Slowly, I stand.
I watch him through the mirror as I slide my panties off my ass.
I keep them around my thighs as I roll at my hips.
There. My fingers touch the ground.
I’m on display for him.
He lets out a low, appreciative groan. “Come here.”
I rise. Step out of my panties. Turn and slide onto his lap.
I grind against him.
Only his jeans in the way.
And, fuck, the friction of the denim against my clit—
“Mmm.” My hand knots in his hair. I stare into his eyes as I draw figure eights with my hips.
He stares back, as needy and desperate as I am. “How long is this dance?”
“Three songs.”
He shakes his head.
I nod. It feels so good, torturing him, pushing him to the edge.
Watching desire fill his eyes.
His hand goes to my inner thigh.
Fuck, I want that.
But not yet.
I take his wrists. Bring both hands to my chest. Lean down to whisper in his ear. “Watch.” I motion to the mirror as I turn.
He does.
He stares at our reflection as I grind against him.
As he toys with my nipples.
As he pushes me to the brink of what I can take.
The song shifts into the next. It’s softer. Slower.
I match its pace, but it’s torture.
My sex screams for attention. For him.
He’s so fucking hard.
The chorus fades into the verse.
Into the next chorus.