Ta da! I know, I know. Two chapters that aren't months and months apart- I'm shocked too. A huge shout out to everyone who took the time to review, especially PhantomMalevolance because I know how happy it makes you J and also to HeartsBroken for taking the time to PM me. To certain guest reviewers who were worried they'd offended me with their comments, stress not- no offence was taken (I deserve a bit of heat for being so slack and unreliable) and I've removed your comments for you. If you want to repost them feel free, and I won't moderate them again unless you ask me to.
It just had to be a bloody tango.
Christine knew she was flushed bright red, but even her embarrassment couldn't shake her keen awareness of Erik's hand on her hip.
She knew it wouldn't have mattered if she'd known the dance or not- Erik clearly knew what he was doing, and like all things in his life he had taken firm control and was leading with a skill she hadn't suspected.
His hand was resting a little lower than necessary, and she could swear she could feel him tracing little circles through the fabric. She didn't know how he managed to keep looking so cool and collected when she felt she was going to catch fire at any moment. All she could concentrate on was moving her feet, and even that was becoming too much of an effort with his fingertips shooting sparks from her hip straight between her legs.
Erik was saying something.
"Uh- wha- sorry, sir?"
He grinned at her. Even now she insisted on honorifics.
"I said, you need to stand closer for this dance," he repeated, and without another moment's warning her tightened his grip and pulled her hard against him.
His pelvis was pushing against her lower stomach, and his thigh was nestled against the juncture of her thighs.
She glanced up in shock, but his expression was unreadable. His gaze was focused very intently on her, and when he was certain he had her full intention, he firmly and very deliberately shifted his leg against her.
It was fortunate that a moment later he leaned her into her a dip and held almost her full weight in his arms, because her legs sure as hell weren't going to support her.
Erik smirked to himself in satisfaction as he sensed her legs go out from under her. As he held her in the dip for a moment, he felt her fingers tighten on his shoulder, but he could still feel her trembling as she clung for dear life.
He wondered vaguely if it would be possible to make her orgasm on the dance floor without anybody being the wiser.
He could feel the gaze of the stupid whelp who'd brought her in the first place trying burning a hole in his back with his glare, and for a moment he was tempted to make her come apart in his arms just to show the little shit how real men seduce women.
But then he looked back at the women in his arms, trembling and biting her lip and meeting his gaze with a dazed expression holding desire, uncertainty and hesitation but not a single trace of fear, and he knew that he wouldn't do it.
His Christine, his spitfire, his fiery little angel was not to be used for anything so base, let alone something involving the fool gazing daggers at them.
He wasn't going to use her like he had so many women in the past, just to leave them before they saw behind his mask and left him.
He wasn't going to waste the first time he brought her to climax on standing up a mere boy.
So he pulled her against him again, and relished the feel of her in his arms, and ignored everyone around them.
Using all his skills to keep her desire dancing on a knife edge, he rubbed and stroked oh so subtly, so innocent, stoking her fire until he heard her whimper.
The first time he made her come, she wouldn't be on a dance floor, and certainly not in public. Because their first time was hardly going to sate him, and he was going to need somewhere very private so they could pleasure each other again, and again, and again…
Christine gasped as something very very hard rubbed her in all the right places.
Oh please god let that be his cell phone, she though desperately.
She'd never been much of an exhibitionist, but right now she was sorely tempted to wrap one leg around his waist and-
If the heat from her arousal didn't kill her, her embarrassment was going to. She was practically getting herself off in public by rubbing against her boss of all people.
Daring another glance at him, she noticed her was still focused on her, but to relief he didn't seem disgusted, or angry, or any other emotion for that matter.
He was showing attention to his partner as the dance called for, and nothing more. The knowledge that this was not affecting him as it was here damped the heat enough for her to pull herself back from the brink.
A spattering of applause broke her out of her flustered reverie.
Erik held onto her for a few seconds longer than necessary, purely to be certain that her legs could support her own weight- or so he told himself.
Carefully letting her go, he cocked his head at her appraisingly.
"You dance beautifully," he commented nonchalantly.
Christine cleared her throat hurriedly.
