talk myself out of it.

  This will be fun. Noah is fun. I like hanging out with my friend. I won’t even think about Ezra. I got this.

  Yeah, right.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Leo

  The Uber ride isn’t a long one, thankfully. Though the address is only supposed to be a thirty-minute trip from my place, I was expecting much more traffic. A Friday night in this city usually means adding at least twenty minutes to any expected time of arrival, but not tonight. It was smooth the whole way, with no hold-ups, and my driver was sweet but quiet; my favorite combination of traits when it comes to car rides.

  I got to sit back, chill out, and play solitaire in peace to pass the time.

  When I get into the building George, the head security officer, lets me right through to the private elevator with a smile and a dip of his head. He’s seen me plenty of times, and I’m sure there’s an approved list of names he has for the evening. Normally, there would just be a code I have to punch in, but on nights like tonight, there’s an increased security presence to avoid any potential mishaps.

  “Have a good night, George,” I say, offering a quick wave before dipping into the chrome doors. Too many floors up and the elevator chimes, doors opening directly into a nearly empty foyer area.

  Two steps inside and a firm hand clamps around my shoulder. “You made it!” my friend cheers happily, shaking me a little with his grip.

  I look to my side, finding Noah smiling wide. “I made it,” I agree. “This place is ridiculously swanky, you know that, right?”

  He chuckles, removing his hand to wave off my comment. I say something of the sort almost every time I visit. “You’ll get used to it eventually.”

  I give him a dubious look. I doubt I’d get used to a twenty-five-million-dollar penthouse, but I can see how he would. It’s nice, really. Just a bit too high-brow for my taste. I’d be afraid to touch anything if I lived here.

  Noah laughs at the expression on my face. “Come on, let me get you a drink.”

  “Just one,” I warn, attempting to sound stern. “I do not want to get drunk in front of all your rich people friends and embarrass myself.”

  He snorts. “They’re Henry’s ‘rich people friends’, thank you very much.”

  “Same thing,” I argue, but follow him as he leads the way.

  “Definitely not the same thing,” he counters, giving me a wink. “My only real friend is right here, and he’s pretty uncomfortable around rich people despite being one.”

  I roll my eyes. “We’ve been over this; I have dead-parents-money, not never-need-to-work-again-money.”

  “Just teasing.” He gives me a playful grin and comes to a stop in the kitchen. Only a few people linger, talking amongst themselves and sharing drinks. “Tequila?”

  I groan immediately. “Don’t even.” Is he trying to make me lose my clothes? He knows I can’t handle that stuff outside of a single margarita.

  Noah’s head snaps back with the force of his laugh. “Champagne, then?”

  “That’ll work.”

  Snagging an already filled flute he passes it to me before picking one up for himself. He tilts his head to the side, silently telling me to follow him deeper into the apartment.

 

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