14. Chapter 14 #2
“I can tell.” My mind went there even though it was pure insanity. My cock twitched as I thought about ways I could bend her, put those yoga skills to the test. How I would worship her body if she weren’t Isabella Caruso.
“Will we dance?” Her voice was soft and drew me from my thoughts of railing her from behind. “At the wedding?” she corrected.
“I’d be honored to and in order to sell it, we probably should.”
“Be honest. How much is Hannah going to judge me?”
“You want the truth?”
She nodded once more.
“A lot, but I’ll tell her I didn’t fall in love with you for your dancing.”
She stumbled and coughed loudly, causing me to grin. I took the moment to pull her into my arms. Surprisingly, she almost fell into perfect form. Her left hand rested on my shoulder blade.
“Well, you did that well enough.”
“What?” she asked, sounding confused.
“Your body, the form. You keeping something from me?” I teased as my left hand found her right one and I clasped it in mine.
“I pay attention…when you dance.” A flush bloomed across her collarbones and climbed steadily upward. “Close attention.”
“Let’s test that out, then. A simple waltz begins with a box step, which consists of three steps taken in a box-like pattern. I’ll lead, you follow.”
“Only on the dance floor,” she replied, her rosebud lips curled.
“I’ll step forward with my left foot and you step back with your right. You can watch our feet to get a feel for it, but then I will insist you look at me.”
“Will you? And if I refuse?” she taunted.
Her eyes were glued to our feet as I showed her the next step we would need to take. She was a quick learner, and her attention to detail was impressive. Soon we were moving along the floor, concentrating on the initial steps. I’d save the turns for another day. But damn, she felt good in my arms.
“Eyes on me, princess,” I commanded, tightening my hold on her hand just enough to guide her focus.
Her eyes lifted. “Such a good girl,” I purred, the praise slipping out smooth and easy.
She smiled—soft, instinctive—and it hit me low and hard. Awareness crept in. Then her expression shifted, and it was like a punch to the gut. It was breathtaking.
“You must not care for your balls, Dancer,” she said, but there was a mix of humor and steel beneath it. “You call me a good girl again and I will have you on your knees.”
Fuck me. A challenge.
“Careful, now,” I replied, letting the warning curl through the words. “I might enjoy that more than you think.”
The vision of being on my knees in front of her naked body, one leg thrown over my shoulder. Warm thigh against my face, her head thrown back as I sucked on her clit. Hell, I’d kill to show her exactly how good she could be.
I bit the inside of my cheek to kill the thought before it painted itself across my expression. The rush of blood to my cock was already a given as it thickened in my pants. She faltered in her steps. Could she feel it? Damn.
“Pasha,” she warned.
Instantly I recalibrated. I knew better.
Dancing stripped her of control. Her body responded to mine, following my lead.
This was my realm. That alone put her in a vulnerable position.
Even if it was something she initiated. She was struggling to find her footing again. Her next words didn’t surprise me.
“I’m serious. I’m not a dog.”
The word dog threw me. My eye twitched. “No, you are most certainly not.”
I shifted my grip—one hand firm at her waist—and drew her in closer. Without overthinking it, I pulled her into a sharper turn, using the momentum of the waltz to guide her across the floor before drawing her back to me.
My hand slid firmly to her waist, fingers spanning the curve of her hip as I stepped into her space. It wasn’t rough, but it was decisive. A command you use in a tango when you’re getting ready to take it there. She didn’t miss a beat. In fact, her body responded.
I threaded my fingers through the back of her hair and tugged, slipping into performance mode. A tiny gasp escaped as I tilted her head back and pushed my body into hers. On instinct, as if she understood the assignment, her body bent back.
“You think praise in the form of a good girl is only in response to obedience?” I asked quietly, holding her in position.
She gulped, her eyes dilating in real time, ever so slowly.
“I praised you because you landed the step. You stayed with me. You even shifted just now and are present in the moment. The words were a mere acknowledgment.”
Her breath shifted, shallow and uneven now. I slid my free hand down her cheek to trace the column of her throat and collarbone. In the mirror, our reflection looked like a different version of us. It was less playful and much more dangerous.
