The Dancing Master
Paris Alexander
Copyright Paris Alexander 2012
Published by Wharekohu Bay Press
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The Dancing Master
By Paris Alexander
Susanna Marriott closed her eyes and tried to feel the music with her feet, as her dancing master had instructed. No, it was even worse when she couldn't see where she was going. Timidly, she tried a few more steps. Now her feet were completely tangled up. She stopped dead in the middle of the floor, letting the music swirl around her in a discordant wail .
Her partner heaved a martyred sigh and waved away the governess who was sitting at the piano. "Take a break, Favers. We'll call you when we need you again."
The governess rose from the piano stool with a look of relief, curtsied, and left the room muttering about a nice hot cup of tea.
Her partner's attention focused back on her. "Miss Marriott. You are not concentrating."
"I can't do it. I just can't." She spoke to a button on his waistcoat, not daring to lift her eyes any higher to see the disappointment written in his face. She hated for him to think she was not trying, but even more than that, she hated for him to think she was clumsy or gauche. His good opinion meant so much to her.
"You know I have promised your father that I would have you ready to make your come out in just a few short weeks." His voice displayed his irritation only too clearly.
Her eyes filled with tears and she blinked hard to stop them from falling. That was part of the problem. She didn't want to come out in society and have to spend her days making interminable morning calls and dancing with dull old men at parties just because they asked her to.
She blamed her current dancing master for her lack of enthusiasm for dancing with other men. Nigel Petherick was everything a woman could want in a dance partner: he was handsome, kind, wealthy and he even held a minor title. Not that she cared a jot for his wealth or his title. She was most desperately in love with him, and had been ever since she was five years old.
What was the use of a come-out when she didn't want to marry anyone but Nigel? She wouldn't marry anyone but him. No one else made her breath come short when she caught sight of him. No one else could make her feel hot all over just by looking at her.
She thought of no one else in the dark of the night, when she was alone in her bed and no one could see just where her hands had strayed. She thought of him when she panted in need, secretly touching herself and pretending it was him. She wanted him hands on her body, his mouth kissing hers, until he had taught her all the secrets she was longing to learn.
Why should she care about her come out when she had a man to catch? A man who seemed quite oblivious to all her attempts to catch him. It was enough to make her stamp her feet with frustration. No wonder she was having trouble dancing when her thoughts were so disordered.
"Teach me to waltz, then," she begged him. At least when she was waltzing with him, he held her in his arms. She would endure anything for the sake of his touch. It made her feel weak at the knees and all trembly inside.
"You won't need to waltz. You're a debutante. It's far too scandalous. Favers would pitch a fit if she knew."
"Miss Favers is taking a break. She need never know. Please?" She gave him her most dazzling smile, the one she had practiced in the mirror for weeks. She moved closer to him until the tip of her breast just brushed his arm. Her nipple instantly contracted to a hard peak and she had to fight not to gasp aloud at the jolt of desire that went coursing through her body. "I promise I will concentrate as hard as I can and not tread on your toes."
"Why do I always let you get your own way?" he muttered to himself. "All right, let's waltz."
Nigel took Miss Marriott in his arms for a waltz, gritting his teeth with the effort of keeping her the requisite six inches away from him.
The favor her father had extracted from him was getting harder and harder every day - along with a certain part of his male anatomy. Being so close to the delectable Susanna, now without even so much as a chaperone in sight, was sheer torture.
And teaching her to dance so she could dance with other men? Pure hell.
He'd asked her father for permission to court her, but her father had refused. Susanna was too young to know her own mind, the older man had claimed. She had not yet gone into society, and deserved to have a wide field from which to choose a husband. But would Nigel please teach her to dance in the meantime? She lacked confidence and could do with the practice.
Besotted, he had agreed, just so he could be close to her.
And now look at him. He had an erection so hard he could break stones with it and there was no relief in sight.
"You're scowling."
"Nonsense," he snapped. "I never scowl."
"And now you are snapping at me." Her lower lip pouted into a sulk as she pulled away from him. "I can't help it if I am no good at dancing. I swear there must be something wrong with my legs. They just don't work like other people's legs do."
A wicked thought crossed Nigel's mind. A thought so wicked that he should have dismissed it immediately and punished himself for even thinking it, but it had already taken root in his mind. "Something wrong with your legs?" he said slowly, allowing the wickedness to blossom. "Come, let me take a look at them to make sure they are not the problem."
Without hesitation, she raised her dress just above her ankles.
Such beautiful ankles she had. Slim and shapely like the rest of her. He swallowed hard. He had not seen so much of her since she was a child and ran around tumbling on the lawn getting grass in her hair.
"Well, do you see anything wrong with them?"
He dropped to his knees and took one slippered foot in his hands. "Nothing obvious. But I will have to check them more closely to make sure."
His breathing came short as he ran his fingers lightly, and then again with more confidence, over first one ankle and then the other. "There is nothing wrong with either ankle. Maybe the problem is higher up."
