The Slow Dance Ch. 03

"Ivy -- it's happening when I touch you, isn't it?" She nodded again. "When my skin is pressed against yours?"

She didn't move, her eyes were fixated on his lips, her breath becoming increasingly shallow, her pulse racing beneath his finger on her wrist.

"And its building somewhere, isn't it?"

She gasped and bit her lip. He felt a shudder go through her and his cock surged with a rush of blood, aching to have her wrapped around him. But no, this wasn't for him, this was for her.

"It's building, this pressure, this heat, a tingling feeling, building somewhere, correct?" he asked, but he full well knew the answer.

At his words she let out another delicious, soft moan and faintly, so faintly, moved her hips as if to push them towards his hand.

Luke lost it. His hand on her knee gripped tighter, his nails digging into the soft flesh at the back of her thigh. He felt them bite into her, could almost feel the instant imprint, the half-moon shape caused by his nails, his grip. For a moment he was terrified it would startle her but she simply moaned louder and thrust her hips again, stronger this time, almost urgent.

He shouldn't have been surprised. He thought about what had triggered all of this -- him chasing her, pinning her wrists, pushing her body against the wall. These sensations were what had tipped her over -- the force was what allowed her to relent, to allow the rush of feelings, to allow her body to overtake her mind. Because he'd been forceful. Because he'd removed her choice.

He stopped his thoughts before they rushed too far ahead to images that would tip him over. He still needed to go slow; he still needed to show her.

He allowed the movements of her hips to guide him. She was rolling them softly now, the movements obviously giving her some of the release she needed from the pressure. With each tilt and roll of her hips, he let his hand slide up a little higher.

He was using all his conscious energy on stopping himself from trembling -- she was shaking enough for the both of them. He could feel her thigh muscles tensing and quaking beneath his touch, her pulse was racing and her whole body seemed to be coiled tightly. She was still looking at him; her mouth parted, her lips full and red, matching the colour of her hair.

He was almost at her pussy now; her moans were getting more frequent, in time with the movement of her hips and his hand. He could feel the damp heat enveloping his fingers and clenched the tips into the dewy skin at the top of her thighs, just below her mound. She practically convulsed and threw her head back for a second before bringing her gaze back to him and staring, wide eyed.

He removed his fingers from the pulse on her wrist; confident that there was no way it would be slowing down now. With his now free hand he began to raise the hem of her skirt. She stilled for a moment but he kept kneading her thigh, allowing his nails to lightly bite into her flesh.

"Keep looking at me," he told her.

He raised her skirt up and over her legs, pushing it up to her waist and suddenly stopped breathing. The sight before him was beyond his wildest dreams, her milky pale thighs, so slender, with their powerful muscles trembling at his touch. His own hand, his skin darker, more tanned. The redness, blending the two -- the spots where he'd latched onto her. Her panties, white, with a distinctly darker patch. A wet patch, confirming it all, as if he needed it confirmed.

He quickly looked back up at her, not wanting her to feel uncomfortable under his gaze. Instead, he looked into her eyes, watched the trembling of her lips. He reached up with both hands and placed them on her hips, just above her panty line. With his thumbs he traced back and forth along that line, every now and then allowing his thumb to go underneath the soft fabric.

"Lift your hips for me, Ivy," and without a pause, she did.

He took the moment instantly, not wanting to give her a chance to question or second-guess. He laced his fingers through the elastic and pulled down. Her panties slid down her smooth skin easily. He pulled them down her thighs, past her knees, all the way down to her feet, before he whipped them off entirely.

She was now nude beneath her skirts and he gave them both a second to calm, to adjust. The scent of her arousal was palpable to him now and his mouth ached with a desire to latch onto her clit, to kiss and lick and suck until she was writhing for him.

Instead, he brought his hands back up to rest on her now-still hips.

"Are you ok?" he asked.

She nodded, and he exhaled softly, running his thumbs up and down her hips bones, causing another shudder to course through her.

"Part your legs."

This was important. He wanted her to want this -- to be in a state where she trusted him, was open with him. He didn't doubt for a second that he would need to take the control back as soon as she acquiesced, she wouldn't be able to handle it otherwise, but the first step needed to be hers.

For an agonising moment, she didn't move. He forced himself not to move either. His thumbs stilled, his hands now simply resting gently on her skin, no teasing or stroking. His gaze never left hers, his breathing calm and regular, his face intent on conveying that she was safe and could trust him.

"I can't," she whispered.

He studied her face. She didn't seem scared, and it wasn't quite embarrassment, but there was definitely a reserve there, hidden behind her eyes.

"Do you want me to do it?"

She nodded, and that was enough for him. He ran his hands down the inside of her thighs, which were pressed together, until he reached her knees. Still looking into her eyes, he stroked his fingers down in between her legs and gripped. He gently pushed them open. She whimpered slightly but didn't resist, her teeth nibbling on her bottom lip.