For a split second, I forgot we weren’t performing. I forgot this wasn’t meant to end in a dip that left her draped over my arm with the audience holding its breath. Her pulse jumped at my touch. I couldn’t help but put my finger on it.
It skittered against the pads of my fingers, fast and uneven. It betrayed far more than her expression ever would. The rhythm told a story. One I was reading. The line between instruction and indulgence narrowed to something razor thin.
“Do you want to know what that tells me?”
“What?” she breathed.
I eased my grip before it snapped and lifted her upright again. My hand slid from her hair back to her shoulder blade, restoring the waltz frame. Restoring the rules.
“You hear praise and once more your mind trails down dirty paths that lead to a whole host of things neither of us should be thinking. I’m starting to think I’m not the problem here.”
Her eyes flashed hot and angry. There she was.
“Stop with that nonsense. It’s the tone and way you said it. You expect me to think you’re talking about dance? Posture? Hell, you practically moaned, ‘good girl’.”
I threw my head back, and rich laughter poured from my chest. She pulled back and crossed her arms. Two bright red spots appeared on her cheeks. I had to wipe my eyes.
She planted her hands on her hips, the skirt swaying with the motion. “What’s so funny?”
“The fact you think I moaned it,” I said, unable to help the grin from spreading. “I’d be happy to demonstrate how I actually moan. Properly. But that would require the appropriate setting. Maybe Game Night?”
Before she could retaliate, I dipped into a mock bow.
“And just so we’re clear—your posture was excellent.
Marcel might be a better candidate to discuss your runaway imagination, though.
It clearly requires supervision. I’ll let you bring it up to him.
Go change. We’ll pick back up on Thursday. No praise. No moaning.”
She turned on her heel and walked toward the locker room. I watched the sway of her ass. The damned skirt did nothing to hide the movement. I had to physically bite back a real groan.
As if she felt my stare, she stopped mid-step and spun around. “Word of advice, Dancer. If you don’t want my mind to wander into the gutter, you shouldn’t build sidewalks that require them.”
I huffed out a laugh. Touche.
“Of course, Princess,” I replied with a small nod, conceding the point. “I’ll meet you up at the front.”
“See that you do.”
The last word. I knew she’d find a way to get it in. Damn, she was too cute for her own good. Something in the way she lifted her chin as she tried to exert her dominance made my chest tighten. She liked control a lot more than she was ready to admit.
And I secretly loved watching her fight for it.
“Yes, ma’am,” I muttered under my breath as she disappeared down the hall.
Once she was gone, I dragged my hand down my face and finally exhaled. I crossed to my bag, pulled my shirt over my head, and took a second to steady myself before grabbing my keys.
It didn’t take her nearly as much time to change.
And by the time I dimmed all the lights and locked up, the edge had dulled just enough to pass for normal.
We shifted straight back into friend-mode.
The evening was cool, and the breeze felt good against my heated skin. Isabella’s eyes scanned the road.
“I drove in today,” I told her, nodding my head in the direction of the car.
“Oh, that makes sense.”
I walked her around to the passenger side and unlocked the door. Holding it open for her, I couldn’t help but tease her some more.
“So I heard your brother refuses to teach you to drive? Wanna tell me why?”
“Not particularly,” she replied dryly.
I closed the door and went around to the driver’s side. I started the engine and pulled out onto the road. I stole a glance at her, a smile playing on my lips.
“Rumor has it you almost killed him.”
She heaved and turned my way. “Not true, I swear he exaggerates. One little mix-up between the gas and the brake and he saw his entire life flash before him. Torturer my ass. Wimp is more like it.”
“That’s unfair. The way he said it was like you thought you were in some high-speed chase, running from the police. Then you finally found the right pedal. He said he has a bruise from the seatbelt.”
“Liar,” she exclaimed. “I’ll have him prove it as soon as we get home.”
She huffed and sat back in her seat. A few minutes in, she shifted and pulled up her playlist from the Bluetooth. Other than the music, we rode in silence the rest of the way home. She was as lost in her thoughts as I was.
Whatever this was becoming, it wasn’t simple anymore.