The tale of the dancing girl Page 4
Oh, oh—he’d leave a water stain—he was licking the organza, sucking right through the sheer layers. When she walked out of this room she’d be marked by his mouth for everyone to see.
Her body fluttered, clenching as it had the night before.
The waltz ended. Polite applause followed.
Weston growled his approval, resisting when she squirmed, turning his attention to her other breast. His free hand skimmed over the back of her stocking, behind her knee, up her thigh. He pinched the strap of her garter, pulled it out, let it snap against her bottom.
Delilah inhaled sharply.
The musicians began to play again, a slow, careful version of one of Mr. Porter’s songs. Delilah heard the lyrics in her head, although there was no singer tonight.
“Birds do it, bees do it…let’s do it…”
Weston skimmed her skirts up, higher. All the way. In the mirror she watched as he revealed her—first the tops of her stockings, then the lace of her garter strings and finally the shock of her bare bottom.
One at a time he pulled her knees over his own naked legs, opening her completely. He observed each movement as if it were a sacred ritual, as sacred as the Khanum dance. Arching his heels lifted his knees, wedging her closer. Delilah looked down. Her dress had fallen over them like a curtain. The sight of his bare feet, the tendons stiff with tension, made her gasp, right before his hands took hold of her thighs and pulled her along the ridge of his cock. Plump and open, her body shared the slippery welcome it offered. Weston closed his eyes and groaned with relief.
“Dance with me?” A question, not an order.
Slowly Delilah lifted herself, notching her body directly over his, lowering and locking them together. Her hands, skin to skin, on his shoulders. His hands, invisible beneath her dress, gripping her hips. She began to rock. His cock reached up inside her, pressing against the place that twisted so sweetly every time she thought of him with desire.
Understanding made everything right. Her body had been asking for this. To be full of him. To hold him close. To let him in.
She swirled her hips to the music inside her, letting her hands wander into the soft strands of his hair, down to the tension across his shoulders. Her spine arched into the beauty of their motions. Weston flattered her with primitive noises, rumbling low inside his chest. His middle finger traced a final line up the cleft of her bottom, over the crease of her thigh and into the space between them. That finger went directly to her pearl and strummed once, twice.
“You know how…?” Her question disappeared into the music.
Oh, let’s do it.…
“To dance? Oh, yes. And I’m the last partner you will ever need, Delilah.”
“Let’s do it.…”
“I promise you…no uniform will ever come…between us.”
“Let’s fall in love.”
Did she feel it first? Did he? It flared through Delilah’s body, unlike anything she’d ever felt. A connection forged between them zinging back and forth, whirling, dipping, leaving them suddenly breathless, wetter than ever, flushed and loose.
Weston brushed his lips over her brow, her eyelids, the tip of her nose. Applause again drifted into the room as the song ended.
“The Khan will be happy.”
“The Khan?”
“Something special tonight…” a far-off voice announced.
“It’s always bothered him that I remain a bachelor. The dancers last evening. He wanted me to choose one of the available ladies. To marry.”
Delilah pulled back. “What?”
“According to my sources, one of his wives suggested it. I believe it was the one you were dancing beside?”
“Nima? Why, that…” Delilah’s mind juggled pieces like a jigsaw puzzle. “Little sneak! She was matchmaking.”
“And fairly thorough in her work, you’d have to agree.”
Blood rushed to her cheeks. She bent her head to kiss his neck, hiding her face for the moment.
How much did Weston know about Nima’s methods? Could the news of her lessons in women’s mysteries have gone beyond the curtains of the palace?
The heartbeat of a drum pulsed across the ambassador’s garden courtyard. The ney and tambor followed. The music of the Khanum.
Delilah’s body answered the call with a roll of her hips, the power rising in her, irresistible.
Weston had a power of his own on the rise. He lifted his eyebrow, amused. Expectant.
It was a nice expression to see on a man’s face.
For many years to come, Delilah hoped.
Devlin pulled the car into a turnoff behind a line of hemlock trees. He unsnapped his seat belt, and it recoiled fast and hard.
The rain continued to pound against the roof. Maeve didn’t mind it so much anymore.
“Why are we stopping?”
Her husband reached over and pushed the button releasing her seat belt.
“The car’s not big enough to ask you to dance.” His voice was rough, audible sandpaper in just the right grit to smooth over all her sensitive places. He reached for her, lifting her over the gearshift and onto his lap with such ease she was forced to enjoy exactly how strong he was.
With her knees spread on either side of him, her skirt riding high on her thighs and her back braced against the steering wheel, she pointed out the obvious concerns.
“I’m afraid the car’s not big enough for this either.”
He pressed his mouth over the inner curve of her breast, ready to leave his mark. “Not a problem. I can fix that.”
“Fix what?”
“That fear,” he whispered, taking full advantage of her inability to move. “And what have we here? Why, is that an authentic harem costume?”
She might have laughed, if the hands reaching under her skirt hadn’t distracted her. “Definitely not.”
“Definitely not anything under here.” He sounded impressed.
“Shockingly convenient, isn’t it?” She leaned forward, giving his hands a little more room to do what they did best, and whispered in his ear, “Unzip your pants, sir.”
“Is that an order?” His fingers squeezed her ass tightly.
She swirled her hips under his hands. Nodded once. “Absolutely.”
The rain picked up again, drumming harder on the roof, creating a cave of wonders inside the car. Strange magic, the way fear could turn to desire.
Maeve hummed her own little song into the dark.
And together they danced.
Curious and Maeve and Devlin’s other stories? More tales by Grace D’Otare are available now from Spice Briefs:
THE QUEEN’S TALE
THE PIRATE’S TALE
Hungry for more? Spice Briefs to suit every taste are available now at www.spicebriefs.com, including these other recent titles:
THE BIRTHDAY PRESENT by Alison Richardson
CARNAL MAIG by Christine McKay
AN IMPOLITE SEDUCTION by Alison Richardson
RAVEN by Alison Paige
THE COUNTESS’S CLIENT by Alison Richardson
EYE OF THE STORM by Delilah Devlin
HELL’S ANGEL by Cathryn Fox
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ISBN: 978-1-4268-4356-3
The Tale of the Dancing Girl
Copyright © 2009 by Splendide Mendax, Inc.
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