The Slow Dance 1

The sun was beginning to set, sliding slowly through the evening sky to rest behind the hill. Princess Ivy watched from the west wing of the castle as the red hue filled the sky before her, bathing the kingdom in a beautiful glow. It had been an awful day and she was nestled in her favourite window seat, watching the sunset in the hopes that it would cheer her melancholy mood.

It had a calming effect on her and she used it to think over her day without too much anger rising within her. It had been a day organised by her mother to find her a husband, as most days were now that she'd turned 21.

A dozen suitors had been paraded in front of her over the time, each more dull and lifeless than the one before. Some were snivelling things, brought forward by some Lord from here or there, the heir to an estate who wanted to ally themselves to the royalty. Some were strong men – warriors, grown rich by war and now wishing to secure a title. She could see no beauty in them, no creativity, just a greedy, grasping need.

Ivy knew little to nothing about men, but the thought of being matched with any of them filled her with dread. She was lucky, her mother was letting her choose from the selected suitors, but she would only have that chance for so long before impatience would set in. She needed to marry, this much she knew, but she couldn't bring herself to take that awful step and she was sure that soon it would be forced upon her.

She had picked her bedroom based on this view. It certainly wasn't the biggest in the castle, but it had its own cosy charm and looked over the lake with the backdrop of hills and mountains that she adored so much. Her four-poster bed took up much of the space whilst most of the walls were covered with bookcases. A few metres from the foot of the bed there was a magnificent fireplace with two arm chairs before it.

The fire was unlit and with the sun setting, the room was starting to chill. That meant that Luke, one of the servants, would be in soon to light the fire. She hoped he wasn't in too much of a rush so that she could ask him to stay for a while, entertain and distract her from her spinning thoughts.

He had joined the castle staff years ago with his father, and being only a few years older than her meant that he'd often been given the task of playing with her when they were young. She had no friends her age, and he was the closest thing. However, as they'd grown older his duties had changed from odd-jobs boy. He was now helping run the whole staff, in charge of security for the castle and advisor to the king. He still made sure to light her fire each night though, even though it wasn't his job, just so they could chat for a while before he left the castle for his own home in the town.

The door creaked open and she made sure to keep her gaze firmly set on the hills before her. She listened as his confident footsteps moved to the fireplace and heard as he began to move logs from the basket by the hearth and into a skilful pile in the grate.

"How're you today then, Ivy?" he asked, still shuffling around with the kindling. He was the only member of staff who had the courage to call her by name and it would usually make her smile but not today.

"Oh, Luke," she sighed, "not great to be honest." She heard him still, the sounds of rustling ceased for a second, before he continued with his ministrations.

"Really? That's not like you. What's wrong?" She chewed on her bottom lip, trying not to be overwhelmed by her thoughts, twirling a strand of her long auburn hair between her fingers.

"Luke..." she began nervously.

"Yes, Ivy?" he answered, concern was heavy in his voice.

"Do you remember when you first came to the castle?"

He had stopped rustling now, the fire possibly ready to be lit, and she heard him stand up to come over and speak with her properly. He made his way to the window seat and leant against the wall by it. His thick arms were crossed over his torso, his dark curly hair messy and unkempt as always. He looked down at her with furrowed brows. He looked concerned.

"Of course," he eventually replied. He stared down at her, his face urging her to continue.

"I was just thinking. The games we used to play, they were such fun," she stopped to chew at her bottom lip some more, and Luke's gaze flickered to her mouth for just a second before returning to look into her pale green eyes. "And we used to play so often. Remember when we'd play hide and seek?"

"You always found the funniest places to hide," Luke said, the memories now filling his mind too. He turned to gaze at the hills and chuckled. "The coal basket was ingenious." Ivy giggled too at the memory.

"Oh gosh, yes, I forgot. I was covered in black soot when you found me. Nanny was so mad." She sighed again. "It's just.... I wish I was still that age, still young, still able to just play games with you all day."

She gazed down at her palms, her fingers twining and then untwining around each other. Luke turned his head to look down at her once more. He watched her hands fiddling. It wasn't often Ivy was sad, and it made him sad to watch.

"We can still play, Ivy. You never get too old to have fun," she glanced up at him and he winked down at her, grinning. The sunset was casting an orange hue across his face, the light playing along the lines of his cheek bones, making them stand out even more than usual. He leant down so that their faces were level with each other. He tried to muster his most menacing face, which to Ivy seemed very menacing indeed, and in a low voice he whispered;

"Run."

She giggled and squealed all at once, leaping from her seat at the window and dashing behind the far armchair by the fire place. He began to stalk towards her slowly, a predatory grin heightening his already dangerous good looks. She gripped the chair in front of her, momentarily frozen by the look in his eyes – the way he was looking at her made her cheeks flush and her breath come in shallow gasps but she didn't have time to figure out why. He was getting closer.

Realising he was about to catch her, she mentally shook herself and bounded across the room, jumping up onto the bed. She stood there, hands on her hips with a haughty look on her face. He spun on the spot to face her and cocked his head.

"You think you're safe there, little one?" he drawled. He stayed where he was, just before the fire, and stared straight at her, waiting for her to move. He feigned a dash towards her, causing another delighted squeal to escape her lips before she sprung off the bed, heading once again in the direction of the window, just as he'd expected.

He dashed forwards in three long strides and caught up to her just as her feet hit the wooden floor. With one hand he encircled both of her delicate wrists with his fingers. She giggled and tugged away, becoming increasingly breathless. He grinned and tightened his grip.

