87 The Dance

RETH

His skin prickled with desire as he stared into her wide eyes and she stared back. He let the music move him, move them, sliding step, to sliding step, to a pause. She got the rhythm quickly, but he could tell her mind wasn't on it at all.

He wondered if she felt what he felt—the slide of her dress against the chest of his shirt. The whip of her skirt against his legs. The brush of their legs when they moved—thigh against thigh. Warmth and pressure where they pressed, and cool prickling desire where his skin ached for hers.