Thick Love (Thin Love, #2)(27)
“Did you not hear the part where I said ‘no’?”
Leann’s face was vacant, and she moved her eyebrows up, advertising that the little ‘I dare you to refuse again’ expression on her face was Leann at her fiercest. She was going to try a Guilt Card, one she must have thought I wouldn’t ignore. “A promise, Ransom. Remember that? Who promises to do something and then just flakes out?”
Ouch. Giving me back my own insult stung a little more than it should have and I deflated, ignoring my cousin when that stupid grin made another appearance. Told you. I can’t take disappointing women. I was such a punk.
“Sit down,” Leann said, pointing again at the spot just in front of the mirrored wall. “And watch us.”
Aly’s face was unreadable, but I caught the tension in her eyes when she glanced at me before Leann moved to stand next to her. Both women went over the hip movements as they watched themselves in the mirror. Leann was smaller than Aly, but the younger woman had more natural rhythm. They both swayed, rolled their hips to practice the woman’s steps, the style and movements she’d make while performing the Kizomba.
Then, they came together, Leann leading, their bodies maybe an inch apart. I watched Leann’s footwork, the slow, barely moving side to side steps of the male partner, each one matching the pulse of the music, understated, allowing the woman to subtly dazzle. It was mesmerizing, a controlled yet erotic seduction that shouldn’t have made me forget about Aly’s lie or the fact that my mother was virtually on her own with the little monster all day.
For some reason I didn’t understand or even fully realize, I got lost in the music, that hypnotic sway of limbs and feet and the near erotic push of Aly’s hips constantly gyrating in a twist that shouldn’t be technically possible. This was a dance that called for connection and, grudgingly, I understood why Leann wanted us performing it. There is a very thin line between anger and passion, love and lust. Sometimes the quick pull of rage can be mistaken for the thrill of physical touch. I’d never understood that completely, not until I walked into this room and screamed at Aly, when my mind warred between trying to get her to somehow submit—something I’d never have asked of anyone—and wanting to be touched, wanting to submit myself. Maybe that was why that rage had been so surprising. I hadn’t felt anything close to it for so long and had missed the flame of it bubbling warm and comfortable in my stomach.
Thin lines, thick lines, they sometimes got blurred and Leann knew that, probably bet on our anger to show itself in the dance.
Doubt though, was stronger than my anger or passion and that’s what bumped in my mind when Leann waved me over, directing me to take Aly’s hand in mine. Leann did the directing—hips here, my hand on Aly’s back, elbow extended—it felt very clinical and formulaic, but then Aly pressed against me, so close that my thigh rested right between her legs and her body softened, came to me in answer to a question I’d never ask.
“You need to lead, Ransom, that’s important and you and Aly need to be perfectly in synch. It’s a little bit of semba and a lot of seduction. All in the hips.” Leann guided and it only took me a moment for my body to remember rhythm, stance. I’d been the guinea pig so often that Leann’s instruction, her example, was easy to follow. I’d been doing that for years.
“Ransom, get closer. Aly, show him.”
And just like that, I felt the warmth of Aly’s center on my thigh and the push of her hips, that slow, slow movement of her grazing my dick. “What the fu…”
“Take it easy, I’m not flirting.” She looked up at me, eyebrow cocked in a challenge. I noticed that shy, awkward way Aly had been around me in Leann’s office had disappeared, replaced by a professional, one that didn’t back down from me as I charged in the studio pissed off. “Can you do this?” She looked down at my sore knee.
“I can lead.”
“Wanna prove it?”
I took the challenge from her eagerly, wanted to push that smug expression off her face, wanted, for some reason I couldn’t explain to myself, for her to know I could lead. I’d f*cking lead and she’d follow willingly.
Aly moved her hips, a slow, minuscule grind brushing against me, and then a subtle moving away, a seduction, a sensual game between woman and man. It was a sway I was supposed to follow, something that went deep and as I watched her, felt the tightness of her grip in my hand and the shake of her hips, the music came into me, that drumbeat thumping into my ears, demanding I follow. So, I did, not realizing that my temper had calmed until I felt the rhythm of my heart slowing.
“Step on the one,” Aly said, nodding when I caught on. Still, she wouldn’t smile, as though she was only business, and when I turned, using my arms, the balls of my feet to guide her, I spotted how tightly she squeezed her eyes shut in the mirror behind us.
“Closer,” I heard Leann say, then she pushed on our backs, bringing our middles together so that I could feel Aly’s ribs against my stomach as she breathed. “That’s it. Good, guys. It’s got to be slow, slower than a Tango.” Leann danced behind me, her hands on my waist guiding my movements. “That’s good, Ransom. Now, follow my lead. Aly will show you.”
Leann slowed me with her hands and Aly inched back, holding onto my hand until we danced side by side, hip to hip, and just as quickly as she moved, Leann brushed my leg back with her foot, and Aly followed, curled around that extended leg with the back of her thigh, rubbing against the back of my leg as she arched into me. Her full breasts teased against my chest, nipples hardening and the only thought I had then was that she smelled good. Really good.