Post by Kamish on Feb 21, 2008 6:15:11 GMT -5
166. Tango
The familiar beat of the music, the pattern and speed of your feet -- quick, quick, slow -- the press of her body against yours. The silk of your skirt brushing your calfs as you move, support of her palm on your back, her fingers on your ribs. The firmness of her fingers over yours, guiding you through the steps. The annoyance - she is the male in this dance, you the female.
The feeling of control, despite that, as your feet move with more grace than you can believe you're capable of, the way her cheeks are flushed and her eyes on your throat, though yours are fixed past her shoulder.
The delight as she shivers - your leg hooked around hers, your hips pressed together, your eyes meeting once, quickly - before you step over her foot, teasing, and sway your hips with the step. The annoyance you glimpse in her eyes as she follows through with her step, coming back around in front of you. You avert your eyes again, a wicked smile on your lips.
The feeling of being desired as you begin again -- quick, quick, slow -- the feeling of femininity and the knowledge that your seductive steps are slowly driving her insane, that soon her control will snap.
The sway of your hips, the way your skirt flutters around you as you show off, pushing her one step closer. The complexity of the dance, but the simplicity of the expression in her eyes. Hunger. Desire. Wanting. Possessiveness.
And then the moment you know it's changed, when her hands are no longer guiding, but controlling, when her fingers leave your back, pinning your wrists. The lust in her eyes, and the feeling of triumph you feel.
And damn you're glad the Pack taught you Tango.
The familiar beat of the music, the pattern and speed of your feet -- quick, quick, slow -- the press of her body against yours. The silk of your skirt brushing your calfs as you move, support of her palm on your back, her fingers on your ribs. The firmness of her fingers over yours, guiding you through the steps. The annoyance - she is the male in this dance, you the female.
The feeling of control, despite that, as your feet move with more grace than you can believe you're capable of, the way her cheeks are flushed and her eyes on your throat, though yours are fixed past her shoulder.
The delight as she shivers - your leg hooked around hers, your hips pressed together, your eyes meeting once, quickly - before you step over her foot, teasing, and sway your hips with the step. The annoyance you glimpse in her eyes as she follows through with her step, coming back around in front of you. You avert your eyes again, a wicked smile on your lips.
The feeling of being desired as you begin again -- quick, quick, slow -- the feeling of femininity and the knowledge that your seductive steps are slowly driving her insane, that soon her control will snap.
The sway of your hips, the way your skirt flutters around you as you show off, pushing her one step closer. The complexity of the dance, but the simplicity of the expression in her eyes. Hunger. Desire. Wanting. Possessiveness.
And then the moment you know it's changed, when her hands are no longer guiding, but controlling, when her fingers leave your back, pinning your wrists. The lust in her eyes, and the feeling of triumph you feel.
And damn you're glad the Pack taught you Tango.