She lifted her dress above her knees and looked critically down at them. "You think the problem may be there?"
He ran his hand up her stockinged calf to her knees. He was playing with fire, he knew it, but he could not make himself stop. He had loved her so well, and for so long, that he would take any excuse he could find to touch her. "They are slightly knobby," he said with a shrug, holding back his laughter at the outraged look on her face. "But nothing that would stop you from dancing like a butterfly."
"Butterflies don't dance. They fly." Her voice was a liquid pout that washed over him like finely aged whisky.
His hands stilled at her knees. "Maybe the problem is higher still."
She lifted her skirts a fraction higher, until he caught a glimpse of the lace on her pantaloons. He'd not thought that his cock could get any harder with wanting her, but it did. The blood rushed from his head so fast that he felt dizzy and his groin ached with need.
"Well, can you see anything wrong?" Her voice was tinged with impatience.
Anything wrong? No, everything was very right. Very right indeed. So right that he was just about wetting his breeches like a schoolboy at the sight of her.
He swallowed again. "You are wearing pantaloons. It makes it difficult to see all that I would like to." Heaven help him if they were to be interrupted now. If he could not slake just a tiny part of his desire, he would die of frustration before the day was out. Taking pleasure with his own hand would never be enough. Not after this. Not ever again. "I think it would be wise of you to take them off."
She opened her eyes
very wide, as if seeing him in a new light. "Take off my pantaloons?"
And if her father should catch them, he was as good as dead. The man would run him through for taking such liberties with his daughter. But he could not help himself. The devil on his shoulder made him continue. "Yes. Definitely. Take them off."
"If you say so." Her voice was doubtful, but still she reached under her skirts and undid the ties that help her pantaloons together, letting them fall at her feet. She kicked them out of the way and lifted her skirts back up. "Can you see better now?"
He wasn't sure if he was in heaven or in hell. Yes, he could see just fine. He could see everything. Including that little triangle of hair at the apex of her thighs, the hair that hid her treasure.
As he looked at her, she shifted a little, her thighs moving slightly apart. Yes, that was even better. Now he could see her nether lips, pink and glistening with moisture. She wanted him, too, though she might not realize just how much her body was betraying her secrets. He let out an audible groan.
She shifted again, her thighs closing just a fraction, hiding herself again. "Are you perfectly well?"
"Perfectly."
"It's just that you sounded as if you were in pain."
His gaze flew to her face. Was she really that innocent or was she teasing him on purpose? Whichever it was, it hardly mattered to him anymore. What mattered was the sight of her naked mound and his desire to own her, to possess her, and to fuck her until they both passed out from pleasure.
He rose to his feet, too her by the arm and led her to a sofa. "Sit down. It will make it easier for us both while I inspect the rest of your legs."
Obediently she sat down and slouched against the back of the sofa. "Are you sure you know what you are looking for?"
He lifted her skirts until she was naked to the waist. "Oh yes, I am quite sure."
She leaned back on the sofa and closed her eyes. "I do hope there is nothing seriously wrong with my legs. I really would like to be able to dance properly with you."
He would settle for dancing most improperly with her. They would be dancing the shaking of the sheets together soon enough, if he had his way. She would be perfectly adept at that kind of dancing, he was sure.
Her thighs were milky white and soft, and the patch of golden brown hair covering her mound glistened in the afternoon sunshine. With one hand he nudged her legs apart so he could see her better.
Her lips were pink and beaded with moisture and he watched, fascinated, as a drop of her womanly juices formed, grew bigger, and slowly trickled down onto the sofa. His mouth watered to taste her, to lick her pussy until she came with a rush.
Soon. He would taste her soon.
He placed his hands on her thighs in the pretense of examining them. "You have beautiful legs," he murmured as he caressed her. "There is nothing wrong with them at all."
A dreamy expression floated over her face as his hands crept higher and then, daringly, brushed her mound of curls. "Mmmmm." Her whisper of need was so soft he barely heard it, but the noise went to his groin in an instant. Her soft sound of desire had him almost coming in his breeches. He grabbed his cock through the material, the touch of his hands on his shaft helping him to retain control.
Yes, he would come soon, he promised himself. But not yet. Not until Susanna was writhing under him in delight and screaming out his name in pleasure.
He knelt between her thighs then, pushing them further apart. Without another word, he buried his face in her pussy, needing to have her as mindless for desire as he was.
She sat up straight with surprise at the touch of his mouth on her nether lips. "Nigel. What are you doing?" But her voice was husky with desire and she made no move to push him away.
He lifted his head. "Kissing you," he said briefly, and then pushed her back down on to the sofa and bent to his task again.
She let herself be pushed back down on to the sofa without any resistance. "I've never been kissed there before," she said in wonderment. "Really, Nigel. I think you ought to stop. I'm not sure this is entirely proper."
He licked her tight little bud until she was squirming on the sofa, and then gently inserted one finger into her tight channel. Her pussy walls contracted against him, sucking him in deeper. God, how he wanted to fuck her with his cock, not just his finger. "Not entirely proper, but entirely delicious."
