Page 56 of Lost & Found

“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.