At least now I know we’re playing in the same league.
“After your buffle, buffle, it’s slow, slow.”
“What’s slow?”
“Our steps.”
“But I’m still goin’ back?”
“Yup.”
“Buffle, buffle, buffff…bufff…?”
“Yup.”
“And then what?”
“And then under normal circumstances, I’d prep on turnin’ ya, but underthese?” Softening my grin is mindlessly done. “We’re jus’ gonna do the same shit in reverse.” Her face twitches in what I’m pretty sure is uncertainty pushing me to attach my instructions to movements. “Buffle, buffle,” I state, encouraging her to do the small actions, watching her feet.“Buffff…buffff…Buffle, buffle…buffff…buffff…” The instant she completes all the small movements, I purr, “Good girl.”
An unmistakable moan gracing our presence invites my dick to the dance situation he isnotmeant for.
“I…uh…” the increasingly breathless tone effortlessly makes me even harder, “shuffle, shuffle, now?”
Nodding while not making eye contact is all I’m capable of doing.
Because if my stare meets hers right now, we’re done dancing.
And talking.
And doing anything that isn’t fucking in the back bathroom.
We’re talkin’ a good old Donna Summer’s “Love to Love You Baby” shit.
Which would not be a very gentlemanly story to tell at our future wedding.
Whichwillhappen.
Bet.
My future wife leads me backwards while quietly murmuring, “Shuffle, shuffle, slowww…slowww…Shuffle, shuffle, slowww…”
“Slowwww…” I say with her, our eyes finally locking once more.
HextallknowsI should probably slow shit down.
Smooth play it.
Treat the situation with a little more Otis.
Little less Boosty.
But what can I say?
When something is meant to be…it’s meant to be.
“B-52s,” announces Moose, forcing our gazes but not our hands to part.
And I’m more than alright with that.
