5. Dirty Dancing
Dirty Dancing
Cinder
The orchestra strikes up something slow and sinful, strings dripping honey, a bass line that pulses like a heartbeat. The dance floor clears slightly as the crowd senses something interesting is about to happen.
My hand hangs in the air, the challenge issued. Who's brave enough to go first?
The big one steps forward before his brothers can move.
"Me."
It's not a request. It's not even really a statement. It's a claim.
Something hot twists low in my belly.
The pretty one in green raises his eyebrows but steps back with an amused half-bow. The feral one in red just grins like he's already enjoying the show.
"Confident," I say as the big one's massive hand engulfs mine. "I like that."
"You'll like a lot of things about me."
Oh.
OH.
He pulls me onto the floor without waiting for permission, one hand settling at the small of my back, too low to be proper, high enough to make me wonder when it'll slide lower. The other hand holds mine like I'm something precious he's about to absolutely wreck.
We move.
And gods, can he move.
For a man his size, he dances like he was born to lead. Every step deliberate. Every turn controlled. He doesn't follow the music so much as he commands it, guiding my body with the kind of easy dominance that makes my breath catch.
"You're better than I expected," I manage, letting him spin me and then pull me back against his chest, harder than necessary. My ass presses against his thighs and I feel…
Oh.
Oh gods.
The thick line of him. Even through the trousers. Already hard. Already substantial.
"I'm better than you expected at a lot of things." His voice is a low rumble against my ear. "But we'll get to that."
His hand slides lower, finally, cupping my hip through the silk, fingers digging in just enough to make me gasp. I can feel the calluses on his palms, rough against the thin fabric. Working hands. Hands that know how to grip and hold and take.
"Those other men," he continues, breath hot on my neck as he turns me again, "the ones who disappointed you. They didn't know what to do with a woman like you."
"And you do?"
"I know you don't want gentle." His teeth graze my earlobe.
Just enough to send lightning down my spine.
"I know you're tired of being handled like glass when you want to be handled like you can take it.
And I know." His hips roll against mine on the next turn, letting me feel exactly how hard he is.
"That you've been thinking about what's in my trousers since I walked through those doors. "
I have. Gods help me, I have. I've been thinking about it since I saw him step in like a thunderstorm made flesh.
"You're awfully sure of yourself," I say, but my voice comes out breathier than intended.
"I'm sure of what I see." He spins me out and back, catching me with both hands on my waist now, practically lifting me through the turn. "Your pulse is racing right here."
His thumb brushes the side of my neck, right over my hammering pulse.
"And you keep pressing back against me like you're hoping I'll bend you over right here on the dance floor."
"Would you?" The question slips out before I can stop it.
His grip tightens. His voice drops to something almost dangerous. "Don't tempt me, lady. There's a clock ticking and I've got plans for you that require more privacy than this."
I'm wet. Already. Just from dancing. Just from the promise in his voice and the hard heat of him against my back and the way his hands grip me like he owns me.
What is happening to me?
The music shifts, signaling the end of the dance. He releases me reluctantly, his hands dragging across my hips as he steps back.
I'm flushed. Breathing harder than a single dance warrants. Furious about how affected I am.
"Next," I manage.
The pretty one approaches like he has all the time in the world, that wicked smile already in place. Where the big one claimed, this one invites, extending his hand with a flourish just theatrical enough to make me laugh.
"My lady. I believe it's my turn to make you forget your own name."
"Bold promise. Your friend set a high bar."
"My friend is a battering ram. Effective, but limited in technique." He pulls me close, not as forcefully as his brother, but somehow more intimately. Our bodies align like puzzle pieces. "I prefer a more... comprehensive approach."
We begin to move, and it's immediately different.
Where the first one led with power, this one leads with seduction. Every step is an invitation. Every turn brings our bodies closer. His hand at my back traces small circles that make my spine tingle, and his thigh slips between mine on the turns with an ease that suggests extensive practice.
"You dance like a man who's had a lot of partners," I observe.
"I dance like a man who pays attention."
