Schooled!: NO Dancing In Detention!!

Lauren Phillips steps into the detention room and stops dead. Leana Lovings and Aften Opal spin around, hips grinding, skirts flicking at their thighs, bare feet slapping the linoleum. Lauren’s mouth tightens. “Stop. This isn’t a club.” Leana laughs. “We’re not breaking the rules. Dance class, remember?” Lauren swallows the comeback, because they aren’t lying. She folds her arms instead, eyes narrowed like she can still win by stare alone. The girls keep moving, tossing their hair, rolling their shoulders so every strap inches lower. Leana arches, skirts riding high, flashes of smooth skin. Aften bites her lip on a slow drop that pushes her ass out. Lauren mutters, “This is ridiculous.” Her voice cracks. She waves them back. They brush her hands, warm, soft. Her fingers land on Leana’s breast—full, warm under the thin shirt—and the contact leaves a startled ripple through her wrist. Aften pulls back with an outraged little gasp. “Miss Phillips! Were you just…?” They pivot from embarrassed to amused in half a beat, mock-innocent. Leana says they could forget everything, but Lauren owes them. Owes them more than words. Lauren’s breath snags. She’s supposed to punish them, but one step forward and she’s already giving up ground. The girls guide her between them, coaxing her into the rhythm. Hips press to hips, hands slide—slow and deliberate. Lauren feels skin heat under her fingertips again, satin curves, quickened pulses. Aften’s breath grazes her ear. Leana’s nails trail up her spine. The music thumps on and the three of them move, the steps turning molten, skins brushing, fabric loosening, rules dissolving between their bodies.