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She studies my hand before setting down her drink and taking it.

I lead her into the crowd, spin her once, and catch her by the waist.

She comes closer.

We fall into the rhythm easily. Bea moves without any self-consciousness. Her body is soft and confident beneath my hands, her smile quick when I turn her again.

Then she rotates until her back meets my chest.

My palms settle at her waist.

Her ass presses lightly against me.

She shifts her weight and rolls her hips back against me.

My hands tighten instantly.

Once could be accidental.

Then she does it again.

Slow. Deliberate. Her head tipping back close to my shoulder.

Blood drives straight into my cock, leaving me throbbing against her ass.

I drop my head and put my mouth close to her ear.

“You can’t keep doing that, Doc.”

She turns her face toward me just slightly. “Doing what?”

“You know exactly what.”

Her mouth curves. “I’m only dancing.”

The innocence in her expression is complete bullshit.

It makes me want to bend her over the nearest solid surface and show her exactly what she’s doing.

The song slows, bass rolling through the floor. Bea keeps moving against me with maddening patience.

“Bea.”

“Callum.”

Hearing my full name in that soft, teasing voice sends another pulse of heat through me.

“You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“I’m dancing.”

“You’re grinding your ass against my cock.”

Her breath catches. If she wants to play dirty, so will I.

“Still want to call it dancing?”

My fingers spread over her waist, feeling the heat of her through the thin fabric.