Tango Undone Michelle Fox Copyright 2012. All Rights Reserved. Smashwords Edition Smashwords License Statement This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. Special Reader Bonus Readers who join my mailing list get a free read! Plus keep up with new releases which are always 99 cents for a limited time! Disclaimer This is a work of fiction intended for adults age 18 and over. Minors should stop here and close the book. All events depicted are fictional. Characters are over the age of 18. Any resemblance to places and persons, living or dead, is unintentional coincidence. Every effort has been made to provide a quality reading experience, but editors and technology are fallible. Please report typos or formatting issues to MichelleFoxwrites@gmail.com. Author’s Note The tango has its own erotic language, which is what inspired this erotic vignette--screw, caress, whip are all names of dance steps. A brief English/Tango dictionary of terms used in this short story: Bandeneon: The accordion-like instrument used to play tango music. Cuatro: Kicking the leg back and up, until it looks like the number four in profile. Similar to an arabesque. Gancho: When the leg is hooked over the partner’s thigh. Tanda: Synonym for Tango, but refers more to the music than the dance. An Erotic Vignette: Tango Undone “In tango, heaven is found through the simple gift of grace. That comes from getting out on the dance floor with the person that happens to be right for the moment, opening one's heart and falling in love again. The times that this happens, one is just happy to be in the arms of another at the end of the tanda.” -Stephen Brown- Marco pulled me close, eyes widening as he registered my provocation. For weeks, his gaze had smoldered into mine, his hands travelling my body until I burned with unrequited heat. This was my final dance in Buenos Aires and I would not let it go to waste. My shirt was unbuttoned to my bra, giving him a peepshow of breasts mounded up, exposed by see-through lace. An offering, if he would but accept it. He cleared his throat and his dark espresso eyes regarded me thoughtfully. “Wait a moment, querida.” I shivered as his accent trilled over my skin. Marco went to lock the studio entrance, flipping the sign to read ‘cerrado’, and then pulled the shades on the glass storefront. We were alone, shut inside our own world. I tingled all over, wet desire quickening within me. He pressed play on the cd player and sour notes from a bandeneon tangled with a more sedate bass rhythm. Without speaking, we began the push-pull of Tango, his lean body warm along mine. I matched him step-for-step, then took our dance further, grinding into his pelvis and brushing my breasts against him; teasing as much as begging. I brazenly let my gaze bore into his, daring him to take me. He did not respond and continued the Tango we’d danced before, refusing to break new ground. I wondered if I’d made a mistake. With an inscrutable expression, he led me, his hands stern, our feet scuffling on the wood floor. Marco pressed me close enough to inhale his musk and then tossed me away to ache for his touch. He did not choose to take what I offered, though. My steps faltered, becoming unsure and tentative. I stared at the floor as we danced, too ashamed to look at him. Had I misread the tension between us these last few weeks? The music wailed a crescendo that mirrored my angst, but then, he put a finger under my chin and raised me up. His gaze locked with mine, one eyebrow arching rakishly as he grabbed my shirt by its lapels. I held my breath and he yanked the blouse down over my shoulders in one hard motion. Buttons clattered to the floor as he twirled me around to finish pulling the shirt off my body. Cool air raked my overheated skin, raising goose bumps. My confidence restored, I stood proud--chest out, back arched, nipples puckered--and promenaded back to him. His hungry gaze roamed my curves, seeing what he had only felt before with his hands. I unbuttoned his shirt, peeling it off his shoulders to reveal caramel skin that gleamed in the studio’s dim light. In time with the music, I traced the sculpted muscles of his chest and stomach, dipping a finger under his belt buckle to touch the hardness waiting there. Marco stopped me then, bringing my hands up into a dance hold. “Espera, first we finish this tango, eh?.” He guided me through a long promenade filled with slow ganchos, my leg hooked over his, splaying my core across his thigh. On the last one, Marco held me in place, my heat grinding against him as he pulled us across the floor. Then, with a deft movement, he unzipped my skirt and let me go, watching as I wiggled out of it. I posed for him in the lingerie I’d bought on a whim; the bra that covered nothing, the bit of lace pretending to be underwear and sheer thigh-highs gripping my taut flesh. He