“Good,” I said, my voice coming out a little breathy. “Now your upper body.”
I came around to face him, placing one hand on his chest. His heart was beating fast under my palm.
“You want to move like you’re reaching for someone,” I continued. “Like every part of you wants to be closer to them.”
“Show me.”
I started to move, demonstrating the way the shoulders and chest could follow the hips, creating a wave of motion through the whole body. His eyes never left me.
“Your turn,” I said.
He tried to mimic the movement, but it was stiff.
I stepped closer. “Here.” I took his hands and placed them on my waist. “Feel how I move. Mirror it.”
We swayed together, his hands warm through the thin fabric of my top. This close, I could see the way his eyes had darkened with hunger, and felt the tension radiating off him even as he tried to match my fluid movements.
“Better,” I murmured. “You’re getting it.”
“Am I?” His voice was rough. “Because I’m having a hard time concentrating.”
“On what?”
“On anything that isn’t you.”
I looked up at him through my lashes. “I thought you wanted to learn to dance.”
“I did.” His hands tightened on my waist. “But you keep touching me, and I keep forgetting why I came here.”
“You came here to impress a girl.”
“Right.” He pulled me closer, close enough that I could feel exactly how affected he was by this little game we were playing. “Is it working?”
I should have kept up the pretense and stayed in character. There was a thrill in dragging this out and making him work for it, but I was done playing.
“It’s working,” I admitted.
The role-play dissolved the second his mouth found mine.
He kissed me deep and hungry, one hand sliding up my back while the other gripped my hip, pulling me flush against him. I wrapped my arms around his neck, arching into him, chasing the friction I desperately needed.
He walked me backward until my shoulders hit the mirror, the glass cool against my heated skin. His mouth trailed down my neck, teeth grazing my pulse point, and I gasped.
“Liam—wait.”
He pulled back immediately, concern flickering across his face. “What’s wrong?”
“Um…” I glanced toward the front windows and the parking lot visible beyond them. “The lights. And the door is still unlocked.”
Understanding dawned. He pressed a quick kiss to my forehead. “Don’t move.”
He crossed the studio, flipping the lock on the front door first, then hitting the main lights. The room plunged into shadow, the only illumination coming from the street lamps outside, casting long pale rectangles across the hardwood floor.
When he came back to me, his features were shadowed in the dim light.
“Better?” he murmured, crowding me against the mirror again.
“Much.”
