Chapter 140: Last Dance
The hum of the ballroom was a physical thing, a wall of sound made from shrieking laughter, thumping bass, and the clatter of heels on polished wood. Margot stood just inside the entrance, letting her eyes adjust to the strobe-lit chaos. Teenagers in ill-fitting suits and glittering dresses swarmed like gorgeous, confused ants. The air smelled of hairspray, cheap champagne, and youthful sweat.
She felt a thrilling, illicit jolt. A secret in plain sight.
Her dress was backless forest green silk, cut so low in front that the black lace of her bra peeked over the neckline with every deliberate breath. The landing strip she’d waxed that afternoon was a secret smoothness under the fabric. Her anklet, a delicate silver chain with a small, discrete ‘W’, felt cool against her skin. She’d considered heels but opted for elegant flats—she needed to be the grounded one, the steady planet to his spinning moon.
It was 10:48 PM. Twelve minutes to find her project.
She moved through the crowd, a cool, confident island in a sea of feverish adolescence. A few boys gawped; a girl whispered behind a hand. Margot merely smiled, her gaze sweeping the edges of the room. She’d seen the photo. Glasses, a slight frame, a look of terrified anticipation.
She found him near the fire exit, tugging at his too-tight shirt collar as if it were strangling him. He was exactly as promised: all sharp angles and nervous energy. His name was Leo. Eighteen years old, straight-A student, zero practical experience. His grandmother, a fierce member of the WI and Margot’s co-conspirator, had been delightfully blunt: “The boy needs a proper send-off. Something to remember.”
“Leo?” she said, her voice cutting through the din.
He jumped, spinning around. His eyes widened behind his glasses, taking in the expanse of her chest, the sophisticated drape of her dress, her clearly adult face. He swallowed audibly. “Y-yes? Mrs.…?”
“Just Margot.” She extended a hand. His palm was damp. “Your grandmother said you might need rescuing from the wallflowers.”
“I… she… oh god.” He blushed a spectacular shade of crimson. “She didn’t say it would be…”
“Someone like me?” Margot finished, her smile turning mischievous. “She has excellent taste. Come on. They’re about to play the last song. A slow one. Let’s not waste it.”
She didn’t wait for agreement, simply took his clammy hand and led him onto the dance floor as the opening, soft synth notes of a slow dance began. He stumbled, his body rigid. She slid one hand to his shoulder, the other taking his hand, guiding it to the small of her back. His fingers trembled against her silk-clad spine.
“Relax,” she murmured, close to his ear. He smelled of too much aftershave and nervousness. “It’s just a dance. No one’s watching us.” This was a lie, of course. Several were watching. It made the small, hidden bell on her piercing give a silent shiver of anticipation.
“I don’t really know how to,” he stammered.
“You’re doing fine. Just move with me. Follow the pressure of my hand.” She pulled him a fraction closer, until the hard proof of his inexperience pressed against her lower stomach. He gasped. “See?” she whispered. “Your body knows what to do. Your brain just needs to catch up.”
She let her cheek rest near his, her lips almost brushing his ear as they swayed. “I have a taxi waiting. And a suite at the Grantham Hotel. With a king-sized bed and a minibar full of overpriced chocolates. What do you think?”
He stopped moving entirely. “You… you’re serious?”
“Utterly.” She leaned back to look at him, her eyes glittering with promise. “I’m a very serious woman, Leo. I make plans. And my plan tonight is to show you things your textbooks haven’t covered.”
The song ended. The house lights came up slightly, harsh and revealing. Leo looked stunned, like a rabbit frozen in the sweep of headlights, but beneath the fear, a wild, dawning hope was breaking through.
The taxi ride was a masterclass in gentle, relentless seduction. She sat close, her thigh pressed against his, her hand resting lightly on his knee. Every bump in the road jostled them together. She asked him easy questions about his studies, his friends, letting his voice settle into a normal rhythm. All the while, her thumb stroked small, slow circles on the inside of his knee, moving incrementally higher with each passing streetlamp.
By the time they pulled up to the hotel, his breathing was shallow. She paid the driver, took Leo’s hand, and led him through the revolving doors without a word. The clerk at the desk gave a knowing, professional nod. The elevator was a mirrored capsule; she watched his eyes dart everywhere, trying not to stare at her reflection, failing completely.
The suite was cool and quiet, a world away from the ballroom’s frenzy. Plush carpet, heavy curtains, the large bed impeccably made. Margot locked the door, dropped her clutch on a side table, and turned to him.
“Okay,” she said, her voice now soft, pedagogical. “First rule. This is for you. Your night. Your pace. You say stop, we stop. You say go, we go. Understood?”
He nodded, mute.
“Good. Second rule. You get to touch. I want you to touch. Curiosity is the best aphrodisiac.” She stepped closer, took his hands, and placed them on her hips. “See? Silk. Now, help me with the zip.”
His fingers fumbled at the back of her dress. The sound of the zip descending seemed deafening. She shimmled, letting the green silk pool at her feet, standing before him in just her black lace bra and thong, her wedding ring catching the light. She saw his eyes go straight to the ‘W’ anklet, then to the delicate gold ring piercing her neatly trimmed mound. A tiny, perfect bell was threaded through it.
“That’s… that’s…” he breathed.
“A little decoration,” she said, stepping out of the dress. “A reminder to have fun. Now you.” She began unbuttoning his shirt. He stood, paralysed, as she revealed his narrow chest. His trousers were next, then his boxers. He was fully, blushingly erect. “Beautiful,” she stated, as if assessing a fine piece of art. “Now, lie back on the bed.”
He scrambled to comply. She joined him, kneeling beside him, not touching yet. “The theory is simple,” she said, her tone warm and instructional. “Pleasure is a conversation. We’re going to learn each other’s language.” She produced a small bottle of lube from her bag with a faint smile. “Practical application helps.”
What followed was a slow, guided exploration. She showed him how to touch her, where the pressure felt good, how the rhythm of his fingers on her clit, the little bell tinkling faintly with each pass, could make her arch her back. She demonstrated on him, her hand confident and sure, bringing him to the edge twice before letting him subside, teaching him the geography of his own responses.
“Enough theory,” she finally whispered, her own patience fraying. She rolled atop him, guiding him inside her with a slow, inexorable pressure. He cried out, a short, sharp sound of pure sensation. She stilled, letting him adjust. “Okay?”
“Oh god. Yes. It’s… it’s…”
“I know.” She began to move, a deep, rocking motion that made the bedframe creak a gentle protest. She watched his face, a map of stunned ecstasy. She coached him through it, whispering when to thrust, when to hold, her own pleasure mounting at the sight of his utter abandonment. When he came, it was with a choked sob, his whole body convulsing beneath hers.
She didn’t stop. She rode him through the sensitivity, until he was hard again within minutes, amazed at his own body’s capabilities. The second time was less frantic, more experimental. She showed him different angles, let him take control from beneath, praised his eager, learning hands.
Later, tangled in the sheets, the room smelling of sex and hotel air conditioning, she propped herself on an elbow. Dawn was lightening the sky beyond the curtains. Leo was asleep, exhausted, a look of peaceful triumph on his young face.
Margot traced the line of his jaw. A successful experiment. She felt deliciously used, powerfully in charge. She thought of Rupert, likely asleep in their quiet house, or perhaps lying awake, wondering. The symmetry pleased her.
She slipped out of bed, naked, and called room service, ordering a full breakfast for two. As she hung up, she looked at the sleeping boy, then out at the rising sun.
One more round before the eggs arrived, she decided. Reinforcement of the lesson.