When We Dance

Why am I so technical about it now?

He’s right.

“He fucked me in my hotel room.”

Why would I even say that? Secrets clearly don’t jibe with me.

Hopefully, I’ll be better at keeping this a secret.

“What’s the reason for that clause?” I try to redeem myself.

He mulls over his answer, pursing his lips while looking down as if trying to figure out if it’s worth spilling the secret.

“Why do you think you all should keep me a secret?”

“Because it messes with our heads, cariño.”

He moves his eyes to my face.

They’re heavy with lust as if he’d love to tear off my dress and fuck me again, and I’m fairly certain that’s where he is. But his touch is still tender and calm.

“It works when we’re with you in the room,” he says.

“Not always…” I comment.

He chuckles, his stare sliding down briefly, his other hand touching my chest, cupping a breast.

“Yes, not always,” he murmurs, aroused again.

I can see it in his eyes, his arched lips, and the bulge strained against his fly.

“You’ve noticed it too…” he says, distracted, squeezing my breast and kneading while smoothly adjusting his dick. “Yes. It fucks us up…” he continues, his train of thought still affected.

He struggles to focus, slinking his hand inside my dress and kissing me to messily hide how turned on he is.

The kiss only makes things worse.

He’s hot, and I’m hot, and we could easily start another fire as we prolong our torture, getting more sensual, my hand sliding to his groin.

I stroke him through his pants until, with great effort, we pull away from each other. My knees shaking. His breaths labored.

“How?” I ask, floating in a daze.

“Huh?”

His eyes burn like he’s running a fever, his smirk indicative of where his head is.

“You said it fucks you up,” I murmur, tugging at my straps and fixing my cups.

“Yes.”

He sucks in a short breath.

“Yes. Our brains know what’s going on. But seeing it is a different story. It works against us.”

“You mean seeing what happens outside the group.”

“Yes. Outside the group.”