He kept going until her legs were spread as far as the chair would allow. He watched as the cold air reached her pussy and she moaned softly. He ran his hands firmly up her thighs, allowed his thumbs to dig into her skin slightly, massaging her with his movements.

In one fluid movement he had reached the apex of her legs and she groaned with a loud intensity, her eyes closing for a moment.

"Remember to keep breathing," he told her, watching her face carefully.

She nodded down at him. His left hand moved higher, just moments now from her heat. He kept his fingers there, at the point where her thighs became her pelvis, and reached out his thumb slowly. He grazed it along her moist slit and she jumped, crying out instantly. He'd been prepared for that, his other hand held her down tightly.

"Breathe, Ivy," he warned, and she gasped for air.

He placed his thumb on her again with slightly more force, massaging her lips and sliding up and down her slit, dipping into her wetness and allowing her to get used to the sensations. Once her breathing had become more regular he slipped his other arm around her waist, grasping firmly.

In one motion, he used his arm around her waist to pull her whole body forwards in the chair, sliding her right to the edge where he was waiting. At the same moment, he angled his thumb so that as her body moved forwards, he would slide into her, slowly but with conviction and so that at the first moment of entry her body was pressed against his.

She cried out, arching so much he was worried for a moment that she may break. Her arms instantly rose and wrapped round his neck. Her pussy was insanely tight. His thumb almost burned at the intense warmth of her, his hand already coated in her juices.

He was careful not to move his hand, his thumb, any part of his body. She gasped and mewled, clasped against him. His cock throbbed painfully but he controlled himself, willing his body to stay entirely still. Eventually she relaxed, her gasps coming slower and her shaking subsiding. He used the moment to pull her off the chair entirely with the arm wrapped around her waist. He spun them around together and twisted so that he could lay her down on the floor.

She looked achingly beautiful; flushed and panting. Her skirts were still above her hips and he could see his hand pressed against her, his thumb buried inside her. He groaned and lowered himself down slowly, hovering just above her lips.

"I am going to make you feel so good," he groaned, unable to stop himself.

He dropped his head down completely and covered her lips with his. At the contact she raised her hips up, pressing his thumb harder into her. He groaned into her mouth and licked his tongue against her closed lips.

"Open for me," he growled, and she gasped, allowing his tongue access into her mouth. He licked his tongue against the tip of hers, in slow languorous movements. She began to move her own against his, mimicking his movement. In time to her tongue, he began to swirl his thumb inside of her, causing a guttural moan to rise from her throat and her hips to begin to move in earnest.

He withdrew his thumb and she mewled. He stifled a grin and quickly replaced it with his finger, applying pressure to thrust it into her smooth, tight opening. She screamed and he quickly covered her mouth with his again, catching the noise. He began licking and biting at her lips as she shuddered beneath him, her breasts heaving against his chest.

He began to thrust his finger back and forth inside of her, raising himself up a little so that he could watch her face, her reactions. Her lips were parted in what looked like ecstasy, a high blush upon her cheeks and beads of sweat collecting at her temples. He curled his finger slightly to rub against the top of her walls, beneath her clit, and her eyes fluttered shut, her brows scrunching together, her moans getting louder.

He knew she was close. He could feel her walls getting tighter and tighter, grasping at his finger, pulling him in.

"Ivy," he whispered, his voice strained. She looked up at him. "Do you know what an orgasm is?"

She shook her head, still gasping for breath, still rolling her hips against his hand.

"You're about to," he told her. "It's going to feel scary, it's going to be intense, but I promise you will love it. I promise." He nodded slowly at her, watching her comprehend what he was saying.

"Do you feel that building feeling? The tingling?" he asked. She nodded.

"Follow that feeling."

He watched her shut her eyes and drop her head to the side, her face being warmed by the fire. He leant down and kissed her neck, licking slowly up, feeling the fast pulse of her blood coursing lust through her veins. She cried out and raised her hips and he moved his thumb to her clit but stopped himself. She would be too sensitive, it would be too much.

And so he placed his thumb just to the side, knowing that the movement there would be enough to create the friction she would need to tip her over. He was entirely right. She flicked her face back up to look at him, shock twisting her features into something between pleasure and pain.

"Let it happen," he told her, applying more pressure, moving his thumb slowly, thrusting in and out of her.

"Oooh," she whimpered, straining her neck, tensing every muscle in her body.

He cried out with lust, twining his fingers through her thick hair, urging her on. Her whimpers were getting louder and louder, and he nodded softly at her, letting her know it was ok. Her head fell back and she moaned, clenching her fists at the same time as the walls of her pussy clamped down around his finger. Her breasts were heaving and he became transfixed with the desire to loosen her bodice, let her feel the cool air on her skin. Her back arched and she screamed out, he could feel her walls clamping down on him, could sense the orgasm ripping through her body.

He slowed his movements but kept stroking her, letting her ride it out until her moans turned to whimpers, her head shaking back and forth softly. He stilled and slowly pulled out of her. Her muscles relaxed and she slumped to the floor.

