The Dancing Master (Stolen Moments)

The Dancing
Master

By Paris
Alexander

Susanna Marriott closed her eyes and tried to
feel
the music with her feet, as her
dancing master had instructed.
 
No, it
was even worse when she
couldn't
see where she was
going.
 
Timidly, she tried a few more
steps.
 
Now her feet
were
completely tangled
up.
 
She
stopped dead in the middle of the floor, letting the music swirl around her in
a discordant
wail .

Her partner heaved a martyred sigh and waved
away the governess who was sitting at the piano.
 
"Take a break,
Favers
.
 
We'll call you when we need you again."

The governess rose from the piano stool with a
look of relief, curtsied, and left the room muttering about a nice hot cup of
tea.

Her partner's attention focused back on
her.
 
"Miss Marriott.
 
You are not concentrating."

"I can't do it.
 
I just can't."
 
She spoke to a button on his waistcoat, not
daring to lift her eyes any higher to see the disappointment written in his
face.
 
She hated
for
him
to think she was not trying, but even more than that, she hated for
him to think she was clumsy or gauche.
 
His good opinion meant so much to her.

"You know I have promised your father that
I would have you ready to make your come out in just a few short weeks."
 
His voice displayed his irritation
only too
clearly.

Her eyes filled with tears and she blinked hard
to stop them from falling.
 
That was part
of the problem.
 
She
didn't
want to come out in society and have to spend her days making interminable
morning calls and dancing with dull old men at parties just because they asked
her to.

She blamed her current dancing master for her
lack of enthusiasm for dancing with other men.
 
Nigel
Petherick
was everything a woman could
want in a dance partner: he was handsome, kind, wealthy and he even held a
minor title.
 
Not that she cared a jot for
his wealth or his title.
 
She was most
desperately in love with him, and had been ever since she was five years old.
 

What was the use of a come-out when she
didn't
want to marry anyone but Nigel?
 
She
wouldn't
marry anyone but him.
 
No one else made her breath come short when
she caught sight of him.
 
No one else
could make her feel hot all over just by looking at her.
 

She thought of no one else in the dark of the
night, when she was alone in her bed and no one could see just where her hands
had strayed.
 
She thought of him when she
panted in need, secretly touching herself and pretending it was
him
.
 
She wanted him
hands on her body, his mouth kissing hers, until he had taught her all the
secrets she was longing to learn.
 

Why should she care about her come out when she
had a man to catch?
 
A
man who seemed quite oblivious to all her attempts to catch him.
 
It was enough to make her stamp her feet with
frustration.
 
No wonder she was having
trouble dancing when her thoughts were so disordered.

"Teach me to waltz, then," she begged
him.
 
At least when she was waltzing with
him, he held her in his arms.
 
She would
endure anything for the sake of his touch.
 
It made her feel weak at the knees and all
trembly
inside.
 

"You won't need to waltz.
 
You're
a debutante.
 
It's
far too
scandalous.
 
Favers
would pitch a fit if she knew."

"Miss
Favers
is
taking a break.
 
She need never
know.
 
Please?"
 
She gave him her most dazzling smile, the one
she had practiced in the mirror for weeks.
 
She moved closer to him until the tip of her
breast just brushed his arm.
 
Her nipple
instantly contracted to a hard peak and she had to fight not to gasp aloud at
the jolt of desire that went coursing through her body.
 
"I promise I will concentrate as hard as
I can and not tread on your toes."

"Why do I always let you get your own
way?" he muttered to himself.
 
"All right, let's waltz."

Nigel took Miss Marriott in his arms for a
waltz, gritting his teeth with the effort of keeping her the requisite six
inches away from him.

The favor her father had extracted from him was
getting harder and harder every day - along with a certain part of his male
anatomy.
 
Being so close to the
delectable Susanna, now without even so much as a chaperone in sight, was sheer
torture.

And
teaching her to dance so she could dance with other men?
 
Pure hell.

He'd
asked her father for permission to court her, but her father had
refused.
 
Susanna was too young to know
her own mind, the older man had claimed.
 
She had not yet gone into society, and deserved to have a wide field
from which to choose a husband.
 
