Dirty Dancing

The beat dropped like thunder, shaking through the Ashbourne mansion with the **** of a promise — this night was about to turn electric.

A low synth rolled in under the bass, vibrating the floor as colored lights rippled across the high ceilings. The chandeliers flickered, casting shards of light over the crowd. From the edge of the ballroom, someone whooped, and that was all it took — the dance floor ignited.

At the center of it all, Sara and Daniela Reyes were already moving — like they'd been born to the beat. Long dark hair catching every pulse of colored light, their hips rolled in sync, sharp and sultry. Their dresses — Sara in wine-red velvet, Daniela in black mesh and glitter — clung to them like second skin, and every sway of their bodies felt intentional.

Back to back, they dipped and turned, hands trailing up each other's arms in a way that had more than one guy stumbling mid-step. They were putting on a show — hips rolling, bodies pressed close, then breaking apart with perfect tension before colliding again. The crowd had thickened around them, but no one else dared to join. Then, they turned toward each other and closed the space, grinding slow, bold, and teasing.

Near the grand staircase, Riley finished off her drink and handed the cup to a passing senior with a lazy grin.

“You coming or what?” she asked Blake, blue eyes glittering.

Blake looked out toward the floor. “That depends. Is this going to end with you stepping on my foot?”

Riley rolled her eyes, grabbed his hand, and pulled him in before he could finish the joke.

They wove through the crowd until they found a pocket of space, and then she turned, suddenly close. The beat matched the thrum between them, steady and hot. Riley moved like she didn’t care who was watching — grounded, bold, a little rough around the edges in a way that made Blake grin.

He put a hand on her waist and matched her rhythm, leaning into her spin, their bodies syncing effortlessly.

“Not bad, Hartley,” she said, breath brushing his ear. “Didn’t think you had moves.”

Blake smirked. “Guess I’m full of surprises.”

Riley spun back into Blake's chest — solid, hot, hands already at her waist.

Riley’s back pressed against him as she rolled her hips slow and deliberate, her fingers finding his and guiding them lower. His breath hitched against her neck, but he didn’t speak — just matched her pulse with his.

“Didn’t know you could dance like this,” she murmured, not looking back.

“Didn’t know you’d let me,” Blake answered, lips almost on her ear

She smiled and turned into him. Their foreheads touched, not quite kissing, but close enough to taste the thought.

Across the room, Jax Monroe watched the Reyes twins with open interest. Drink in hand, shirt unbuttoned just enough to count as an invitation, he leaned over toward Carson and Cruz.

“That,” he said, nodding toward the twins as they tangled together again, moving with sin and precision, “is why I love this town.”

Carson raised a brow. “You love anything in heels.”

Cruz just chuckled, watching but not leering. “They’re killing it though.”

Jax didn’t wait for more commentary. He placed his drink on a table and slid into the space between the twins like he’d been rehearsing the entrance all week.

They didn’t stop. Didn’t flinch. Daniela’s arm curled around his shoulders as she turned into the rhythm, Sara pressing in from behind. It was wild, seamless, a storm of hips and skin and rhythm that turned heads in every direction.

Suddenly Daniela turned around and started grinding her ass on Jax’s crotch while Sara danced.

Not far away, Alyssa Carrington caught sight of Riley and Blake. She let a slow smile curl across her lips, pulled the elastic from her hair, and stepped onto the floor like it was built for her.

She moved through the crowd like a breeze — light, warm, and impossible to ignore. She reached Riley and gently spun her from behind, sliding in next to her with a laugh.

“Figured you could use some backup,” Alyssa teased.

Riley beamed. “Finally. Thought I was stuck with Blake’s two left feet all night.”

Blake shot her a look, but Alyssa just turned and danced alongside them, her body moving with a smooth, practiced flow that made it obvious she knew exactly what she was doing — and who was watching.

She slid her arms down Blake, then twirled behind him and started dancing with him, while Riley danced in front.

On the edge of it all, Annabelle moved with soft, graceful confidence. She wasn’t one to fight for attention — she didn’t need to. Her green eyes scanned the floor until they landed on Nick Vale, who was half-bouncing to the beat, barely aware he was being observed.

She approached with a half-smile, her Southern drawl cutting through the noise like warm honey.

“You gonna keep fidgeting over there,” she said, “or actually dance?”

Nick looked up, surprised — and then charmed.

“Thought you didn’t dance with classmates.”

Annabelle stepped in close, twirling lightly. “I don’t. I make exceptions for chaos.”

Nick’s mouth twisted into a grin as she took his hand and pulled him into the crowd. Together, they found a rhythm, her polished flow and his improvised, jerky movements somehow syncing into something undeniably fun.

Annabelle didn’t usually dance like this

But the music had teeth now, and the heat in the room made her skin buzz. So when Nick spun her under his arm, she laughed — genuinely — and let herself move.

He was all goofy charm and loose limbs at first, but as she slid her body a little closer and draped her arms around his neck, he caught on fast.

Nick grinned and leaned in just a little — their faces inches apart, her breath against his cheek. His hand brushed her lower back, lingering. Annabelle didn’t pull away. If anything, she leaned closer.

By now, the floor was a sea of motion.

Sara and Daniela were still the storm in the center, Jax caught between them like lightning, his hands everywhere but still somehow not enough. Their bodies glistened under the lights, each grind sharper, slower, and hotter than the last.

Riley and Blake moved like they couldn’t help it anymore — mouths close, hands tight. Alyssa slipped between them again and again like temptation personified, her laughter warm and wicked.

Annabelle pressed closer to Nick, their movements slower now, intimate. Her fingers toyed with his collar. He didn’t joke anymore — just looked at her like he was trying to memorize the moment.

And the music kept building — deeper bass, more sweat, more heat.