“Take my hand,”
The simplest order. The hand offered, could she do it though? Right here? Them… together? In front of all these people, surely not. The hand never moves, the offer is momentary, fleeting. She knows, only a one-time opportunity. If she fails to grasp it now, will it ever come back?
The world is watching, the music is playing, Ron is nearby with their drinks. The hand remains. She grasps the hand, the curl of the fingers, the rush of electricity it courses through her veins. It pulls and she gasps as relief floods through her veins. The strings of the violin plucking, the hum of the cello as she is pulled deeper into those dancing.
The hand meets the curve of her hip, strong and unmoving, she can feel the slightest twitch of the fingers. That smell, the perfume, she bathes in it when she can. Lives to be surrounded by it. The room is shifting now, she can hear the murmurs and the voices beginning to whisper.
“Eyes on me.”
The order against her ear, she shudders, sends a rush of arousal. Her raspy voice will be her undoing. The low murmur, the glint of madness in the dark eyes. How could she even look away? They move in time to their own song. She can barely hear anything over the thundering of her heart, not the whispers, nor the music that helps them glide across the dance floor.
Only she remains. The hand guides them, it doesn’t shake. The whisper of a touch to her neck, the gentlest brush of lips against her vein. It erupts fire down her spine, the thrill. As she’s twisting, moving, spun away only to be pulled back.
Suspended in a spell that centers only on them. No one else matters, not here. Not in this moment. The twist and the pull. She smiles, for the first time in a long time, she thinks. Her hand against the lapels of the suit, the jacket, the rough fabric beneath her fingertips. The soft calloused hand that cups hers, leading her to the body behind the suit. She knows the body, has spent hours tracing every mark, every inch of it. Worshiping it. Worshiping her.
In this fleeting second it’s the strings of the violin that breathe life to music. The hum of the bass and they are spinning once more. Circling to a close, the dance slowing. It’s ending just as quickly as it started. Mixed amongst the other dancers, an open mouthed kiss is hidden and etched onto her neck. A sealed promise. That tonight won’t end.
In a blur, the wretched hands are pulling away from her dress, not helping with the heat that rushes through her veins. The kiss to her knuckles is a promise of more, only reflected in those dark eyes.
It’s over, the song, the flutter of paper as they change the music. The sheets rustle to the lull of the music. Escorted to the side back to where she started, the kiss burning on her knuckles. It hangs by her side, tingling. It leaves her only to watch. Staring in wonder after the other as her heart pounds against her ribs. The ache remains, the promise never enough. Left to watch as the other leaves once more moving through the throes of patrons. Until she vanishes from view. She can only watch, biting back tears, she knows tonight is ending. She closes her eyes, letting out a deep shuddering breath.
The warm touch in her hand turns cold, the glass of wine pressed to her shaking hand. She opens her eyes, sees him in the spot where she lay. The smile that forms on her lips returns his smile. Oblivious to the turmoil, he pulls her along to meet his work friends.