Page 4 of Spinning Out Of Control

Kira walks backward, crooking her finger in a ‘come hither’ movement. It’s not a question. It’s not even a demand, really. It’s a simple statement–come dance with me–said like she knows I’ll follow her.

She’s right, I will.

“As you wish, Miss McKenna,” I say as I set my nearly full glass down on the bar top and follow her to the center of the floor. We find ourselves in the center of the throngs of partygoers, and Kira throws her handsoverheadd, wriggling her hips to the beat of the music.

“Show me what you got, SSF!” She says, twirling and tossing her hair from side to side. Now, I’m not much of a fast song kind of dancer. I can waltz like nobody’s business, but I was never a club-going kind of person. I haven’t perfected the art of the fist pump or the bump and grind. Thankfully, this tune is one that lends itself to a little shimmy of the hips, which I can manage perfectly well. Timing the gyrations of my pelvis to Kira’s more skilled steps, I allow myself to fall into the flow of it.

“SSF, Ren. You play it fast and loose with the nicknames, don’t you?”

“What can I say? Assigning nicknames is one of my many superpowers,” she winks then turns her back to me, giving me a perfect view of that pink dress hugging the curve of her ass. The hemline hits right at mid-thigh, and when she jumps to the bridge of the song, I’m mesmerized by the way her muscled legs flex and strain against the fabric.

There is most definitely something positive to be said for a woman who looks like she’s strong enough to crush your skull between her thighs.

I join in, jumping in time to the music, and then I really get into it. I jump and I jiggle, I wiggle, and I thrust. I whip my head around, allowing my hair to fall out of place. Beads of sweat form on my forehead, and I slide my navy blue sports coat off my shoulders and fling it to the edge of the dance floor. I know I must look ridiculous, the oldest man in a group of young peoplegetting their groove on to Taylor Swift, but I don’t care. How could I when Kira’s grey eyes sparkle as she watches me get into the groove.

The band draws out the closing notes of the tune, and Kira playfully pushes at my chest.

“You’ve got some moves, Ren!” She exclaims, and I preen like a peacock. Especially because her hand is still on my chest, fingers splayed out like she’s mapping me. The band picks up, this time opting for a slower, more melodic tune. This time, my ears immediately pick up on the swoony Ed Sheeran cover. The guy’s work is a staple at any wedding reception worth its salt.

“You’ve been watching me.” Kira says, leaning in slightly. The heat of her palm on my chest sears me through my dress shirt, and I want more of it. I want to know what every inch of her feels like pressed against me. I cover her hand with mine. Her eyes slowly work their way down, landing on the spot where my heart beats under our joined hands.

“I have,” I say softly as I curl my fingers around hers. There’s no point in lying. I watch as her tongue peeks out between her lips, swiping over the bottom one before she looks back up to me.

A beat passes, and then another, and just when I think she’s going to refute me, she nods once.

“I’ve been watching you too, Ren.”

Ren.

My new favorite word.

And with that, I step back, putting a foot of distancebetween us so that I can spin Kira around once before pulling her close for a slow dance. One hand finds purchase on the small of her back and the other intertwines with one of hers. Her free hand travels up to my shoulder, then to my neck, and she trails her fingertips along my hairline. We fall into a simple rhythm. I lead; she follows. I dip her and she goes willingly, her honey blonde hair cascading behind her like a waterfall I’m desperate to sink into.

I squeeze her palm in mine, and she squeezes back. Ed Sheeran’s tune fades out and is replaced by an Elton John song played by the pianist, and Kira doesn’t stop dancing. We don’t talk. I look at her, truly taking my fill now that I’m not the man watching from the corner, but the man who has her attention. Up close, I can see the light dusting of freckles that adorn the bridge of her nose, accenting the tiny diamond stud resting on the left side. There’s a tiny scar above her eye, almost hidden under her dark brown eyebrow. I want to ask her where she got it, if she fell off her bicycle or maybe in a scrap with a schoolyard bully.

And her eyes. They’re not just grey. They’re a cascade of colors, like the morning sky at dawn. Stormy around the edges with crystals of blue and green, a promise of the day to come. They’re captivating. Two mesmerizing pools as dark and mysterious as the San Francisco fog, and right now, they’re focused only on me.

The urge to lean in is strong. I want to bring my facecloser to hers. Want to inhale the scent of her skin. Want to taste the bow of her upper lip.

“Do you like what you see?” she asks, breaking the simmering tension of silence that we’ve found ourselves in. I nearly laugh at the absurdity of the question. Do I like what I see? I’m enchanted by it. Haven’t been able to think of much else other than the curve of her hips or the crinkles by the corners of her eyes in weeks. I’m a fucking awestruck fool.

“What do you think, Kira?” I murmur, inching my lips closer and closer to hers. I want to take them, taste them, claim them, but I won’t until I get her consent. I’m sure it’s coming. There’s electricity here. I knew there would be, if only I could pull myself from my lurking corner and talk to her. An undeniable chemistry pulses between us, and I know she must feel it. Her eyes are falling closed, her hand presses to my chest, her lips are so close to mine, I swear I can feel the atoms vibrating between us.I tilt my head, closing the distance between us and putting an end to the sweet, sweet agony of not knowing what she tastes like. Just as my mouth brushes hers, I feel her smile against my lips. Slowly, she pulls back from me. I lose her mouth but gain her fingers slipping between the buttons of my dress shirt, lightly caressing my bare skin. I’ve never been so happy to have not worn an undershirt.

“Hmm, I think you might be a bit enchanted by me, SSF.”

“You’re a pest,” I hum, neither confirming nordenying her completely true accusation. “Am I meant to guess what SSF stands for? Why haven’t you told me?”

“Because that would be too easy. You think just because you’ve got the whole ‘sexy silver fox’ thing going on I’m going to just bend to your will like a good little girl?” She gives me a sly smirk, and I shiver.

“SSF…sexy silver fox, hmm? That’s a bit of a misnomer, don’t you think? I’ve only got a few streaks of grey.” My eyes glance upwards, as if trying to spot the hair on my head.

“That’s true. But ‘Sexy Business Guy In The Tight Pants Who Looks And Sounds Like A Dead Ringer For Mr. Sheffield From The Nanny’ doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue, and I didn’t know your name until a few minutes ago.”

I chuckle, and Kira’s cheeks turn a beautiful rosy color.

“You make a good point. Besides, I think if I keep spending time with you it won’t be long till my entire head is white as a ghost,” I lean in, brushing my lips against the shell of her ear as I whisper to her.

“I tend to have that effect on people. How do you feel about sneaking away for a bit, Ren?” She purrs, caressing my chest with her long, pink nails. I pull back to see her grey eyes have gone stormy, almost black as they roam over my face.

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