She dances by me, slowly slinking her way around until her backside is against my front side. She pulls my arm around her waist, so I tuck her closer to me. From that position, I feel her firm ass against my cock through our clothes. “Can you keep being understanding, Damian? Do you understand that I am not taking you to bed tonight?”
“What’s that now?”
She subtly grinds back against me as we sway to the music. “We agreed earlier, remember? Taking things slowly?”
I laugh sharply. “Is that what we’re doing?”
“Mm-hmm,” she hums under her breath as she slowly sways forward and back, the little minx.
“You’re enjoying this,” I say. “Enjoying torturing me like this.”
“I enjoy seeing you restrained,” she replies. The heat in her voice is subtle but unmistakable.
I lean closer. “You think I can’t be patient?”
“I think you’ve never had to be.”
I glance down at her hand still in mine. “Maybe I need practice.”
Her thumb brushes over my knuckles. “Maybe you do.”
The music inside shifts again, slower now, drawing couples toward the terrace doors. Whatever patience I promised myself about taking things slowly is beginning to erode with the flow of her hips.
Overhead, string lights crisscross between beams, casting a golden wash over polished wood and scattered cocktail tables. Beyond the railing, the night stretches dark and quiet, broken only by the distant glow of town lights.
Her body fits against mine naturally, like it has already memorized the shape. She moves with me easily. There’s nothing awkward in it. No hesitation. Just a slow sway under the stars. “This feels dangerous,” she murmurs.
“It’s dancing,” I reply.
“No,” she says softly. “This. Us.”
I lower my mouth close to her ear. “Because it’s real.”
She nods.
We sway in silence for a few moments. The music drifts outward through the open doors, carrying laughter and the faint scrape of chairs being rearranged. The night air brushes her hair loose at the nape of her neck. I exhale quietly, blowing it against the skin again.
She shudders slightly against me. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re thinking.”
“Yes.”
“About rings?”
I laugh under my breath. “Maybe, but that wouldn’t be taking things slowly, now would it?”
She turns to face me and leans back slightly to look at me, her hands sliding higher along my shoulders. “I said slow. Not glacial.”
I chuckle. “Getting impatient yourself?”
Her smile curves. “Hardly.”
“Maybe for tonight, we test out something less dramatic.”
“What’s that?”
