Page 38 of The Playboy

While I slowly lifted my arms, swaying my hips to match the calmer beat, there was movement behind me. Like a wall had been added to the stage—that was how hard it was. But it wasn’t cold, like stone; it was scorching, as though the sun had been baking on it.

In my mind, I wished he would touch me without my permission.

And now, that was happening, as he’d taken the spot behind me, his hand flattening against my stomach.

“You’re everything I want.” He pressed our bodies together, his erection grinding into me. “I know you can feel that.” His face went to my neck, each breath—both inhales and exhales—like a windstorm against my bare skin. “That’s how hard you make me.”

My eyes closed.

“And by the way you’re breathing, how you’re pushing your ass into my dick, I bet that if I reached under your dress, your pussy would be wet.” His lips moved to the back of my ear. “Not just wet … but soaked.” He kissed that spot, a brief mashing of lips against cartilage, but it was enough to send the most blazing sensation through me. “Tell me I’m right.” His fingers didn’t stay flat against me. They swirled around my navel, like a choreographed routine. “Better yet, dance with me.”

I hadn’t realized I’d stilled.

Or maybe I was too afraid to move because the stage was barely large enough for the both of us.

Regardless, how did he know so much about my body? How could he make me feel this good?

They were just words. They were just fingers against my skin.

Yet it all felt like so much more.

I tilted my head back and instantly hit his chest.

My lips parted.

My eyes gradually opened.

I wanted him—

No.

I wasn’t going to give in.

It didn’t matter that I was wet. Needy. Wanting.

This was my stage. This was my moment to switch off.

I didn’t need him to do it.

“The stage is too small.”

“Then, you’ll just have to stay close.”

Before I could think, before I could even gather enough voice to reply, he was melding our bodies into a flow. Our speeds matched. We were like waves in the air, crashing together. Our limbs knowing just where to rise and fall, our hips locked.

My body didn’t try to separate from his. It didn’t want to. It was absorbed in a rhythm that was making me pant.

Yearn.

Forget.

He danced the same way he fucked.

With power.

Stamina.

Dominance.

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