When she looked at him again, his blue-gray eyes were focused on her. He smiled and she felt warmth pooling inside of her. A burn that had nothing to do with the alcohol that she'd just consumed.
He took her hand in his and began to pull her out onto the dance floor. Tattoos covered his hand and went up his arm. This was the kind of guy her mother would've warned her to stay away from-if her mother had taken an interest in her life. It was clear that he was not one of the eager to please so-called men she was used to dealing with. There was an air about him that screamed he was in control. And it was that, more than anything else, that made her follow him.
When they were on the dance floor, he began to move with her. His movements were modest enough at first, but always pressing for more. They held an undertone she could feel, that she began to crave. She watched him as they danced, her eyes lingering on his mouth. There wasn't even a hint of any facial hair. She wondered if his skin would feel soft against hers, what his lips would feel like pressed against her body. If he would…could make her scream out in pleasure and beg for more.
He smiled at her as though he could read her thoughts. The next time he reached for her, his hand brushed against the side of her breast. The slight touch felt incredibly wicked and delightful. She wanted more and tried to lean into the caress.
But he darted back. His touching became a game. He would brush against her intimately, then withdraw before she could pull him closer or keep his hand pressed against her longer. Her body was on fire. Urges she hadn't felt for far too long consumed her.
Taking her hand in his, he led her away from the floor. She wondered what was going on when he led her to the bar again, but before she could ask, he'd ordered two more shots. Again, he held his up, expecting her to follow his lead. And she did.