"Tut tut, princess," he teased, "you need to learn to recognise when you've been caught." He moved a little closer to her. She shook her head stubbornly at his words and thrashed about as hard as possible, trying to wriggle her wrists out of his grasp but it was hopeless. She was petit and he was much taller, much stronger, than she.

As she struggled, his other hand rested firmly on her waist. Suddenly and without warning, he pushed her backwards a few steps, until her body was pressed up against the wall. As he did so, he quickly raised her arms above her head and pinned them above her.

The position forced her small frame to be stretched out before him, her back slightly arched as she was raised up on tiptoes. It all happened so quickly she barely knew what he was doing until she felt the cool stone pressed against her, the temperature seeping through her clothes and cooling her skin. She suddenly became agonisingly aware of how close his body was to hers, though not quite touching. She wished they were touching, she realised.

The thought caused her breath to falter for a second and she bit down on her lip, confused by her own mind. She risked a glance up at his face, just inches from hers, and saw a similar anxiety in his eyes. His breathing was hard and fast, his breath warming her face.

In truth, he was acutely aware that he had gone too far. Her body, pressed up against the wall like this, her wrists held by his hand, she was completely at his mercy and he was trying desperately to calm his body down so as not to act on this realisation.

"You're trembling" he whispered. He was shaking too. He could feel the blood flushing his cheeks and neck, and watched as the same happened to her own pale skin. He noticed beads of sweat began to form between her small but plump breasts which were rising and falling with an increasing speed. He could scarcely breathe as he registered these distinct signs of her arousal.

He began to swirl his thumb in slow circles on her wrist, still pinned to the wall above her head, and gasped as she let out a quiet moan.

"Let's test something," he whispered, more to himself than her, and moved his body away from hers by just an inch. In any normal situation it would have been unnoticeable, but in her flushed state it felt as if he had moved a mile and she instinctively arched her body more to follow him.

As he registered her movement his body took over from his mind, he gripped her wrists tighter and moved back to where he had been, before deciding to ignore his better judgement entirely and move even closer. He moved forward more, pressing his body flush against hers, his thigh resting in between her legs, pressed up against her pussy lips beneath her dress. It forced her legs apart slightly and she began to pant delicately, slight mewling sounds were coming from her throat.

He could feel her trembling increase, could almost see her heart thudding beneath her breast. She could barely breathe as her body became awash with new and strange sensations. As he had moved towards her, her stomach had seemed to swoop and dip, an intense pool of heat was building between her legs and her skin felt prickly and hot. His thigh, pressed against her like this, felt delicious in ways she couldn't understand.

Instinctively, not knowing what she was doing, she moved her hips slightly to rest more of her weight against his leg. Her nether regions were now pushed against his strong, thick thigh and it was causing an odd tickling feeling deep within her. He growled, low and guttural, scarcely believing what she had done, the way she had moved her hips against him, what that meant she was feeling.

He moved his gaze so that he was staring directly into her eyes, wanting to watch her reaction, to make sure. She was biting her lip but her eyes seemed dark with lust. He slowly moved his thigh up to press harder against her, watched as her eye lids closed slowly for a second before fluttering up again to continue looking at him. He watched as her gaze then darted down to his lips, heard her moan softly. His stomach erupted in butterflies and he completely lost his self-control. Slowly, agonisingly, he dragged his thigh up against her and then back down again, expertly ensuring that it would brush the spot where her clit would be beneath her skirts.

She shivered and moaned louder, closing her eyes and dropping her head at the intense sensations he was causing. He gripped her wrists tighter again, pushed them even harder against the wall, and with his other hand reached up to cup her chin and neck, forcibly tilting her head back up to him. He needed to be sure, to read the look on her face.

Their eyes locked together, he slowly began to trail his hand down her neck, feeling the quickening pulse of her blood coursing through her body. He moved his hand down further, stroking over the delicate mound of her breast, tracing the lace neck line of her dress, grazing his thumb down and over her nipple. He let out another growl as he felt her nipple, which was hard, beneath the fabric of her clothing.

Ivy's body seemed to jump at this contact and suddenly, a flicker of fear crossed over her face and he froze. His conscience was warring to be heard over the rush of blood and lust that was coursing through him, urging him on. In a cold moment of clarity he suddenly realised what he was doing, or rather who he was doing it to. He instantly let go of her wrists and stepped back, away from her.

She dropped her arms down and her body seemed to slump against the wall. She wrapped her arms around her tiny frame in, what, protection? Luke suddenly felt intensely sick. She looked confused for a second and then he saw what he thought was relief cross her face. He cursed at himself and began to take a step towards her, wanting to comfort her, but she turned her head to stare at a point on the wall across the room from them, crossing her arms over her chest. Her delicate features were scrunched up as a war seemed to be going on inside her mind. She dropped her head and curtain of auburn hair obscured her beautiful face from his view.

She was panting but obviously trying to get it under control. He tried to speak but faltered, not knowing how he could explain his actions, what he had done, what he hadn't ever planned to do. She was so innocent, he knew that, and he had always kept that in mind during the course of their long friendship. She was delicate, she was young, she didn't know the world that he knew. As beautiful as Ivy was, as alarmingly sexy as she was, she didn't know it and he had never allowed his mind to wander in that way. He had never wanted to corrupt her. He swore to himself again.

Straightening his clothing, he tried once more to speak but gave up. Eventually, after what seemed like an agonisingly long time, he simply turned on his heel and strode out of the room, pulling open the door a little too forcefully. Collecting himself, he shut the door gently behind him, leaving her alone with her thoughts.