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back.
Something brushed against her back, breaking the rhythm of her dance, but when Jane opened her
eyes there was no one close enough to touch her. Like her, the others on the dance floor were lost in the
song, touched by music as well crafted as a symphony.
Jane halfheartedly glanced around for coat guy, but gave up when the next hard beat sounded. She
bumped her hip to the side and slid her hands over her own breasts, down her belly, to the bare skin of her
thighs. She bent, waiting, poised, for the beat to give her a signal. When the music spoke to her Jane
snapped up.
Her back slapped into something. Someone.
Hands covered hers, urging her to retrace the path over her breasts to her belly, then hips. He pulled,
forcing her ass back against him.
Then they moved as one. Rather than a crude thrusting back and forth a pale imitation of missionary
sex their duel dancing was rhythmic and subtle, hips moving to the beat. Jane freed her hands from
beneath his, needing more. Her fingertips brushed a face, and then his hands captured hers, fingers tight
around her wrists, pulling her arms up and back, until they were trapped behind his neck. He held both her
wrists in one large hand.
Jane gasped as the position stretched her up, until she danced on her toes. Her breasts lifted, and her
partner took full advantage, cupping one breast through her dress. He touched her, fondled her, controlled
her.
Jane shuddered and moaned. She turned to look at him, but her arms acted like blinders. She tired to
speak but her mouth was dry.
Just dance.
She barely heard the words over the music and the rush of blood in her ears. Had she even heard it?
Or was the baritone command a figment of her imagination?
His hand left her breast, which both relieved and disappointed her, until it dropped to her bare thigh
and headed north, slipping beneath her short skirt to curl around her hip, fingertips brushing the fabric of
her thong.
His touch made her aware of her own wetness, and in that moment she wanted nothing more than for
him, whoever he was, to touch her, right now. She wanted his finger inside her, long and hard and thick, in
one powerful thrust.
The music stopped.
Sound had not stopped pumping from the speakers, no DJ was that stupid, but the song had changed.
This new offering was frenzied, with a screaming singer, and too much techno overlay.
Jane snapped from her dance-induced lust-haze. She jerked her arms free of his hold and the man s
hot, rough hand slid away from her thong.
I knew you loved to& dance. The voice was low, rich and& familiar.
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