Compromised, page 25
part #1 of MetroGen Forbidden Love Duets Series
“It smells great, and not like the pancakes from before.” They’d gone to the North Star Cafe back in November and tried the pancakes and Light Speed Cake Tour.
“The menu said it as Ach-To island fowl, which I believe is chicken. I also ordered a few slices of the Dark Matter, better known as better than sex flourless chocolate cake.”
“Which I maintain you falsely advertised.”
“Do you want to eat now or do one of my other planned activities?” He kissed her hand, and Angela was happy to follow his lead.
“Is it studying?”
“Could be, since it will be an anatomy lesson,” he said mysteriously.
“Is it sex?”
“No.”
“Is it better than sex?”
He took both of her arms and spun her against the wall. “Depending on who you ask, it’s debatable. I admit it’s one of my fantasies.”
They were so very far from the hospital now. Angela’s lips curved. “Different from the Princess Leia bikini fantasy? Or my dancing stripper fantasy? I’m in.”
“Follow me.” He took her down the hallway and pointed out rooms as they went. “Powder room, master bed with full bath. Guest bedroom, guest bathroom.”
“So, the guest bedroom is mine tonight.”
He kissed her hair. “Very funny. I also got you a present.”
“You did?”
“In here.” They stopped at a closed door at the end of the hallway. “This is my dance studio.”
Behind the door was a large, empty, hardwood-floored room containing almost nothing except a table, an expensive stereo system, and a large gift box perfectly wrapped with a ribbon and her name on it.
She opened the box and gasped. Inside the tissue paper was a light blue tulle and chiffon floor-length dress. “Michael, it’s gorgeous.”
“Ever since your birthday, when you told me you’d thought dancing wasn’t for you, I thought about teaching you to dance here,” he said.
“Teach me to dance?” Angela whispered in surprise. He remembered how she’d revealed her failed inner ballerina?
He frowned. “And when I did the lesson for my fake Valentine’s Day countdown date, it felt wrong. Teaching her. Touching her. It should have been you.”
His admission almost stole her breath. “Michael. It’s okay. I’m a big girl. It hurt, but we weren’t together. You didn’t do anything wrong. Besides, you’re basically a professional dancer. I can’t forbid you to never dance with anyone else again. If you announced you wanted to go pro in ballroom dancing, I’d support it.”
She might have been stretching the truth there. Still, it was a jealousy issue of hers, not because Michael was in the wrong.
“Planned choreography is work.” He took her hand and twirled her into his arms. “Teaching someone to dance… one on one. It’s like making love.”
She smiled up at him. “I’d count the time you stripper danced in my living room to “Shaking Hands” close to making love. Or is there a different word for it?”
“Go put on the dress, meet me back here, and prepare to be taught.” He guided her to the guest bedroom.
Angela realized underneath the dress was another surprise. He’d bought her silver dance shoes in her size, and a brassier and panty set made of similar silver lace.
She started dressing and wasn’t shocked to see he knew her bra size. However, somehow, he’d successfully gotten her a dress that fit. She’d needed the combined coaching of Eliza, Kayla, and Stella to get a decent wardrobe.
“Okay, I’m ready.” Angela walked out into the hall and came to a sudden stop.
Chapter 44
Michael had changed too… into a tux with a top hat and tails.
She’d have tried to figure out how he changed so fast, except she realized he’d been wearing the black pants and dress shirt waiting for her to arrive.
He was standing in a very odd posture, eyes fixed on her dress, pupils dilated.
“Hey, Michael? Dance lesson?” She blushed red and felt the bodice of her dress. Had one of her boobs fallen out? The edges were low, with a hint of the bra visible.
Michael shook himself and presented his elbow to her. “Anything for you, my lady.”
Placing her arm in his, she said, “Should I know who you are?”
“It’s Fred Astaire in Top Hat. He’s a famous tap dancer who falls in love with a curvy, blonde Ginger Rogers while on vacation. It gets complicated because there’s a whole mistaken identity where she thinks he’s someone else.”
“And you had this dress lying around the house?”
“Atlantis will deliver almost anything in two days.”
“Except it fits, which is usually impossible for me. Did you measure me in my sleep?”
“It’s a Miari brand; it’s made to be flexible. Besides, I danced long enough to tell which costumes will and won’t work for different shapes. Aren’t I familiar with yours?”
It made her blush again. “What are you teaching me?”
He instructed her. “We’re going to do a waltz. Put your left hand on my shoulder and I’ll put my right hand on your waist.”
“Is this from the King and I?” she asked, moving her hand to his taller shoulder.
“No, they actually danced the polka. It’s in two-quarter time. The waltz is slower, in three-quarter time. Also, not every polka involves an accordion. Right hand, please.” He took her right in his left.
“I don’t understand this. Why isn’t your hand on my shoulder and mine on your waist if I’m shorter?” She had to lift her head to see him, as usual.
“Because I’m the man, and I’m leading. Whoever’s hand is on the waist gets more control.”
“The evil patriarchy of dance.”
Michael pulled her flush against him, draping her against his taller, more muscular body. “Do you want to lead? Or can you move with me and follow?”
