Maybe she should just …
He caught her hand, pulling her into his body with a tight yank, just as the first heavy thump of the song vibrated along the floor.
“Just let go,” he murmured, so softly she almost missed it. “Forget about how you look, how you feel. Just follow my lead for three minutes. You can do anything for three minutes.”
He moved her slowly, gripping her shoulders and twisting her torso, bending her back and then stroking up along her spine, drawing her up and into his body. He flicked up her arm and she turned to watch the shadowed limb drop back to her side, her instincts kicking in just in time to make sure the fall was graceful and weightless.
Even in the dark, she could see the hesitation in her movements.
He shifted his leg between hers, his foot brushing the inside of hers, making her step where he wanted her to step. At first, his movements were slow and deliberate, the pressure of his hands firm, but as she loosened up and followed the suggestion of his touches, he used less pressure, until even the slightest shift in his posture managed to move her one way or another. He guided her with his hands, his legs, his feet, his weight and size, bending her and twisting her until she felt like she was made of rippling silk. Her only purpose to decorate his body as he created slow, beautiful choreography seemingly on the spot.
She might have floated away if he wasn’t bending her over his thigh, his fingers trailing over the front of her shirt, skirting the bumps of the chain embedded into her skin.
For the briefest second, her doubts came crashing back.
Perfect, impeccable Elijah. And her. A Sigma with scars like ladders up her arms and a foreign chain hooked into her skin that could turn her into a monster at any second.
But then he was pulling her up and his knuckles brushed beneath her palms, her arms obeying the unspoken command to move into a new position, and she lost herself to the dance again, her focus narrowing on his cues, her attention straining in the dark to follow his lead.
It only took a quick flick of his wrist to send her into another dip, and this time she let her whole body unfurl, her arms stretching up above her head as he pressed her into the arc. The second the pressure of his fingers against her stomach eased, she pulled up, searching for his hands again, closing her eyes as he transitioned her into a series of crisscrossing, intertwining steps that had a huge smile breaking over her face as her heartbeat thudded, marvelling at how perfectly he managed to move them both.
He spun her, but it wasn’t a big flourish, only a chance for her to twirl back into his body like a magnet, his hands already raised to catch hers … except he didn’t catch her. He didn’t grab her. He didn’t grip her. He held out his hands and her fingers brushed lightly against his palms as he guided her.
He was conducting her.
She was the one who pressed closer, looking for his next leading touch, his next guiding step, moulding her body to his to try and anticipate him better until she could even feel the uneven breaths that rattled his chest.
His movements became more complicated, but her body only obeyed with more ease, allowing him to lift her, to toss her just enough that his grip was able to switch rapidly from her waist to her thighs. She tightened all her muscles to keep her balance as he spun her around, before he tossed her again, spinning her this time, catching her just as perfectly, his hands cinching her waist as her back landed against his chest.
He raised her, bending her back over his shoulder, his hand running along the outside of her thigh. She stretched out her leg, still following the flow of his subtle touches, even though he was now tossing her around. He suddenly gripped the inside of her thigh, turning her again as she bent her other knee, keeping her elongated leg strong as she caught her free foot and bent completely over his shoulder.
She released the pose as soon as his hands shifted, keeping herself pliant and willowy as his palms wrapped her hips, twirling her again as he lowered her, his feet already nudging hers across the floor in turn after turn after turn, until her breath dropped out of her chest completely and she was too dizzy to do anything but cling to him when he drew her back in.
“Sweet girl,” he said, holding her close, his voice rough, his hands dragging her suddenly up his body, his hips grinding into hers.
The movement was so sudden, so forceful after his drugging, guiding movements that a sound actually hiccupped from her chest, her legs hooking up to cling to his hips on instinct.
He was … hard.
And pushing right between her thighs, the solid length of him pressing tightly to her suddenly throbbing centre like her tights were only a momentary barrier that could be torn away with one of those magical flicks of his wrist.
“I think that’s enough for today.” He suddenly set her down, and she realised his song had already finished, and a new one was playing.
“Sorry,” she choked out, unsure what else to say.
He ducked to whisper against her cheek, “It’s enough for today because reducing us to shadows won’t hide a thing if I put you on your hands and knees and see how prettily you’ll bend with your hair wrapped around my fist and all that sweet-smelling, desperate heat wrapped around my d—”
“Your delightful self-control?” Gabriel was suddenly behind her, spinning her around, but his eyes seemed fixed over her head.
She swayed between them, her thoughts scattered.
What?
What the … hell?
Had Elijah just lost his composure?
“Focus,” Gabriel snapped.
“I stopped, didn’t I?” Elijah returned, a growl still riding his tone. “You try having her damp fucking tights rubbing all over the head of your d—”
“My delightful manners remain intact.” Gabriel pulled her away. “But I’m sure one of the other cavemen can empathise with you—”
“Stop.” Alpha voice. “Bring her back.”
“Ah, shit.” Gabriel froze, and a shudder travelled through Isobel.
“Ignore,” Elijah gritted, the word a breathy snarl. “That.” He made a sound that was halfway between a growl and a groan. “Take … her … away.”
Gabriel marched her over to the bench, snatching up all their stuff in the dark before guiding her back to the door, his steps quickening as the room grew suddenly, ominously silent now that her phone had stopped playing music.
“Fucking hell.” He pushed her out of the door and slammed it behind him, before grabbing her hand and tugging her into a run. “First class?” He shot out over his shoulder, before answering his own question. “It’s not time for your first class yet—”
“Shouldn’t I—” She tried to twist away from Gabriel, worried that Elijah was surging and that running away would only make it worse, but Gabriel interrupted, tugging her harder.
“You shouldn’t.”
“Why not?”