slow-dance? All right. He held her, one arm around her lace-clad waist, the other crooked between their torsos, laced with Sophie's slender fingers over his heart.
She looked up at him with the embers of her smile still on her lips, and traces of trouble in her smoky, made up eyes. She was one of the least provocatively dressed women in the club, yet in his eyes the sexiest by a mile. Her mussed-up blonde hair tumbled around her face and her dark eye make up gave her the air of a sixties waif. He'd suggested the dress thinking that its coverage would offer her a little security in this unfamiliar environment, but he hadn't bargained on how it would look wrapped around her body. She was a wanton sex kitten in it, her lush, creamy curves barely contained by the black lace. Every slow undulation of her body against his had him closer to losing control.
"I haven't danced like this with anyone in a long time," she murmured when he rested his forehead against hers.
"Not even your prick of a husband?" Lucien matched her murmur for volume, but there was no disguising the contempt in his voice. He appreciated the fact that Sophie didn't choose to correct his description.
"Only on our wedding day."
He held her a fraction tighter. He hadn't danced with a woman in over ten years either, but then he hadn't duped anyone with false promises of romance. And in truth... it felt pretty good when Sophie closed her eyes and laid her cheek against his chest. Her arm circled his shoulder, her fingertips tangling in the hair at his nape.
The clean, apple scent of her shampoo drifted around him as he let his mouth skim the top of her head, and her mouth brushed his throat as she sighed.
It was the sigh that did it. She sounded like sex, and she felt like sex, and they were in a sex club.
He'd resolved not to push her, but it sounded like the sigh of someone who wanted to be pushed, maybe just a little. So he let his hand skim down over her lace-clad bottom, intensely aware that she was naked beneath the dress.
She sighed again, and her fingers toyed with the buttons of his shirt.
He laid his hand flat in the space below her throat, above her breasts, keeping his caress just in the realm of decency.
He wanted her to lay her hands on his aching cock.
Sophie's warm fingers stroked down his back, moulding him against her until there was no air between them, and Lucien let his hand move down between their bodies to her breasts. Beyond the realm of decency.
Her nipple ripened beneath his thumb, and her fingers slipped back into his hair as she opened her eyes and tipped her head up.
She was turned on. She told him so with her darkened, heavy gaze, and with the infinitesimal arch of her body as he stroked her breasts.
"I think I love this place," she whispered dreamily.
"And I love what this place does to you," he countered against her lips.
"You used the L word again."
"I did. I also love that you're naked underneath this dress." He rocked his hips into her, his erection hard against her abdomen.
The tip of Sophie's tongue snaked over his lips, and he accepted her invitation willingly. The slow, late night music washed around them, a steady beat to move to, to kiss to. Her mouth was warm and open for him, and her arms tightened around him as he massaged her bottom. Christ, she felt amazing. He wanted to ruck her skirt up and fill his hands with her bare skin.
She breathed his name when he squeezed her nipple and didn't stop him when he eased the cup of her dress down just enough to give him access to stroke it without exposing her to the other dancers. She bit down on his lip and groaned.
"Oh god, Lucien."
"Shh." He held her close and kissed her ear. "I still love your tits."
"That's two days on the run," Sophie said, a little unevenly. She was finding it hard to concentrate on speech. "You're in danger of creating a habit."
"And you're in danger of being screwed right here on this dance floor."
He felt her lips form a smile
She looked up at him with the embers of her smile still on her lips, and traces of trouble in her smoky, made up eyes. She was one of the least provocatively dressed women in the club, yet in his eyes the sexiest by a mile. Her mussed-up blonde hair tumbled around her face and her dark eye make up gave her the air of a sixties waif. He'd suggested the dress thinking that its coverage would offer her a little security in this unfamiliar environment, but he hadn't bargained on how it would look wrapped around her body. She was a wanton sex kitten in it, her lush, creamy curves barely contained by the black lace. Every slow undulation of her body against his had him closer to losing control.
"I haven't danced like this with anyone in a long time," she murmured when he rested his forehead against hers.
"Not even your prick of a husband?" Lucien matched her murmur for volume, but there was no disguising the contempt in his voice. He appreciated the fact that Sophie didn't choose to correct his description.
"Only on our wedding day."
He held her a fraction tighter. He hadn't danced with a woman in over ten years either, but then he hadn't duped anyone with false promises of romance. And in truth... it felt pretty good when Sophie closed her eyes and laid her cheek against his chest. Her arm circled his shoulder, her fingertips tangling in the hair at his nape.
The clean, apple scent of her shampoo drifted around him as he let his mouth skim the top of her head, and her mouth brushed his throat as she sighed.
It was the sigh that did it. She sounded like sex, and she felt like sex, and they were in a sex club.
He'd resolved not to push her, but it sounded like the sigh of someone who wanted to be pushed, maybe just a little. So he let his hand skim down over her lace-clad bottom, intensely aware that she was naked beneath the dress.
She sighed again, and her fingers toyed with the buttons of his shirt.
He laid his hand flat in the space below her throat, above her breasts, keeping his caress just in the realm of decency.
He wanted her to lay her hands on his aching cock.
Sophie's warm fingers stroked down his back, moulding him against her until there was no air between them, and Lucien let his hand move down between their bodies to her breasts. Beyond the realm of decency.
Her nipple ripened beneath his thumb, and her fingers slipped back into his hair as she opened her eyes and tipped her head up.
She was turned on. She told him so with her darkened, heavy gaze, and with the infinitesimal arch of her body as he stroked her breasts.
"I think I love this place," she whispered dreamily.
"And I love what this place does to you," he countered against her lips.
"You used the L word again."
"I did. I also love that you're naked underneath this dress." He rocked his hips into her, his erection hard against her abdomen.
The tip of Sophie's tongue snaked over his lips, and he accepted her invitation willingly. The slow, late night music washed around them, a steady beat to move to, to kiss to. Her mouth was warm and open for him, and her arms tightened around him as he massaged her bottom. Christ, she felt amazing. He wanted to ruck her skirt up and fill his hands with her bare skin.
She breathed his name when he squeezed her nipple and didn't stop him when he eased the cup of her dress down just enough to give him access to stroke it without exposing her to the other dancers. She bit down on his lip and groaned.
"Oh god, Lucien."
"Shh." He held her close and kissed her ear. "I still love your tits."
"That's two days on the run," Sophie said, a little unevenly. She was finding it hard to concentrate on speech. "You're in danger of creating a habit."
"And you're in danger of being screwed right here on this dance floor."
He felt her lips form a smile
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