“Izzy.” I tilt my head. “What’s yours?”
Surprise flickers in his eyes, quick and gone. "You really don't know?"
“Why? Are you famous or something?”
“Or something,” he says, looking amused. “But you can call me Nico."
Determined to still enjoy my big day, I push the memories of the last minutes aside. I step closer, the air between us thick. "Nico. Dance with me."
"I don't dance."
"We're alone. I won't tell." I grab his hand, pulling him into the center of the room. The music filters in softer now, a slow thrum.
He resists for a second, then lets me guide him. Soon, I have my hands on his shoulders, and his settling lightly on my hips. We move together, simple steps, bodies syncing without effort.
"You shouldn't be alone with a man like me," he says after a minute, his grip firm but controlled.
"Why not?"
"Better you don't know."
I laugh softly. "You're not much of a talker."
"I admit that." His words hang heavy, like he is a guy who prefers action over chat. And right now, he holds back—desire simmering under the surface, kept in check.
We keep swaying, drifting nearer until our chests nearly touch. His hands tighten on my waist, pulling me in just a fraction. Heat builds between us, electric.
There’s tension in him. I can feel it in the way his hands tighten slightly on my waist. In the way his body holds back even while the space between us disappears.
He wants this.
He just doesn't think he should.
Which, obviously, makes it about a hundred times more interesting.
"I'm no saint," he murmurs finally. "Go now. Before I do something we'll both regret."
I look up at him. "Will I?" I ask softly. "Regret it?"
"Definitely."
I don’t go.
I stay exactly where I am.
In his arms, his breath a whisper away from mine.
When he leans down and kisses me, I let him. When his mouth turns hungry and demanding, I kiss back, hands fisting in his shirt.
And that’s how his restraint finally snaps.
He backs me up to the divan, his body pressing against mine with every step until my calves hit the edge. He guides me down onto the soft cushions, his hands firm on my shoulders.
I land with a soft bounce, looking up at him as he towers over me, eyes dark with hunger. His fingers move to my jeans, popping the button open slowly, the zipper rasping down inch by inch. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband and tugs them off my hips, pulling my panties along with them in one smooth motion.
The cool air hits my bare skin, making me shiver as he slides the fabric down my legs and tosses it aside.
I gasp when he drops to his knees between my thighs, his broad shoulders forcing them wider. His breath fans hot over my exposed pussy, teasing the sensitive folds.
