His smirk grew larger, as if he could sense my thoughts. Because right then, he snatched my right hand in his, lifted my left hand to his shoulder, then grabbed my waist. And before I knew it, he was pulling us into the whirling dervish of the dancing couples.
Oh shit, wait, I wasn’t ready! I didn’t say it out loud because I knew there were eyes on us but still.
My feet stumbled through the steps, and I clung to his shoulder for dear life as he dragged me across the floor.
“Stop fighting me,” he said. “Let me lead.”
I glared at him. “You lied. This isn’t easy. You’re just dragging me around!”
He rolled his eyes. “Just count. One two three, one two three, one two three. Hold on to me and give in. Trust me and I’ll lead. Stop thinking so damn much, for once in your life.”
He made it sound so easy.
Didn’t he get it?
What he was asking for was the most terrifying thing of all to a girl like me.
I never gave up control. Ever. Sure, maybe sometimes I liked to play submissive in the bedroom, but I was always the one really in control. Always. I just let other people pretend for a while or think they were in control.
At the end of the day, I was always the one really playing them. Really running the show.
But in this moment, Beau was asking that I really give it up—really trust him. Even if it was in such a small thing as keeping me safe on a dance floor for a single night.
It was ridiculous really that I was being so resistant. Ridiculous and dangerous because of what it could cost me if I didn’t play along.
I frowned, concentrating and watching the floor as we kept on. One two three, one two three, I feverishly counted, but before I could start my next set, Beau’s firm hand was on my chin, nudging my face back up. “No cheating and watching your feet. And try not to count out loud. You’re beyond gorgeous and doing so well. You don’t need to.”
I bit my lip, embarrassed. I hadn’t realized I’d been doing it out loud. Shit. Maybe I could just do it inside my head?
But even whispering the counts over and over inside my head would keep me from actually landing the steps and occasionally stumbling.
“Eyes up,” Beau demanded—and he did it in that voice. The one he used on occasion when he was inside me. My eyes snapped up to his face.
“Give in,” he said, yet again. His hand squeezed mine, gripping me more firmly, and then he did the same at my waist.
And I got it. I really got it.
In spite of the fact that it went against every single goddamned impulse inside me, finally, I forced my limbs to relax, and I did what Beau said.
I gave myself over to him. I went sort of… just limp enough to let him lead.
And the craziest thing happened. When I loosened my muscles enough to feel the strength of his intention and momentum… it was… it was wow.
Suddenly, instead of fighting each other and stumbling, we began to glide across the ballroom floor.
One two three, one two three, one two three.
Our bodies swayed and danced with the lilting music, hitting on the downbeat and swirling on the two and three.
The only thing that had ever come close to feeling like this was sex, but in sex I never ever completely gave up control like I was forced to do in this moment—simply because I didn’t know these steps. It was forcing me to fully entrust myself to Beau.
And he was a worthy partner, one deserving of trust. His body was a firm frame I could cling to. The couple of times I still stumbled, he caught me and swept me into the next step. We began to move so smoothly it was like we were liquid, and I couldn’t tell where I stopped and he began. The nipple clamps swayed and swung and tugged downwards on my nipples as we went, lighting triggers of sensation that zapped up and down my body.
And Beau’s eyes—they weren’t scanning the room or on our feet to make sure we didn’t trip—no, his eyes were locked on mine the entire time. And I didn’t look back down at my feet, and I didn’t count to three in my head anymore.
I just watched Beau, held on to him, and trusted him as he swept me around the room, around and around and then back again. It shouldn’t have worked. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing.
I also for the life of me couldn’t look away from him as much as I was starting to want to—because dancing was an act of active trust. Not just a one-time choice. No, it was a choice I had to keep making every moment, continuing to give myself over to his dominance and lead.