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She’s stalking toward me, red hot anger rising in her cheeks. Her entire posture changes. Confident. Aggressive.
Each step clicks to the rhythm, sending jolts of anxiety up my arms. Yes. Yes.
Her curvaceous hips sway, snapping from side to side. She’s riled. Moving on instinct.
Stopping right in front of me, her lip twitches into a… snarl. “You want to see me move. Fine. Tell me what you want, Boss.”
I fucked up badly. She’s unhinged, throwing my demands back in my face.
I’ll deal with the consequences later.
“The platform. Use it.”
Every turn, step, and dip brings her back around, glaring at me.
She channels the hatred into the dance, twisting, crossing her legs, dropping down and back up, reaching the platform and bending backward over it, rolling over onto her knees, arms spread wide. Waterfalls of dark curls whip down, then back, her neck arching to let her glare at me again.
My pulse speeds up with her movement, her rage.
I’m fucking sweating.
“You want more?” she hisses, fury cascading off her in waves.
I can only nod, switching the song to something more visceral, heavier and dark. Her body undulates to the impact of the bass. I can see her boiling, growing more and more furious by the minute.
Losing herself completely to the song, funneling every ounce of her feelings toward me into each kick, driving her foot over her head and dragging her hands down it before diving down. The abrupt motion has her in a full split, bent over her front leg, dragging herself back up.
Her hair brushes along in the wake of her curling bend, leaning back, flipping her back leg around and rising.
My fingers can almost feel the strands wrapped through them, like I’ve wanted to do since I first met her.
I haven’t taken a breath in several seconds, gasping suddenly. Every muscle in my body is tense, ready to spring into motion. To join her.
No.
If I do, I know what will happen.
I need to be in control when we dance together.
Otherwise…
The end of the song reaches a peak.
Another spin, and she bends backward, hands planting, legs arcing over, overshooting the back flip to land with her back on the platform, laid out. She nails the last note, propped up on her elbows, one knee drawn up, her foot resting on the edge of the small stage.
Her chest heaves from exertion. Passion.
A little smirk flickers across her lips.
My mouth is hanging wide open.
I fidget with the waistline of my pants, trying to ease the pressure of my erection. It feels like it might tear right through the fabric.
Our eyes meet, and I see the flames of her irritation still burning. Within that flame, though… I see desire. And recognition of my own.
She sees my longing. Bites her lip and thrusts out her chest.
Daring me.