He was practically stealing the air from her lungs. “I can follow.”
“Well, I’d better teach you the box step.” He released her waist and stood next to her, still holding her hand. "Step back right. Then left. Then bring the right foot next to the left. Now step forward left. Forward right. Left next to right. Which is why you count one, two, three. One, two, three."
“I kinda of got it. What are you doing while I do this?”
“I go forward first and then back. Don’t worry about me, though. One, two, three. One, two, three.”
She almost tripped over her feet. “I feel silly.”
“Don’t worry. You’re fine. With a good partner, it can be very smooth.”
“I don’t see how this is like making love.” This was why she’d given up on dance in childhood. Her body wasn’t suited for it.
“Really?” He stepped back in front of her, arm back on her waist. “I’ll move with you. Don’t think.”
She tried and immediately crashed into his chest.
“Too much thinking. You have a rhythm inside. Your world revolves around the beat of the heart. This is slower.”
“I’m not a dancer.”
“Everyone can be a dancer. Close your eyes. Feel the music. Let me lead you, and trust me to put you where you belong.”
She shut her eyes, focusing instead on his body in front of hers. “Okay. I can do this.”
“Don’t worry, angel. I have you.” Michael must have pressed a button on his phone or something because Come Away with Me by Norah Jones began to play.
He slowly counted, guiding her, and she did find the flow. Despite his recommendation to feel the music, mostly she felt Michael matching her movements.
She opened her eyes and found Michael was staring directly at her.
Then he stopped.
“What happened?” she asked.
He brought her hand to his lips. “The song ended. This is why dancing is like making love. I learn your shape, the beat of your pulse, the way you are made for me.”
Angela found she couldn’t tear her gaze away from him now. He was handsome as hell in the tux, but it was the way his eyes consumed her, like she was the only thing in his world, that fascinated her.
“Is another song going to start?” she asked.
“Doesn’t matter. We’re done.” He swung her around to kiss her, long and hot.
“This was a quick lesson,” Angela said, ready to collapse from the building hormones.
“It was enough. Your dress is the problem.” He caressed up her back.
“You bought me the dress, and everything under it.”
“Yes, it’s maddening for me to know exactly the type of lace cupping your breasts. Everything you’re wearing I bought. Nothing that isn’t mine is touching you, which is the closest I can get to you being wholly mine.”
She moved his hand from her waist to the thin strap of the dress. “I can think of another way to be yours. Buying me stuff doesn’t change how I was already yours.”
“It’s different. I can’t explain. It just is.”
“Now what?”
“I had a great plan. We were going to dance, have dinner, and then I was going to take this dress of yours off in my bedroom.”
She sighed and went to move away. “Okay, dinner.”
“It can wait because Fred Astaire is about to go full caveman and rip your dress off. What I want is you to ride me here, in that dress. How about this? Since I got to lead, you lead now?” Michael spread his arms, waiting for her next move.
“Shoes off,” Angela said. It shortened him by about an inch. “Still taller than me. Kneel.”
He obeyed, his gaze never leaving her. Instead of towering over her by a foot, she was now a foot taller than him. She ran her hands down his broad shoulders, enhanced by the cut of the tuxedo jacket. Bending down, she started to unbutton it, and he groaned.
It made her pause before she understood he had a great view down the front of her dress. “You doing okay?”
“Never better,” he tried to sound normal.
She shoved the jacket off and went to work on the vest. Once it joined the jacket on the floor, she went for the black bowtie. “How do I get this off?”
“Pull right here.” Their fingers touched again, and the heat only increased. This was a moment, intimate, private, almost worshipful to undress him, peeling away each layer to the man beneath.
The shirt and T-shirt beneath were easier, and she stopped to admire him. Her man never went easy on himself, not at the hospital, not in the gym. His chest was chiseled and glorious, down to the dark hair of his six-pack.
She went ahead and kissed her way from his right shoulder diagonally to his left hip. When she got on her knees to reach the tattoo, she licked it for good measure and undid his belt.
Something near the fly of his pants jumped at her. She petted it, causing him to groan again. “Still okay?”
“Definitely regretting the letting you lead part.”
“This was your idea,” she reminded him, pushing his pants down. “Get these off.”
He stood up, face almost glowing with hunger, and kicked the pants off. His erection strained against the cotton of his boxer briefs. “You are going to kill me.”
“I’ve hardly touched you… yet.” She came up to him and pressed her body against his. No matter how much science she knew about the body, it always amazed her how different her body was than his. She was curved and soft in places where the magic of testosterone had firmed and toughened him. Even her hair was fine versus the coarseness of his hair.
She tugged at his waistband. “What do male dancers wear under their tights?”
“A dance belt. Like a jock strap. To prevent accidents.” He gasped at the end because she got the underwear down, freeing his cock.
“What kind of accidents?” she asked, rubbing her waist against his cock.
“Not the kind you’re about to cause, Angel.” He tensed his arms a few times without reaching for her.
“You aren’t touching me yet.”
“You haven’t told me to. And if you did, you would find yourself very naked, very fast,” he warned her.