He thrust his finger slowly in and out of her several times, watching as a flush of desire spread across her face and neck. Her pussy wept around him and her breath came in short pants.
When he took away his finger and stood up, she gave a mewl of protest. "Don't stop."
Undaunted, he merely shook her skirts back down over her knees and extended his hand to help her up. Her face was scrunched up in a pout that made him smile to himself.
She wanted to come - he knew that. She had been very close to finding pleasure. But he didn't want that. Not yet. He wanted her hungry and wanting more until she was begging for his cock. Only then, when he was sheathed fully inside her, would he make her come for him.
"There is nothing wrong with your legs at all," he confirmed, tamping down his desire with a fierce exercise of his will. "They are just perfect. There is no reason at all why you cannot dance like an angel." He held out his hand to her for another waltz.
"Angels don’t dance either," she muttered sulkily as she got to her feet. "They are too busy fluttering their wings and playing their damned harps."
He pretended he didn't hear her swearing and swept her into a waltz, humming a tune for them to keep time by.
Susanna let her mind wander as Nigel led her in another waltz. It was funny how her feet seemed to behave better the less she thought about where to put them.
She couldn't think about dancing now. Not even though she was in Nigel's arms, where she usually longed to be. Now all she could think about was lying back down on the couch again, with her skirts above her waist and Nigel doing those incredibly delicious things to her with his tongue.
She gave a small sigh. Drat the man. He had to know what he was doing to her. She was quite sure that if he had just continued, it would have been utterly heavenly. Instead of which he had stopped and she was left with a restless, overheated feeling that she didn't know how to make better.
All she knew what that she wanted more of the same. So much more.
Nigel broke off his humming, but magically her feet drifted along quite happily. "Dancing is only a small part of a ball, you realize."
"A small part?" she asked morosely. She couldn't believe that he wanted to talk about dancing right now. "I thought it was everything."
"Not at all. Not as far as a man is concerned. A ball is an opportunity for a man to talk with a young woman he fancies, even to get her alone with him for a moment or two if he is very quick on his feet and she is not always on her guard."
Now that sounded like the kind of ball she would enjoy. Her mother hadn't mentioned a thing about gentlemen getting her alone in dark corners. "What if I want to be alone with a man?"
He broke off dancing for a moment and looked into her eyes. "Is there any man in particular you would choose to be alone with?"
She still hadn't forgiven him for stopping in the worst possible moment just before, when she had been on the brink of something wonderful. "Maybe there is," she replied airily. "Not that it is any of your business."
His face grew black at her flippant answer. "You would be wise to keep your guard up. There are plenty of tricks us men have to play on pretty girls. For instance," and he started waltzing with her again, "if that corner over there was a balcony, a dark balcony, and if I were an unscrupulous man, I would casually steer you like so, over to the balcony while we were dancing. And before you knew it, you would be out in the dark with me where no one could see you."
By the time he had finished speaking, he had waltzed her over to the corner and was hemming her in so she could not escape. A shiver of anticipation went through her body as his closeness. "What
would you do with me once you had me on the balcony where no one could see us?"
He bent his head to her. His words were a heated whisper of breath on her neck. "I would kiss you. Just like this." He pressed his lips against hers, capturing them in a kiss.
Her first kiss. She shivered at the touch of his mouth on hers and pressed eagerly back against him, molding her breasts to his chest. His tongue entered her mouth, urgently seeking hers, and she met it, thrust for thrust. Heat pooled in between her legs again, and her desire for him exploded like a firecracker.
Grabbing the lapels of his jacket, she pulled him nearer to her, winding her body around his in an effort to get even closer.
When he lifted his head again, she was panting.
She noted with satisfaction that his breathing wasn't as controlled as before, either.
He brushed off his jacket as he got his breathing under control again. "You should never let yourself be taken onto a dark balcony or a gentleman may kiss you like that."
"And that would be wrong?" Because he had felt very right to her. Better than right. It had felt glorious.
"That would be very wrong indeed. Because if you allowed a gentleman to take such liberties with you, he might feel free to do worse still." He reached up to her bodice and with one sharp tug, pulled it down to expose her breasts. "Like that."
She gasped as the draught of cold air made her nipples pucker. "That is hardly the work of a gentleman to disorder a woman's dress." She pulled at her neckline to cover herself again, but he stopped her with a look. "Why would a gentleman do that?"
He ran his palms over the tips of her breasts. "Gentlemen love to see a woman's breasts. To fondle them. And then to taste them." He bent down and took the tips of one breast in his mouth, suckling on it greedily.
Mmmm - that felt almost as good as when he had kissed her down below. She was glad she had left herself uncovered, even though it felt terribly wicked. What was it about Nigel's mouth that could feel so good, no matter what part of her he was kissing? She would probably love it even if he sucked on her toes.
The Dancing Master (Stolen Moments) Page 1