“The bed here.”
She snorts a laugh. “You are really not used to wanting something and not taking it immediately.”
“That’s not entirely true.”
She raises a brow.
“Alright,” I admit. “It’s mostly true.”
Her body presses closer in response, whether intentionally or not. I feel the warmth of her through layers of formal fabric. My hand at her waist tightens slightly.
We turn slowly beneath the lights, the world narrowing to the space between our bodies and the quiet music wrapping around us. Her fingers trail down my chest as if absentmindedly. It’s not an overt move, but it’s enough to send a sharp pulse through me.
“You’re trying to tempt me,” I say quietly.
She smiles. “I thought you were practicing patience.”
I pull her a fraction closer. “I am. It’s not comfortable.”
“Growth rarely is.”
“So I’ve heard, but I’ve done all the growing I want to for one night.”
Her smile widens into something wicked, and she lays her head on my shoulder.
The music shifts slightly, drawing us tighter together. Under the stars, with her body aligned to mine and the promise of something deeper hovering just beyond reach, patience feels less like virtue and more like torture.
And she knows it. The music slows another notch, almost decadent now. Her body moves against mine with deliberate restraint, and I can feel the tension coiling beneath her calm exterior. I am acutely aware of every inch of contact between us.
I bend my head toward her ear. “Once in the bathroom wasn’t enough for me tonight.”
Her breath catches.
“I want you,” I continue quietly. “Right now.”
Her lips curve, slow and knowing. “Waiting builds character.”
I laugh under my breath. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”
Her hips shift subtly in rhythm with the music, pressing into me just enough to make my pulse spike. It’s controlled, almost innocent in appearance, but there is nothing innocent about the way she moves.
The air feels thicker now. Warmer. Charged.
I tighten my hand at her waist, guiding her closer. I let my palm travel slowly up her spine. “You’re killing me,” I say, and this time there’s no humor in it. “Is that what you want?”
She leans her head back slightly against my shoulder, offering me the curve of her neck. The faint scent of her perfume drifts upward, soft and intoxicating. “You’ll live.”
The challenge in her tone is unmistakable.
I pivot her gently, spinning her once before drawing her back against me. Her back aligns with my chest, and I let my hands settle at her hips, guiding the movement of our bodies together. The motion is slow, deliberate, unmistakably intimate without being overt.
She inhales sharply. The reaction is subtle, but I feel it. She enjoys being led. By me.
I brush her hair over her shoulder with one hand, exposing the line of her neck. I lower my mouth close to her ear. “You know you can’t hold out on me forever,” I murmur.
She shudders faintly, and I feel it travel through her. “No,” she admits softly. “But I like seeing you want something.”
I press closer.
