Sauter (Ironside Academy, #3)(82)
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?”
“Because that particular issue has absolutely nothing to do with your safety.”
She frowned, keeping her head down as he dragged her toward the dining hall. She could hardly demand answers with students spilling over the pathways on their way to grab breakfast and cameras leering down at them.
“There’s Theo,” Gabriel said, pointing out the tousled dark head of hair ducking into the dining hall, taller than most of the students around him. “Go straight to him. No detours. I can’t leave Elijah alone and you aren’t allowed to be alone either. Mikki’s rules.”
He spun on his heel, jogging away from her, and she followed the slow slog of students into the dining hall. Theodore had already grabbed a tray and was filling it to overflowing. It seemed that the food theme that morning was just “pancakes,” because that’s all she could see.
They were all different shapes and sizes, stacked onto labelled warming plates and surrounded by tumbling displays of fruit, selections of yogurt, flavoured creams, an assortment of syrups, and an entire section of miscellaneous toppings. There were thick and fluffy buttermilk pancakes, spotted blueberry and choc chip, orange pumpkin and pecan, buckwheat, wholewheat, ricotta, lemon, oatmeal, and cornmeal … and then there seemed to be an international section. Thin stacks from Sweden; puffy, jiggly towers from Japan; savoury samples from Korea and Japan; tiny little Dutch puffs; and flat, sugary Hungarian crepes.