Before he could say a word, Matteo pulled a folded stack of bills from his pocket, held it between two fingers, and said something quick and smooth in Spanish.
The bouncer’s serious face cracked into a grin. He laughed, replied in equally fast Spanish, and stepped aside, unclipping the rope with a flourish.
Matteo nodded like it was the most casual thing in the world, still holding my hand as we crossed the threshold.
The moment we stepped inside, the music hit us like a wave. Raggaeton boomed through the speakers, the bass vibrating in my chest. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, rum, and perfume, electric and alive.
The dance floor was a kaleidoscope of movement – couples tangled together in salsa and bachata, bodies swaying and spinning in perfect sync. Everyone seemedto know exactly what they were doing, their hips rolling effortlessly to the rhythm.
I had never seen anything like it.
Everywhere I looked, people were laughing, twirling, dipping, clapping. It wasn’t just a club – it was a celebration. Of rhythm. Of life.
And right in the middle of it all, Matteo turned to look at me, that grin still playing on his lips, like he already knew he was about to ruin my perfectly planned quiet night in.
The music faded into a roar of clapping and cheers, and then – like a spark catching fire – the opening notes ofBailandofilled the air.
The club erupted.
Everyone cheered, moving toward the dance floor like they’d been waiting all night for this exact moment. I laughed.That song. It dragged me back to hot Italian summers as a teen, pasta and gelato, dancing in crowded piazzas until midnight.
Matteo’s warm hand tightened around mine.
“Matteo – ” I laughed, but he didn’t give me a chance to resist. He tugged me straight into the center of the crowd, weaving us between couples until we were swallowed by the rhythm.
The song swelled, the beat settling deep into my bones.
And then, without warning, Matteo pulled me straight into him.
I collided with his chest, the linen of his shirt soft but firm against my skin, the heat of his body radiating through the thin fabric of my dress. My hands instinctively flew up to steady myself – and ended up clasped behind his neck.
For a heartbeat, we just stood there, staring at each other.
His brown eyes locked onto mine, honey-warm and full of something that made my stomach tighten. The air between us felt electric, alive.
His hands slid to my waist, sure and possessive but not overwhelming, guiding me into the music. We started slow, bodies swaying in perfect sync, the world around us fading into nothing but the song pulsing through the floor and the heat of his hands.
But then the beat shifted, the chorus exploded, and the dance floor came alive.
Matteo grinned down at me, and before I could blink, he spun me out and back in again. I laughed, catching the beat like it was second nature, my hips moving effortlessly to the rhythm.
I saw the flash of surprise in his eyes, but he adapted fast, matching me step for step.
The crowd around us blurred as we fell into an unspoken challenge.
Every time he pushed, I matched him. When he twirled me, I spun like I’d grown up on this floor. At one point, I broke away from him completely, dancing on my own, hips rolling, arms raised, teasing him with a mischievous smile.
He stood there watching me, eyes dark with something between amusement and hunger.
Then, with one smooth movement, he grabbed my waist and pulled me back in, our bodies crashing together right on beat.
By the end of the song, we were breathless. My arms were looped around his neck, fingers tangled in the soft hair at his nape. His hands were firm on my hips, anchoring me to him as if the entire club had disappeared.
His forehead was nearly touching mine when he murmured, low enough that only I could hear, “Why haven’t I ever seen you dance before? You’re incredible.”
I felt the blush creep up my neck. “I love dancing.”
Matteo’s smile turned slow, dangerous, like he’d just learned a secret. “Noted.”