smiled, his expression scorching as he motioned for me to dance. My feet tapped against the floor and my hips swiveled from side to side as I travelled the from one side of the room to the other. Marco fell into step behind me and swatted my behind as I moved, laughing at the shocked look I gave him. “This tango needs more rhythm.” With an arch expression, I continued on with stiff legged kicks. Each one brought his hand down on an ass cheek, timed perfectly with the music. The stinging heat throbbing in my backside wound itself around the desire in my belly, squeezing until I trembled. Instead of sinking to my knees and begging for satisfaction, I thrust my hands high over my head, back arched. The music shifted to a fast, staccato rhythm and Marco took advantage of my stillness to spank me with both hands, beat for beat, his eyes searching out mine in the mirror. The music changed again, to a more languid wail and he took my hands in his. Our fingers locked together, Marco flicked his foot between my legs. I responded in kind and threw my leg behind me in an impudent cuatro arabesque. He transformed the movement into a lift, swinging me up as I repeated the cuatro. We stomped over the floor like dueling peacocks, our chests bumping, feet intertwined; fighting to come closer, jostling to escape. I whirled away and he strutted after me, bringing me back under his lead with brusque movements that brooked no nonsense. My ass continued to be a target, the spanking heightening sensation throughout my body, making me ache. I began to offer my backside to him, a silent plea for more, harder, faster. Whatever you give me, I will take. The music ended then, save for one last forlorn bandeneon note quivering in the air. A different orchestra began to play then, one of sighs and gasps. The counter melody sang in the slither of lingerie falling to the floor. Marco dipped me over his knee and crushed his lips against mine, flicking his tongue into my mouth. He spun a circle around each nipple with a finger and then dove between my legs to stroke me until I gasped. My hips swiveled, chasing the pleasure. Marco plunged his fingers inside me and I cried out, frantically sucking on his tongue. I slid to the floor and unfastened his pants, pulling down the tight, white underwear beneath. His cock rose up, a rod of salty caramel. I ran my tongue along his length, feeling the softness of his skin and the hard desire swelling within. He grabbed me by the hair as I sucked him, his hips making subtle grinding movements. I would have finished him off, but he pushed me away with a soft, “No. Not yet, querida.” He pulled me to my feet and changed places with me, sinking down to his knees. Cupping my ass in his hands, he held me up as he brought my slick folds to his lips. I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe with his tongue caressing my most sensitive spot. Pleasure wound in hot spirals, radiating from my belly up to my breasts. Everything was too tight; my skin, my nipples. I moved against him in a slow rhythm, moaning. Marco teased the pleasure from me, refusing to let me wallow, but pushing me forward to the peak. I came, throwing my head back. Needing a physical outlet for the sensation flooding me, I clutched the top of his head, anchoring myself in his hair. The orgasm still quivered through me when he braced me against the wall and thrust into my slick heat. I wrapped my legs around him and we shuddered into each other. His hard length struck me in new places, giving life to a new wave of bliss. I couldn’t stop trembling, fluttering around his body like a frozen moth finally thawing in the heat of a flame. His hips pistoned into me and I gripped him with everything I had. Pleasure crested in a sweeping wave and I wailed my own high note. Marco answered in a wordless, guttural bass. When we were done, only the poignant silence of a tanda well danced remained. Also by Michelle Fox... His Royal Cougar Amelia Booker is an ex-military officer turned security expert who thrives on action and adventure, even if her aging knees creak in protest. When she saves a Prince’s life, the adventure might be more than she can handle. At first, she believes the young prince demands a private audience to thank her, but what His Royal Hotness really wants is some action of his own. Three hot spanking stories, one low price! Read Now on: Kindle Nook Smashwords Sabrina’s been a naughty werewolf and she must be punished. Read now on: Kindle Nook Smashwords About the Author Michelle Fox is a preacher’s daughter gone sexy. She also loves dance and was a dancer in her younger years, which explains why it figures so prominently in her writing. For another hot dance scene, check out the Slap and Tickle spanking anthology. She blogs irregularly at: http://michellefoxerotica.blogspot.com/ and can be reached at MichelleFoxwrites@gmail.com.