He quickly lay down next to her, pulling her soft body into the warmth of his own. He cradled her head against his shoulder, kissing her forehead, her temple, her lips. Stroking her hair away from her face, he gazed down into her eyes, still darkened with lust.

"You're fucking perfect, you know that?" he asked her. Her eyes widened as he swore and he chuckled.

"Never mind," he whispered, "just rest."

She quickly nuzzled into him, her small hand placed on his stomach, stroking absentmindedly. He resisted the lust that this caused in him, not wanting to push her, not wanting to take it any further tonight. He closed his eyes and listened to the crackling of the fire, focused on the smell of Ivy that now permeated his clothing, felt the heat of her body pressed against his. Once he could hear her breathing shallow and felt her completely relax, he knew that she was asleep. He allowed himself to drift off, a smile upon his lips, a warm contentment seeping through him, a feeling that he hadn't felt in such a long time.

It wasn't long before he forced himself to wake. He didn't even want to imagine the reactions it would cause for someone to find him and Ivy together in the morning, curled up like this. Reluctantly, he untangled his legs from hers. She was sleeping deeply and merely rolled over, shivering slightly at the sudden absence of his body heat.

He slipped her arms under her slender body and lifted her up off the ground. Moving slowly, he carried her over to her four-poster bed. He laid her down on the sheets and hesitated for a moment. She was still fully dressed and he was unsure of the right thing to do. On one hand, it seemed ludicrous that, after what they'd just done, he'd be prude about undressing her. However, he hadn't seen her naked and if he was completely honest he wasn't sure he could handle it in a gentlemanly manner, having not actually found release himself.

Resigned, he merely lifted her up slightly to pull the sheets down and then lay them over her, her head resting against the pillow, her auburn hair spread out fanned out around her. She looked like something from a Fairy Tale.

He paused, lost in thought. He'd assumed she had Fairy Tales, romance books, but the events of this evening led him to believe otherwise. He realised that the thought didn't really surprise him. The King being so protective over her, it made sense that he wouldn't allow anything even close to a bawdy book to enter her innocent hands.

This made up his mind for him. He leant down and planted a chaste kiss upon her lips before exiting the room as quietly as he could. Once the door was closed softly behind him, he moved as silently as possible down the hallway, down the stairs, and out of the castle doors.

He rode quickly down the long road that lead to the village. It registered only slightly in his mind that he seemed to be riding so fast in an effort to stop his thoughts from catching up with him. He didn't want to consider the future -- the longer lasting repercussions of what had just happened. It wasn't so much Ivy, but himself that may be adversely affected by this night.

He reached his house and quickly unlocked the door, racing up the stairs to his bookcase. He scanned the titles quickly, looking for the right book. Eventually he found it and quickly pulled it from the shelf. He flicked through it, making sure it was suitable, reminding himself of the plot. Satisfied, he pocketed it, it being only small, and raced back down to his horse, tied up outside.

Setting into a quick gallop once again, he raced back to the castle. Getting back in at this time would be risky. People would be accustomed to the sound of people leaving late at night but not coming in. He moved as cautiously as he could, tying his horse up outside the gates. He didn't want to risk disturbing the other horses.

He made his way quickly up to the side of the house and snuck through the doors that led to the west wing. The hallway and stairs were completely deserted. With care, he made his way up the staircase, ensuring to miss the steps that he knew creaked with the slightest bit of pressure. He tip-toed along the hall to Ivy's bedchamber, slipping back inside through the door, careful not to open it too wide and cause it to creak.

She was still lying as he had left her, a serene glow seemed to be illuminating her face but he chided himself for having such a romanticised thought. She's just a girl, he reminded himself. But he couldn't help picturing her as some sort of magical being, a fairy or nymph, with her flaming red hair and pale, white skin.

He softly sneaked over to her dresser, easily finding a pen and some paper. He scrawled a note and slipped it into the first page of the book, ensuring that some of the paper poked out of the top where she would notice it.

He made his way to her bedside and gently lifted the corner of her pillow. She sighed softly and he stilled, waiting for her to settle again. It only took a moment before she was breathing deeply once more. He took the opportunity and slipped the book under the corner of the pillow where she was sure to find it in the morning.

With his mission complete, he backed away from her slowly. He wanted to take in the sight of her, the smell, wanting to emblazon the moment in his memory. His Ivy, he thought, before scolding himself at the words. Getting attached would get him nowhere, he told himself.

With that, he turned softly on his heel and padded out of the room, as quietly as he had entered. He quickly tripped down the stairs and out of the castle doors. He strode confidently now to his horse outside of the gates, sure that no one would find it odd for him to be leaving at this time if they were to see him -- his duties often kept him at the castle late.

He untied his horse and leapt up into the saddle agilely. This time he allowed himself to trot slowly along the road to home, only now permitting the full weight of his thoughts to cascade down around him. Only now did he let himself fully consider just what it was he had done.