Page 48 of Your Rhythm
The swinging doors to the kitchen are tucked away in an alcove to our left. I pull her through them.
“Matt!” she shouts, audible now that we’re away from the main sources of all the noise. “Matt, what the hell? We’re in the kitchen!”
“Shh!” I caution, starting to laugh in spite of myself.
They stopped serving food a long time ago, and so far the room stuffed with prep tables and appliances seems empty, all the lights shut off except for a single fluorescent tube over one of the windows. I drop her hand and step forwards to scout things out.
“Matt!” She’s whisper-yelling now, sounding like she’s in a state between enraged and amused. “What are you doing?”
I turn back to face her. “This.”
In the next moment, I have her in my arms. Her squeal of surprise quickly turns into a moan as I palm the slippery fabric stretched over her ass. I squeeze harder when she lifts her arms to wrap them around my neck.
“God,” I pant, as I back her up against what I think is a fridge. I’ve stopped paying attention to our surroundings. “I want you so fucking bad, Kay.”
