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The short rest refreshes me and I'm welcomed back into the dancing throng by my friends’ outstretched arms glistening with perspiration and dollar-store body glitter.
As one song fades out and a new one in, the beat slows.
Suddenly, there's a wall of heat behind me.
A chest has moved in close, into my space but not quite touching me, moving left when I move left, right when I move right.
I lean forward to see what happens, and the body follows.
There's the softest touch of a large palm against my right hip, neither moving me closer nor pushing me further away—just there.
I feel no need to brush it away; instead, with eyes closed, letting the music lead me, I lean my head back and it meets a shoulder. Another palm comes up to rest on my other hip, letting me guide it as I twist at the waist, the music driving my body to drop closer to the ground, my movement slowing, becoming more fluid and sensual.
"I love the way you dance," a voice, low and husky, growls into my ear.
I don't reply, but a tingle creeps up my spine as I press back against the chest, and it rumbles with approval.
Trickles of sweat slide down from between my legs all the way down to my ankles as I drop my hips a little more, drawing circles with my ass, purposely pressing back against the stranger.
"Careful," he warns, in a way that sounds more like a promise, against my ear.
"Careful... or what?" I finally say, reaching up behind me, fingertips grazing against the stubble on his cheek.
"You don't want me to get any ideas."
Something about his words ignites a fire somewhere deep inside me. The mystery, the intimacy, with a stranger whose face I haven’t even seen yet. My neck pivots so my mouth is closer to his throat and I purr, "Maybe that's exactly what I want."
He chuckles. I feel it rather than hear it, a rumble that vibrates from his ribcage and against my shoulder blade. "Maybe you should just tell me the ideas that you're having and I’ll tell you if we're on the same wavelength."
"Now, what would be the fun in that?" I whisper, my mouth so close to his skin I can almost feel his stubble against my lips. Almost.
His hands that had barely grazed me on either side suddenly grip my hips and he pulls me closer, his legs pressing against the back of my thighs. There’s hardly a spot along the back of my body that isn't touching his, and it's making my pulse quicken with every second.
We dance the rest of the song in silence, although calling it “dancing” is a blatant exaggeration. I'm barely moving, his hands keeping me rooted to the spot and joined to him, my ass against his groin.
There’s no question about what ideas he's having.
Because they match mine.
The four or five Long Island Iced Teas along with the two rounds of shots we’d had as soon as we arrived at the club have drowned any inhibitions I might normally have and, as my friend pointed out, my tits are out… for a reason.
And it seems as though they have done their job.
The lyrics of Silk'sFreak Methump around us, low, slow, sensual, the music expressing the things I inexplicably want to say and do to this stranger. This stranger about whom I know nothing except that his fingers digging into my hips feel like they know how to do things to me. Things he could probably talk me into doing—almost anything—right here on the dance floor in that husky voice of his.
Through hooded eyes, I look over to see my friends grinning at me, one throwing a none-too-subtle thumbs up, but I barely notice them.
His breath is hot and sweet against my cheek.
"Let me buy you a drink," he whispers as the music slowly fades out.
"I'll let you buy me two."
"And then what?"
"And then maybe I'll let you show me about these mysterious ideas you've been having."
"I hope you have all night."