His lips brush my temple as he speaks. I shiver.
"For example," he continues, voice like warm honey, "I noticed that you stopped breathing when my hand hit your lower back."
I... did. I didn't even realize I did.
"I noticed that your hips tilted forward when my thigh pressed between yours."
They did. Gods, they did.
"And I noticed." He dips me low, supporting my weight effortlessly, his mouth hovering over the exposed column of my throat. "That your nipples have been hard since my brother let you go."
I suck in a sharp breath as he pulls me back up, our faces inches apart. He's right. He's absolutely right. My nipples are aching points against the silk of my dress, visible to anyone who looks closely enough.
And he looked. He noticed. He's been cataloguing every reaction since the moment he touched me.
"I notice things," he says, leading me into a turn that puts my back against his chest. His hands skate up my sides, thumbs grazing the edges of my breasts through the silk.
"I notice what makes a woman gasp. What makes her squirm.
What makes her forget every tedious prince who ever bored her with bad poetry. "
"And what have you noticed about me?"
His laugh is low and dark, vibrating against my spine. "That you're starving. Absolutely ravenous. And not one of these perfumed fools has offered you a real meal."
He spins me to face him again, that smile sharpening into something predatory.
"I could eat you alive and you'd thank me for it."
"Could you?"
"I have a very talented tongue. In conversation and otherwise." He leans in, lips brushing my ear. "I could make you come without ever taking off your dress, just my mouth on you, working you over until you're begging. Would you like that?"
My fingers dig into his shoulders. I'm so wet now that I'm worried it's visible. Worried the slick heat between my thighs is going to start dripping down my leg.
"You talk a big game," I manage.
"I deliver bigger." His eyes flick briefly toward his brothers. "But I'm also smart enough to know that a woman like you doesn't want just one flavor. You want the full tasting menu. Lucky for you, we're a package deal."
Before I can respond, the music shifts again.
He releases me with a bow that's somehow both respectful and filthy, backing away to let the third brother approach.
The feral one doesn't wait to be invited.
He just appears at my side like a slightly unhinged magic trick, already grinning.
"Hi. I'm the fun one."
I laugh despite myself, a real laugh, surprised out of me. "The fun one?"
"The other two are going to be all intense and passionate and life-changing.
Very impressive. Ten out of ten. But me?
" He grabs my hand and pulls me back onto the floor without any of the ceremony his brothers employed.
"I'm going to make you laugh so hard you snort, and then I'm going to make you come so hard you cry. Possibly at the same time."
"That's quite a promise."
"I'm quite a person."
He dances chaotically, unpredictably, with a complete disregard for what the steps are supposed to be.
He leads me into turns that shouldn't work but somehow do, dips me at unexpected moments just to hear me yelp, and at one point lifts me clean off the floor and spins me around like we're at a country fair instead of a royal ball.
"You're insane," I gasp, laughing, clinging to his shoulders.
"Absolutely." He sets me down and immediately pulls me close, no space between us, just heat and chaos and his body pressed against mine. "But here's the thing about insane. We don't have limits. We don't get tired. And we definitely don't care about propriety."
His hands slide down to my ass and squeeze. Just grabs me like he owns me, right there in front of the entire ballroom.
"Wreck," I start.
He rolls his hips against mine, grinding with absolutely zero shame. "Tell me something. Have you ever had a man make you come in public? Just from friction and dirty talk while two hundred nobles pretended not to watch?"
"No."
"Want to?"
I should say no. I should be appalled. But I'm so wet at this point that my thighs are slick with it, and his complete lack of filter is doing something to my brain. Something unhinged. Something feral.
"You wouldn't dare."
"Oh." His grin turns wicked. "I'd dare anything. But if you want me to behave.”
His hand slides around to cup between my legs through the silk. Just for one searing instant. Long enough for me to feel the pressure against my aching clit. Long enough for a moan to escape my lips before I can stop it.
"You're going to have to make me."
I grab his wrist before I can stop myself, but I don't pull his hand away. I should. I should slap him. I should have him arrested.