But
would Nigel please teach her to dance in the meantime?
 
She lacked confidence and could do with the
practice.

Besotted, he had agreed, just so he could be
close to her.

And now
look at him.
 
He had an
erection so hard he could break stones with it and there was no relief in
sight.

"You're scowling."

"Nonsense," he snapped.
 
"I never scowl."

"And now you are snapping at
me."
 
Her lower lip pouted into a
sulk as she pulled away from him.
 
"I can't help it if I am no good at dancing.
 
I swear there must be something wrong with my
legs.
 
They just don't work like other
people's legs do."

A wicked thought crossed Nigel's mind.
 
A thought so wicked that he should have
dismissed it immediately and punished
himself
for even
thinking it, but it had already taken root in his mind.
 
"Something wrong with your legs?"
he said slowly, allowing the wickedness to blossom.
 
"
Come,
let me
take a look at them to make sure they are not the problem."

Without hesitation, she raised her dress just
above her ankles.
 

Such beautiful ankles she had.
 
Slim and shapely like the rest of her. He
swallowed hard.
 
He had not seen so much
of her since she was a child and ran around tumbling on the lawn getting grass
in her hair.

"Well, do you see anything wrong with
them?"

He dropped to his knees and took one
slippered
foot in his hands.
 
"Nothing obvious.
 
But I will have to check them more closely to
make sure."
 

His breathing came short as he ran his fingers
lightly,
and then again with more confidence, over first one
ankle and then the other.
 
"There is
nothing wrong with either ankle.
 
Maybe
the problem is higher up."

She lifted her dress above her knees and looked
critically down at them.
 
"You think
the problem may be there?"

He ran his hand up her
stockinged
calf to her knees.
  
He was playing with
fire, he knew it, but he could not make himself stop.
 
He had loved her so well, and for so long,
that he would take any excuse he could find to touch her.
 
"They are slightly knobby," he said
with a shrug, holding back his laughter at the outraged look on her face.
 
"But nothing that
would stop you from dancing like a butterfly."

"Butterflies don't dance.
 
They fly."
 
Her voice was a liquid pout that washed over
him like finely aged whisky.

His hands stilled at her knees.
 
"Maybe the problem is higher
still."

She lifted her skirts a fraction higher, until
he caught a glimpse of the lace on her pantaloons.
 
He'd
not thought
that his cock could get any harder with wanting her, but it did.
 
The blood rushed from his head so fast that
he felt dizzy and his groin ached with need.

"Well, can you see anything wrong?"
 
Her voice
was tinged
with impatience.

Anything wrong?
 
No,
everything
was very right.
 
Very right indeed.
 
So
right that he was just about wetting his breeches like a
schoolboy
at the sight of her.

He swallowed again.
 
"You are wearing pantaloons.
 
It makes it difficult to see all that I would
like to."
 
Heaven help him if they
were to
be interrupted
now.
 
If he could not slake just a tiny part of his
desire, he would die of frustration before the day was out.
 
Taking pleasure with
his
own
hand would never be enough.
 
Not after this.
 
Not ever again.
 
"I
think it would be wise of you to take them off."

She opened her eyes very wide, as if seeing him
in a new light.
 
"Take off my
pantaloons?"

And
if her father should catch them, he was as good as dead.
 
The man would run him through for taking such
liberties with his daughter.
 
But
he could not help himself.
 
The devil on his shoulder made him
continue.
 
"Yes.
 
Definitely.
 
Take them off."

"If you say so."
 
Her voice was doubtful, but
still she reached under her skirts and undid the ties that help her pantaloons
together, letting them fall at her feet.
 
She kicked them out of the way and lifted her skirts back up.
 
"Can you see better now?"

He
wasn't
sure if he
was in heaven or in hell.
 
Yes, he could
see just fine.
 
He could see
everything.
 
Including
that little triangle of hair at the apex of her thighs, the hair that hid her
treasure.

As he looked at her, she shifted a little, her
thighs moving slightly apart.
 
Yes, that
was even better.
 
Now he could see her
nether lips, pink and glistening with moisture.
 
She wanted him, too, though she might not realize just how much her body
was betraying her secrets.
 
He let out an
audible groan.