“I’m not going to tell you. I’m going to show you.”

The blindfold was secure, but I could see dancing light just bleeding through the bottom. He’d brought the candle close.

I sucked in another hard gasp as I felt hot liquid dribble onto my collarbone. It didn’t hurt, but it was shocking.

“What is that?” I asked.

“It’s hot wax.”

I was trembling as I waited for him to do it again.

It landed on my stomach that time, and I writhed, pulling against the restraints. It still wasn’t painful, just so intense I could hardly stand it.

I moaned as he poured a few drops onto my inner thigh, my upper arm, the inside of my knee, alternating to the sensitive spots on my body, but avoiding all of the blatantly sexual ones.

He trickled more wax onto my neck, my wrists, my open palms, and the tops of my feet.

I panted, in a state.

He dripped tiny amounts onto my fingers, my ankles, my hips, my ribs.

I was close to begging for just one touch of his fingers.

He drizzled just drops onto my knees, the bend of my arms, the valley between my breasts.

“Please,” I uttered, wanting, needing anything beyond this delicious teasing game of his.

His answer was to drip a generous amount onto my quivering breasts. I cried out. It still wasn’t a cry of pain, but one of want.

He splashed some directly onto my pelvis, making my hips jerk, then circle in a plea.

Finally, mercifully, he put his hands on me, rubbing the soft wax into my skin, massaging, caressing, squeezing, working.

His hands were reverent, worshipful, devoted, loving; magic.

When he finally moved on top of me, and pushed his hips between my thighs, I was primed.

He buried himself to the hilt with one deep thrust. I’d already been on the edge, and I came, crying out, with a few heavy thrusts.

He pulled out of me, and I moaned a protest, but he returned to me quickly.

I stilled, listening intently as I heard the faintest buzzing sound from directly in front of me.

He positioned himself at my entrance again, working himself in more slowly this time, but just as deep, and when he was buried, I felt what the buzzing sound had been. Some sort of vibrator that was attached to a cock ring, I assumed, because it left me as he pulled out, then made startling contact again when he was buried home, making direct and perfect contact with my clit.

He was relentless, taking me over the edge again before he took his pleasure, spilling deep inside of me and staying buried deep for a long time, kissing my neck, my mouth, murmuring the sweetest things to me. “I love you, Danika. You being mine is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Yes. Yours. Every one of my heartbeats is for you. Every breath, Tristan.”

“Oh, boo. You beautiful girl,” he groaned. “You’re giving me too much.” He trembled. “You’re spoiling me rotten.”

“Every heartbeat. Every breath, Tristan. Yours.”

After, as we lazed in the bath and scrubbed the excess wax off, he asked me, “Did you like that?”

“Yes. I’d have guessed that it would hurt more.”

“It’s a low temperature candle, very soft wax. I know you don’t like pain, so I thought it would be a good balance. Frankie suggested it.”

“And what about the other?”

“The vibrating cock ring?” His grin was a wicked white flash of teeth. “That one was my idea.”

I grinned back. “I figured.”

TRISTAN

I was late again.

I felt like a jerk, as I’d missed her last two performances, and I seemed to be late to everything these days.

I wasn’t sure how it happened, but time had just become less and less important to me. Days disappeared in a blur, and I kept telling myself that tomorrow I’d be better, I’d pay more attention, and be on time, but then a few more days would pass, and I’d realize that I’d done it again.

Danika was a saint about it most of the time. She’d look at my face, her eyes getting soft, and ask me if I was okay, and what could she do to make it better? There was always something. Just that soft look in her eyes made it better.

I’d bought a suit for the event, since it was being held in one of the swankier casinos. It had been way more than I thought any piece of clothing was worth, but I’d paid the price, even had the thing tailored. It was all black, from the jacket to the tie, but at least I wouldn’t embarrass her in front of her dancing peers by going with the dirty rocker look. I was always proud to have Danika on my arm, and I wanted to return the favor.

Frankie and her new girlfriend, Estella, were waiting for me in the lobby, even though I was late.

She rolled her eyes when she saw me rushing in, but she got over it in a hurry, introducing me proudly to her new girl. I smiled at her. She was a cute little thing. They looked good together.

I thought I must make Estella shy, either that or she was very soft-spoken, because she barely spoke, just letting Frankie and I catch up.

Frankie’s eyes got serious as she studied my face.

She touched a hand to my cheek. “What am I going to do with you, Tristan? You look strung out and tired. What’s going on with you?”

I shook my head, pulling away. “I’m fine. Let’s just go in, okay?” I didn’t need to be told that I looked bad. I knew it. I just needed a little dose of Danika, and I’d be better for a while.

The venue was not what I was expecting. It was bigger, with stadium seating, and a big enough dance floor for several couples to be dancing at once, which they currently were. We were late enough that they’d already started, though I didn’t see Danika.