“I thought you said you wanted me to ride you in this dress.”
“If you don’t hurry, it’ll be in pieces.”
She lifted her skirt. “Take my thong off.”
His pupils were blown with arousal, but he managed to get his hands under her skirt and slide it off. Michael blinked hard because the thong had evidence of her equally powerful need.
“You’re going to give me a heart attack,” he murmured.
“Probably not, though you will get to sinus tach.”
Her nipples were peaked, their outlines visible through her dress. The lacy bra and thin dress fabric were no match for her desires. Her body recognized it was inches from being suckled, laved, and pleasured.
“Lay down on your back,” she told him. He hissed as he stretched out. “You okay? You cold?”
“The part of me that notices those things isn’t working right now.” His cock stood straight up, equally uncaring about the temperature.
Angela hiked up her skirt and started crawling up his body, starting at his feet. “How’s this?”
Michael’s eyes rolled back because she straddled him, teasing her slit against his cock, their naked hips covered by her skirt. “Angel, if you don’t ride me right now, I’m going to have you on your back.”
She suspended her body over his, resting her weight on her arms, and slid him halfway inside her. His eyes bulged, and his arms shook. “This better?”
“This is torture.”
She glided the rest of the way, drawing him fully in. The delicious full completion and her channel gripping him tightly made her purr, “Isn’t this the dance you wanted?”
He let her keep his hands on his, moving his hips in tandem with her. “I don’t care. Don’t stop riding me. Just like that, Angel.”
They kissed, breaths and sighs mingling together. Their hands stayed entwined, never parting, their bodies dancing steps older than the waltz.
The dancing must have pressed every one of Michael’s kink buttons, because his movements became uncoordinated. Angela hadn’t reached the edge yet, though she had a solution that would help them mutually.
She slipped her bra and spaghetti straps down, freeing her breasts. Michael didn’t hesitate to respond. He surged upward, pulling her down to latch onto her aching nipples. His delicious suction made her arc peak, moaning his name. She might have been on top, but now he set the rhythm, driving her toward the precipice.
They met it together, screaming in one voice, the heat burning through them.
They collapsed with her dress at her waist.
He wrapped his arms around her. “So, was this the best dance lesson ever?”
“It better have been your best dance lesson ever,” she fake admonished him.
“I don’t know. I had an excellent pas de deux partner from the New York Ballet… oww!” She’d whacked him on his arm. “Hey!”
“It’s not funny!”
He rolled them to get on top of her. “She was old enough to be my mother. Our practice was interrupted when her husband showed up and took my spot. He showed me what it meant to dance with the most beautiful woman in the world.”
“Her?”
“She was a skinny, flat, redhead who had a mouth like a sailor. I’m talking about you now.”
“You think I’m beautiful?”
“Are you kidding?” Michael wove his hand through her hair. “I wish you could see yourself the way I do. It doesn’t matter if you're wearing the old or new clothes. You have always been beautiful.”
“Oh. It’s strange—being with you. You want me as I am. You don’t want to change me, and you love my body how it is. When I’m with you, I’m happy to be me.”
He rested his forehead against hers. “I need you to know, I’m not proud of the way I handled things between us over Tiffany. I couldn’t find my balance and I lashed out at you, the person I cared about the most. It wasn’t fair, and I hope I’m making up for it now.”
“The two of us could have handled it better. Pride goeth before the fall. I think we fell far enough.” She used the words of his brother. “No one is an island, but we’re all under siege.”
He kissed her gently. “I’m sorry I called you heartless. No one cares for hearts more than you.”
She placed their intertwined hands over his heart. “It’s a pump, and the seat of the soul.”
It was completely possible they’d have stayed there for who knew how long. In the silence, though, a faint squeaking sound was audible down the hallway.
Taussig.
“Wow.” She wiggled out from under him and righted her dress. “I can’t wait till you teach me to polka.”
“One, two, three—and,” he said, imitating Yul Brenner and finding his pants and briefs.
Chapter 45
Angela woke up to the sound of Taussig whining, and sat up, careful not to disturb Michael. She got grumpy from going without sleep on call. Michael got confused and uninhibited, so it was best to let him sleep while he could.
They’d made love again and eaten dinner in his king sized bed until they fell asleep. Taussig had been happily engaged in destroying her second squeaky toy at the time.
Angela put on another new wardrobe addition, a silky blue robe, and went to check the situation. Her dog was waiting by a door in the kitchen, checking down the stairs and then at Angela.
It was easy to understand what had occurred. Taussig had pushed the door open and must have lost the squeaky toy down the stairs. Without permission from Angela to enter a new area, she was getting worked up.
“Okay, girl. Come on.” Michael hadn’t mentioned that door during their admittedly very short tour.
She went down the stairs, Taussig at her heels, and turned on the light.
The basement was a fully furnished second master suite.
There was no doubt in Angela’s mind this room had belonged to Michael’s brother Joshua. From the framed badges of an Army Ranger to the photos of Kate Upton in a bikini.
It was exactly where she’d have expected for a guy in his twenties to live between deployments.
