#walk this way
He’d told her to walk, and she’d done it. That had made him smile. It was a simple injection of satisfaction, the kind that could keep him going between meals. It wasn’t just that she’d done it, though, it was the how of it that really got to him.
The sway. That was the main thing. But then her hands had wandered, done a little dance over her hips and then up, over her ribcage and to her neck, bunching hair up around her neck, showing it off to him. She’d remembered the offhand comment about the slender curve, and how much he enjoyed it.
Brownie points were awarded, tallied up in his mind on a figment of a chalkboard.
“Turn.” She’d pirouetted, her skirt flaring around her, almost high enough to reveal what he wanted to see. What he didn’t want to see. Not just yet. What he wanted teased. She even danced for a moment, hips swaying from side to side. Taunting, that was where she was, in that moment.
He considered patting his lap. She’d understand in a moment, and if she didn’t it gave him an excuse to abuse that gorgeous swell of a behind. It would be easy, just the slightest of movements, an inch here, an inch there, and he’d be able to feel the warmth of her body, the submission of her bearing down in a beautiful weight on his legs.
“Now walk away.” For a moment, she pouted. Perhaps she’d seen it in his eyes, the weighing, the balancing. The decision, slipping in through the door like an uninvited desk. When she turned there was no flourish, and she strode away with only the slightest sway.
He smirked.
That was why he did this. Why sparks flew in his head, each one louder than the last, a thousand explosions going off in his mind. To subvert expectations, slip away from what she wanted, even if it meant slipping away from what he wanted. To let her know that no, this wasn’t just for show. That no, this wasn’t just a dance.
And even if it was, he’d be taking the lead, not her beautiful, wonderful, petulant little brat of a mind.
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