"Thankyou, sir," she said, suddenly all business. "My flatmate in early college was a ballet dancer. She liked to incorporate other dance forms into her practice."
Erik chuckled. "And you were dragged along with her to new classes, I suppose?"
She shrugged. "At first, I suppose, but then I realised there's nothing like having a bit of fire and passion in your life."
At once she froze and flushed again.
For a moment Erik had to grit his teeth against the sudden urge to throw her over his shoulder and take her to the nearest private location. It didn't take long for his mind to start ticking over again, and that familiar smirk crept back over his features.
Automatically Christine braced herself.
"What do you do for 'fire and passion' these days?" he asked softly.
Everyone was else was wandering off the floor, either to the bar or out the entrance.
"Well- I- I don't really have time for dance or anything these days, do I?" she said briskly. "I happen to be employed by a notoriously time-consuming tyrant."
Time to play, Eric thought happily. Coming to this event was beyond worth it; the dance and this little back and forth were going to be enough to sustain him for the entire weekend, and then some.
He leaned in close until she met his gaze with startled eyes.
"Well then," he said.
He was so very close. She really ought to talk to him about personal space, and the appropriateness of using a bedroom voice outside of the bedroom. In public. To an employee. Perhaps it was a French thing.
His breath ghosted over her neck, and she fought to hide her shudder of delight.
"This tyrant is going to have to make an effort to incorporate some passion into your days. It would be such a dreadful waste if a woman such as you were unable to relieve some of the tension that I'm sure has been building because of me. It must surely be killing you by now."
If only you knew, she thought sardonically.
"Don't worry yourself sir, I know the solution," she managed, patting herself on the back for sounding so confident.
She leaned in toward him as he was to her.
"If one man is the source of the tension, another must surely be the cure."
The grin was wiped from his face in an instant.
Check and mate, she thought proudly, but it was short lived.
"I don't know," he said doubtfully. "It would be a shame if another man had to unravel all that frustration. It only seems fair that I be the cause and cure, yes?"
She had no idea how he managed to turn the tables every single time.
"You won't regret it," he continued seductively, and she snapped to attention as he leaned toward her.
Is he going to- she though frantically, wondering how she'd react when his lips met hers, but she was left clutching the shreds of her pride when he leaned past her lips and spoke directly in her ear.
"I'm an excellent dance teacher. There's no reason I can't help you release some of that agitation. Off work hours, of course."
Christine mustered every ounce of strength she had left.
"Spend my work hours and my free time with you? Are you insane?"
He smirked again. She fought the urge to find something sharp and poke him where it would hurt.
"You look flushed," he commented. "You've probably had too much wine, and I notice that whelp you came here with has abandoned you. You'd best come with me."
Taking pity on her dazed state, he took her arm and led her out to his waiting limousine.
He watched her walk in to the party with one man at the start of the evening. Hours later he saw her leave with another, looking distinctly flushed and a little dazed.
At one point during his vigil his impatience got the best of him, but the doorman had taken one look at him and hadn't even bothered asking to see his ticket, sending him on his way with devastating courtesy. So he sat back in his car, slid the window down a crack and smoked his way through half a packet of cigarettes in an effort to kill his rising agitation.
He didn't know what she was playing at. He didn't know who the men were, or why she left with a different one, or why she had taken such effort to look nice for them.
One thing with clear: Christine had some explaining to do. So when he saw second man supporting her as they left the venue and helped her into a limousine, he flicked the cigarette butt out the window and followed them.
Dun dun dunnn. Guess who?
I think I need a beta, do you think I need a beta? I tend to just write and write and write and then I can't be bothered to proof properly.
The dance scene was inspired a little bit by a scene in the latest Pride and Prejudice, when Elizabeth and Darcy are dancing at a ball and everyone else ceases to exist for them. I felt that at this point Christine is so hyper aware of Erik and his deliciousness that the room could have caught fire and she would still be more aware of his touch. Erik on the other hand is calculating every move and on the lookout for every rival or threat, and hasn't lost his composure… yet.
So, guess what your Christmas present is going to be? Don't you think 10 chapters of unbearable sexual tension is enough foreplay?