AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The problem with tango-style dance is that it speaks to our emotions. It’s romantic but also extremely sensual, relying on the close contact of bodies. Massi leads me through the refined movements, improvising to the music. We pause on some beats and then speed up, allowing momentum to carry my legs into the air.
Slowing and pausing, turning, walking, rising and sinking, we glide through the staccato feel with drama and elegance. Soon even our breathing responds to the music and I surrender to the flow.
The melody rises and falls, it pulses through us. It gets quiet and then crescendos. Like feelings do in real life. And my emotions are screaming loudly in my soul right now. But I have no time to analyze that, because Massi steals all my attention.
He is an excellent dancer. He moves around in a cat-like manner with clear and alluring aim, drawing me into the magic of this transcendent experience. It’s more than magic though. I came here to relax, but there is nothing relaxing about this dance anymore.
We’re back in that hallway a couple of weeks ago, observing and absorbing each other with fierce eyes. Our bodies communicate without words, and I find myself wishing tango was the background music of my life.
The connection is so intense that for a moment I forget about everyone else. It’s just me and him. Fascinated by each other’s closeness.
Playfully, he leads me into another step and I hook my leg around his. Our eyes project the desire that I feel deep in my bones. I step in the opposite direction, but our bodies are still so close the contact burns me.
With the music, we pause for a beat. Massi reaches, my hand still in his, and grazes his fingers down my cheek, dusting the corner of my mouth. Involuntarily, I part my lips, consumed by a need so strong it burns in my core.
The moment is brief but captivating, and so palpable I almost stumble as I sway my hips to cross around his leg, pulling away, but he steadies me and with a stealthy glide I step to face him again. My breasts brush his torso and my nipples immediately salute, craving attention.
I’m not the only one affected. Our pelvises and upper thighs are connected in the luscious flow, reflecting the song, and Massi’s desire hardens between us. And it encourages me. The effect I have on him gives me confidence.
As we move around, I take every opportunity to slide my leg up and down his, but it’s not wanton. It’s a natural mirroring of his moves. He dances with all he’s got—brave, dynamic, frisky, but graceful and elegant. And I feel like a queen. Dancing with Massimo Cassinetti is as close to lovemaking as tango could ever come.
When the song stops, I’m breathless. And stunned. As the tones fade away, I crash back to reality, suddenly embarrassed that I allowed myself the freedom of this dance. Of his company.
“I didn’t know you dance this well.” My chest heaves as I try to collect my dignity and sound casual at the same time while his hooded eyes are studying me. I don’t think I’m the only one impacted, which is great. And the worst possible scenario.
“I only regret I didn’t start sooner. When I first had the chance.” His words somehow have a direct line to my core. Or perhaps it’s just a residual state post-dance. My legs go wobbly and I cling to him, worried I may fall.
What is happening? Why is he doing this? Our professional relationship has improved since that moment by the back entrance, and I forced myself to believe that the panna cotta was just a thoughtful gesture, but now I’m not so sure anymore.
The music starts again.
“I hope I can have another dance.” He smiles at me, and I’m irritated by the wonderfully tormenting effect it has on me.
I don’t get to answer because he pulls me into the music. We dance and dance. Again, like the old times, communicating the best without words. We separate only to drink some water, then dive back into the tango.
These graceful, abrupt movements define our relationship. Just like the steps and intimate closeness to the beats of the slow music, we used to share the same intimacy and passion, and we danced through our marriage with equal ache… slow, slow, fast, slow, slow, fast. Moments of complete harmony used to take turns into explosions that burned us at the end.
“I think the ladies are very disappointed today, Massi,” the woman at the door says when we are leaving. “You only danced with one partner the whole time.” Her eye twitches as she tries to smile, the grimace as genuine as a corrupt politician. “Lucky you.” She turns to me and the pretense in her smile intensifies.
I cringe inwardly but lace my arm through Massi’s. Marking territory. One I have no claim to.
The city welcomes us with a light breeze and a sense of awkwardness. The list of confusion in my mind is growing, topped by the desire to spend more time with him. Which would be plain stupid, of course. Yet I’m anxious, because what if he just says goodbye now? It would be smart. And disappointing. But for the best. And the worst.
“Are you hungry?” Massi asks and pats my hand. Realizing I’m still hanging onto him, I jerk my arm away. My foot slips from the curb and I almost tumble into oncoming traffic.
“Easy, Blue, I don’t bite. There is a place at the Market with delicious food.” He smiles, not mocking, just patiently letting me have a freak-out and ignoring it.
“Okay, I think I can eat.” Why my voice sounds breathy is beyond me.
He points down the street and we fall into a stroll that would be pleasant and comfortable under normal circumstances. But nothing about these circumstances is normal. As much as my stupid body—and if I’m honest, my heart—thinks this is a great idea, I know we’re going to end up hurt. And I’m afraid I will be the one causing it.
My mind is still fogged with the after-effects of our dancing, but as we walk, I recover remnants of reason. Grabbing food together will only lead to misunderstandings. And haven’t we had enough of them?
How I wish we could clarify some of those from a long time ago. How I wish for a scenario where exploring what this is could be even remotely possible.
But then I remind myself of the reaction Massi had when he saw me at the wake—he practically ran away—how he lost it at the first meeting we had at the restaurant, and how he avoided me for weeks.
And frankly, just because he’s suddenly started acting human, let me taste his food and danced with me like I was the most enticing woman in the world, that doesn’t mean he is interested.
