A slow, barely there roll of her hips against my lap.
My breath punches out.
She doesn’t look at me, doesn’t say a word. She just keeps moving with the music in that subtle, sensual sway, the kind that’s not for the room, not for show, but just for me.
Her ass presses back into my lap with every slow beat, her hips circling the smallest fraction, enough to drive every coherent thought out of my head.
I grip her waist instinctively.
She does it again. This time, a little bolder. Her body brushes mine in a way no innocent dance ever would. Her fingers lift to lace behind my neck, pulling me down just enough that her hair brushes my cheek.
She arches against me, slow and deliberate, pressing herself even closer, and I swear to God she can feel exactly how hard I am.
She trembles.
Her breath hitches when I drop a hand to her stomach, pulling her back flush against me so she can feel exactly how she’s turning me on. Her head rests against my collarbone, and my mouth dips low to find her shoulder. Slowly and gently, I kiss a line across her skin, tasting her like it’s something holy.
I kiss up the curve of her neck, unable to stop myself. Her fingers slide into my hair, tugging gently, guiding me where she wants me, and that’s all the permission I need.
I turn her in my arms, and my mouth finds hers, kissing her like I’ve been starving for days. She wraps her arms around the back of my neck and pulls my mouth closer to hers. My tongue swipes at her lips, and she opens, letting me in to taste her.
My tongue dances with hers, her giving as much as she receives until finally, I pull back enough to whisper against her mouth, “Want to get out of here?”
She nods just once, a little shaken but sure. I take her hand and pull her through the crowd, out the back door, into the cool Montana night.
We barely make it down the back alley behind the building before I pin her gently against the wooden siding, kissing her because God help me, I don’t have the willpower to wait another second to get her back to the hotel so I can touch her again.
And she kisses me back like she’s been waiting for me to break first.
Her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer, deeper, and my entire world narrows to the taste of her, the heat of her, the impossible sweetness of her breath against my mouth.
My hands slide under her dress, catching on soft fabric and soft skin. I push the hem up inch by inch, slow enough to give her every possible out.
“Katerina,” I rasp, my mouth brushing hers, “tell me if this is okay.”
“It is,” she whispers, breath trembling. “It’s more than okay.”
Her panties are silk beneath my fingers. I slide one hand past the edge, slow, still testing the boundaries of my wife’s limits with me, where she’ll let me take this between us.
She gasps when my fingers slide past her panties, my index finger sliding through her wetness, soft, needy, so fucking wet. I work her gently, learning her, guiding her, holding her steady with my other hand braced beside her head, her hips tilting into my palm like her body made the decision before her mind did.
I stroke her gently with my fingers, learning her with every breath she takes and every little sound that tells me that she’s getting closer. Her rhythm, her tension, the way her legs begin to shake.
She moans my name, muffled against my shoulder, pulling my mouth back to hers as I work her slow and certain, my free hand cradling her jaw.
Her thighs clench around my fingers.
She falls apart in my hand, muffling her cries against my shoulder, shaking as she comes.
I kiss her through it. Hold her through it. Feel her melt in ways I’ll never forget.
“Jesus, I want you,” I say against her mouth.
“I know… me too.”
I go to undo my belt, instinctively, wanting more, needing her, she just confirmed she wants me too but her hand closes over mine.
“Scottie,” she whispers, “I… I’m a virgin.”
