A few minutes later Alex was back by my sise. The moment the cameras shift to another guest, Alex's hand slides to the small of my back like it's been waiting there all night. Warm. Heavy. Claiming.
"Come here," he murmurs.
Not a request.
A quiet command.
I barely have time to breathe before he's guiding me onto the dance floor. Every step is deliberate… like he's putting me exactly where he wants me.
God… his hand on my waist.
His other hand catching mine.
The heat of his body aligning with mine
I swallow because the orchestra starts something slow and sinful, and suddenly I'm in the center of a dimly lit ballroom trying to figure out when breathing became an Olympic sport.
He pulls me closer.
No space.
No distance.
Nothing but him.
"Alex…" I whisper.
He's not even pretending this is innocent. His thumb strokes once along my hip, slow enough that I feel it in places that have no business waking up in public.
