We head to the bar. I order a cosmopolitan while he gets a whiskey. He sips it slowly, eyes scanning the crowd, even now.
Often by The Weekend, comes on and a smile spreads across my face.
“Come on, let's dance,” I say, grabbing his hand.
I drag him onto the dance floor before he can protest. The moment we reach the center, I turn around and press my back against his chest, starting to move to the rhythm.
His hands settle on my hips, pulling me flush against him as we sway together.
The music wraps around us. I roll my hips slowly, grinding back against him in time with the beat. I feel him harden behind me almost instantly.
His grip tightens, fingers digging into my waist as he moves with me, his body molded to mine.
His left hand slides up my side, brushing the curve of my breast through the thin sequin dress before settling possessively on my throat, tilting my head back against his shoulder.
“You’re playing a dangerous game, wife,” he growls low in my ear, lips brushing the shell as we grind together.
I smile, reaching back to run my fingers through his hair. “Maybe I like danger.”
His response is a growl. Every roll of my hips presses my ass against his hard cock. His hands roam, sliding down my thighs, then back up under the hem of my short dress, teasing the edge of my panties before moving away again.
I arch my back, pushing into him, feeling the heat of his body, the strength of his arms, the way he’s barely holding himself back.
Sweat glistens on my skin. I can feel how wet I am already, my body aching for him.
When I turn in his arms to face him, his eyes are dark with lust. He pulls me tight against him, one thigh sliding between mine as we move together. His mouth hovers inches from mine, our breaths mingling.
“You look so fucking good grinding on me like this,” he murmurs, voice rough.
I bite my lip, rolling my hips against his thigh, and his hand squeezes my ass hard, pulling me even closer as the song changes to something more sensual by an artist I don't recognize.
After three songs, my throat is dry and my legs are starting to feel the hours I've been in these heels. I lean back against Maxim’s chest and tilt my head up.
“I’m thirsty.”
He nods, guiding me back toward the bar with a possessive hand on my lower back. I order water this time while he stands beside me, scanning the room.
Just then, the manager of the club who had given us access earlier, walks up and starts talking to Maxim.
As I sip my water, a cloud of overpowering cologne hits me and as I turn to find the offender, a man slides up to the bar beside me, smiling.
His designer shirt is at least a size too small, straining across his chest, while a gaudy gold watch the size of a dinner plate gleams on his wrist.
Nothing he’s wearing matches. The loud patterned shirt clashes with his belt, his shoes don’t belong with either.
He flashes me a practiced smile, the sort that has probably worked on plenty of women before.
“Hey, beautiful.”
I glance at him politely. “I’m with my husband.”
He chuckles like he doesn’t believe me. “Come on, don’t play hard to get. A woman like you shouldn’t be here without a proper drink. Let me buy you something stronger.”
“I’m not interested,” I say, keeping my tone firm but civil.
He leans closer, undeterred. “You don’t have to be like that. Just one drink. I promise I’m good company.”
I step back slightly. “Please leave me alone. My husband is right here,” I say, pointing to where Maxim is standing.