Instead, I hold him there, letting the heel of his palm grind against me for one more devastating second.
"You're a menace," I breathe.
"Thank you. I practice daily." He removes his hand on his own, looking far too pleased with himself. "But I think you need more than one menace tonight. I think you need all three of us. Different flavors, different skills, one very satisfied lady.”
The music fades. But Wreck doesn't let go.
Instead, he turns me gently to face the room. Where the other two are already approaching.
The crowd has been whispering throughout, scandalized and fascinated in equal measure, but when all three masked strangers surround me on the dance floor, the whispers become a roar.
I don't care.
I can't care.
Not when I'm surrounded by three bodies, three different kinds of heat, three men who look at me like I'm the only thing in the room worth looking at.
The orchestra strikes up something new. Slower. Darker. A waltz that sounds like it was written for exactly this kind of disaster.
The big one, Ash, steps up behind me. One massive hand settles on my hip. The pretty one, Slade, appears at my left side, fingers intertwining with mine. Wreck stays at my right, arm looping around my waist.
And we begin to move.
It shouldn't work. Three men, one woman, a dance floor full of horrified aristocrats. But somehow, impossibly, we move together like we've been doing this our whole lives.
Ash leads from behind, his body guiding mine with that same effortless control. Slade matches his steps, adding flourishes that make me spin between them. Wreck improvises, filling the gaps, always there when I need a hand to steady me.
I'm surrounded. Consumed. Overwhelmed in the best possible way.
"Breathe," Ash says against my ear from behind. His hands slide up my ribcage as we sway, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts.
"She can't breathe," Slade observes from my left, lips trailing along my jaw. "She's too busy imagining all the things we could do to her."
"Three mouths," Wreck adds from my right, teeth grazing my shoulder. "Six hands. Three cocks. And all night to use them."
I whimper. Actually whimper. In public. In front of everyone. My reputation is in tatters and I could not care less.
"We're going to make you feel things you didn't know you could feel," Ash continues, hands tightening on my hips.
"We're going to worship every inch of you and then wreck every inch of you," Slade promises.
"And you're going to love it so much you'll never want just one man again," Wreck finishes.
They turn me between them, one brother to the next to the next, each one claiming my mouth for a brief, devastating kiss before passing me along.
Ash kisses deep and demanding and utterly consuming. I melt into it, knees going weak, grateful for his hands holding me upright.
Slade kisses like a question: clever and teasing, making me chase his tongue. I lean into him, desperate for more, and he pulls back just enough to make me whine.
Wreck kisses like a wildfire: unpredictable and all-consuming and slightly unhinged. He bites my lip. I gasp. He grins against my mouth like he's won something.
By the time they have me back in the center of their triangle, my knees are actually shaking.
"So," Wreck says, grinning at his brothers over my head. "I think she's made a decision."
"I think she made it after the first dance," Slade agrees. "She's just been enjoying the torture."
“Lady Cinder.” Ash's voice rumbles through me. "Tell us what you want."
I look at the sea of shocked faces around us, the princes I've rejected, the nobles clutching their pearls, Mira drinking directly from a wine bottle in the corner.
Then I look at the three men surrounding me. Three different flavors of exactly what I've been craving.
"There's a private antechamber down the east corridor," I say, voice steady despite the chaos in my body. "Thick walls. Good lock. And a table sturdy enough to hold my weight."
Slade's smile turns sharp. "Is that an invitation?"
"That's an order." I grab the front of Ash's doublet with one hand and Wreck's coat with the other. "All three of you. Now. I want to find out if you can actually deliver what you've been promising."
From somewhere in the rafters, a crow's voice drifts down. "Five hours remaining. I’m going to need so much therapy."
From Ash's pocket, I hear tiny voices erupt:
"Phase two! Phase two!"
"This is the greatest night of my life!"
I don't know what that means. I don't care what that means.
All I care about is getting these three men alone and finding out if they can actually ruin me the way they've been promising.
I grab them by their fancy lapels and drag them toward the shadows.
Let the kingdom talk.
I'm about to get exactly what I need.