One of his hands drifted up my back. His fingertips feathered over my skin. I clung to his shoulders, my breaths quick and shallow. The hairs all over my body stiffened as if an electrical current grazed my skin. He grasped my hips in both hands, rolling me into him, over and over, in time with the exotic melody. The bass beat pounded through the floor, pulsated up my legs, quivered between my thighs. His chest rubbed against mine, back and forth, with each rock of our fused hips. My nipples tightened. I gasped. What the hell was wrong with me? This was Adam. I couldn’t—

“It’s time,” he whispered into my ear.

A hard shiver raked through me. He took my hand. We wended our way through the crowd, past a man grinding his hips into the crotch of his buxom partner. She thrust into him, head thrown back, expression wild with ecstasy. The man covered her breasts with his hands and ran his tongue up her throat. I pictured Adam licking my neck, his hands on—

My cheeks burned. Whether from the brazen antics of the other dancers or from my own reaction to Adam, I had no clue. My brain had turned to gelatin. The warmth of Adam’s hand. The gentle strength of his grip. The sight of his muscles flexing and tautening as we traversed the floor. Heat pooled in my belly, sliding lower. Wherever Adam was taking me, I didn’t care. So long as he took me.