We took our seats, just a few rows back from the judges, and I asked Frankie quietly, “Do you think we might have missed her?”

She shook her head. “No, but she’ll be out soon. Good thing you showed up when you did. And it’s about damn time, by the way, that you showed up to one of these.”

“Tell me about it. Trust me, I don’t need to hear it. I know I’ve screwed up.”

“Good thing Danika would forgive you just about anything. That girl is so far gone in love with you, it scares me. You know you’re a lucky bastard, don’t you?” There was a clear reprimand in her tone.

“I do,” I said quietly.

“You know you need to get your act together, don’t you?” she asked very, very quietly, so even Estella, who sat on the other side of her, couldn’t catch it. “I hear you’ve been using some shit that is unacceptable. Lay off the hard stuff, okay? If you won’t do it for me, think about Danika, and how she fucking worships you. Do it for her.”

I nodded. “I know.”

She was right, and I did know it. I resolved to do better. It was just so nice to forget sometimes, to escape into numbness, but I knew that I could quit anytime, and soon was that time. Very soon, I promised myself.

We didn’t have to wait long before Danika and her partner took to the floor, walking the circuit hand in hand, their postures very proper.

She wore a red dress, though I wasn’t quite sure you could call it that. It was skin tight and backless, with the sides cut out all the way to the front, showing off her sexy little hips, and the top dipping low, showing a deep V between her breasts that had me salivating.

I had no idea how the thing even stayed on, there was so much material missing. A slit in the flowing skirt reached high up on her thigh. The only part of her that seemed to be fully covered up was her arms, and even those were only covered by see-through red lace.

She was luscious. A Goddess.

Her hair was pulled back into a sleek chignon, leaving her exquisite, delicate features prominent, her rosebud mouth painted red. Her eye makeup was black and dramatic, and even from several feet away, I could see how it made her pale eyes stand out, more striking than ever.

She was so beautiful it made my chest ache.

Her partner was slight but muscular, and almost exactly her same height with the heels she was wearing. He was wearing tight pants and a shirt that was open almost to his naval. His hair was brown, his face nondescript.

I thought he looked like a punk.

They began to dance, and it was instantly captivating.

It was an intense, dramatic dance, full of sharp turns, cutting movements, precise swivels, and sweeping, sensual turns. Danika would lift her leg high in the air, and her dance partner would catch her ankle, and lower it softly back to the floor before they swept off again, into another turning, twisting round across the floor.

Her hand would often hook behind his neck, or he would throw her back over his arm until her body was contorted beautifully into a perfect arch.

It was a passionate dance, full of anger, tension, and desire. At one point in the routine, he grabbed her face rather roughly in both hands, and I’m not sure how that made me react outwardly, because I was so up in my head, but Frankie reached over, gripped my arm, and murmured, “Easy there, tiger.”

Danika was a seductress out there, each twist of her hips, every dramatic thrust of her shoulder sucking us all deeper into her spell. She captured the audience. Enslaved them.

Even I wasn’t immune, though she already owned me. Completely.

Was that sexual tension between them? I knew there was some, at least on his end. With the way that punk looked at her, I was going to be counting to ten a lot tonight.

The lines their bodies made together were dramatic, and undeniably sexual. Was it possible that she wasn’t attracted to that punk, at least a little, considering how much time they must have spent together, practicing this?

The lifts made my fists clench, but I told myself I was being a caveman, as Danika would have said.

She moved with such a bewitching elegance that at times I hardly even noticed she had a partner, but at other times, I could focus only on how close that partner of hers was, on how much he touched her. The way his hands moved over her was very free, very familiar.

There was one long twirl at the end. It went on and on, and Danika’s leg was lifted over that punk’s hip, their bodies flush. She was basically straddling his thigh.

Their bodies made full contact for a complete fifteen seconds.

I counted.

I clapped longer and louder than anyone when it was finished.

They got third, which I thought was complete bullshit. There hadn’t been a woman out there that could hold a candle to Danika, in beauty or in talent.

“That’s bullshit,” I muttered, not quite under my breath.

Frankie heard me, and elbowed me. “Calm down. Third is really good. You will say congratulations, and tell her she did a great job, like a good boyfriend.”

I shot her a disgruntled look. “Of course she did a great job. I’m talking about the judges. Third is bullshit. I don’t have to know a thing about the tango to see who looked the best out there.”

Frankie shrugged. “Third is great. They’ve got to put in their time, and they’re both pretty new at this. Getting third as an intermediate at only their third competition is really good. Subtle imperfections we can’t even see, which our amateur eyes don’t even pick up, are what the judges are trained to spot. So pipe down, and don’t cause a scene.”