I wanted to press up close to Tom, writhe against his gorgeous body to the music until he let go of all the tension in his back and hips and moved with me.
Damnit, one way or another, I’d make him live in the moment.
Tom caught his breath, his hands carefully finding my upper arms. I smirked and caught one of his hands, pushing it toward my back instead. “I don’t bite,” I told him, my voice loud over the music. I had to nearly brush my lips against his ear. “Unless you ask really nicely.”
I felt him laugh, a deep rumble in his chest. I pressed up to him, my body already pulsating with pleasure every time our chests brushed or thighs slotted together just right.
At last, as tentatively as if he were stepping onto a rope bridge, he started to let go and sway his hips. It was hypnotic, watching the change in him. Watching him give himself permission to let go.
I ran my hands down his sides until they rested there, tugging gently this way and that to encourage it. And Tom grinned at me, a spark of joy in his eyes that made my whole spirit fire up to see it.
That’s it! I wanted to cry out. That’s the feeling you should get from dance!
Every time I danced, I lost any sense of self-consciousness. It was as natural as breathing, and it brought me joy that I couldn’t help but express.
Tom kept just enough distance that we could each finish our drinks, and then he got us another.
By the bottom of the third cup, Tom was finally moving like he had a sexy little ass he wanted people to see.
My hands slid up his back as I kept him close, letting guys nearby with wandering eyes know with a glare that they weren’t welcome.
Not tonight. Tonight was about getting him to feel more comfortable in his own skin. Then he could bare it to whomever he chose.
Even if that wasn’t me. Damnit, that thought made my cheeks burn with something, though. It was more than protectiveness, more than wanting him to have a good time. It was… jealousy?
I had no claim to him. There was nothing inappropriate happening between us, but only barely. This was how I’d dance with a friend.
If that friend was hot and I was really into him but didn’t want him to know, for some crazy reason.
Just moving with Tom to the beat, relishing every brush of his strong hands wandering down my back, turned me on. It quickly grew clear that he was taking his cues from whatever I did to him. If I put my hands on his chest, he did the same. If I touched his hips, so did he.
And it was impossible to ignore the sparks between us now. He barely looked at anyone else, and unlike earlier, he wasn’t staring at his feet. Instead, he barely looked away from me, and neither did I.
It was so tempting to let my hands wander down to his ass and see what happened. I clung onto self-control with all I had, but my body wasn’t listening to my brain.
My arousal was pushing at my jeans, thick and needy. When I clung close to him and rippled our bodies together, I felt his cock twitching, too—big and hard and mouthwatering.
I couldn’t help showing off. I looped one arm around Tom’s waist as I bent backward, making him slide an arm around me to support me. Better still, the movement pushed his hardness into my thigh as he clung to me for support.
My palms nearly brushed the floor under me and guys nearby wolf-whistled. But I wasn’t showing off my flexibility for them. It was all for him.
As I came back up, Tom gave me a grin like he didn’t quite know where to look. “Wow,” he breathed into my ear, pulling me close again. He was so much more comfortable with me now that I had to grin. Tom’s lips brushed my skin, too firmly to be accidental. “You’re bendy.”
He pulled back again to look at me, and he licked his lips. Bit the lower one. Stared at my mouth like he wasn’t sure how to do this.
I knew what Tom wanted to do, because I wanted him to kiss me, too. But not until he was ready.
I leaned in and told him, “You don’t know the half of it.” I didn’t pull back after the words, though. I kept my chin on his shoulder, breathing across his neck.
This way, I could press my hard-on into his hip. Tom felt how much I wanted him. He caught his breath, his nails suddenly digging into my shoulder blades.
Small, hot lines ran down my back as he gripped me close and rocked into me, his nails running all the way to the small of my back. My dick throbbed in my pants, and I clenched down like I could already feel him inside me.
I cried out softly and then instantly regretted it when he softened the touch to just his fingertips.
“Sorry,” Tom told me, the silly, sweet man. He clearly couldn’t tell an ow moan from a do that again moan. Add that to the list of things I desperately wanted to teach him.
But again, when Tom pulled back from speaking, his eyes fell to my lips and lingered there.
He might be waiting for me to say something in return. I could almost make myself believe that. But his lips were parted, and the harder I pressed my thigh against him, the more his cock twitched against it.
Oh, fuck. I hadn’t felt this hot desire flip my stomach this way and that in so long. I’d been waiting for the perfect date, the perfect gentleman… the perfect something, I didn’t know what.
And here he was, turning pliant in my hands and stiff against my hip. If I was going half-wild with need, he had to be losing his mind.
So I slipped my arms around him and rested my chin on his shoulder again, thanking the DJ/God for the slower song that came on next.
I ground against him in slow rolls of my hips, keeping our feet moving as we did. Sweat soaked through our shirts as we clung close to each other. My jeans were painfully tight now, but the wet tip of my cock helped ease the dry friction.
“In a gay bar,” Tom began, his lips dangerously close to my ear, his warm breath tickling nerves that made my nipples harden into points, “is this… okay? To do with someone you don’t know?”
I wanted to laugh, but I didn’t want him to feel like I was making fun of him. So I grinned to myself and pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss on his shoulder—just straddling the line of affection and desire.
“It’s more than okay, baby,” I told him, squeezing him in a brief hug before I loosened my grip again. “This is how it’s done. Look around.” From my vantage point, I could see several pairs of guys—or more—dry-humping without even pretending to dance.
His chin moved against my shoulder, his back twisting under my hands. “Oh,” he breathed out a moment later.
“I’ve gotten several bases on a dance floor,” I told him, trying not to whimper when he shifted his weight in such a way that his thigh pressed straight against the rigid, throbbing line of my dick. “Back when… when I was younger.”
Christ, I was hard. It hurt so much I might have to slip off somewhere and deal with it. But then poor Tom would be the only one turned on and desperate and unsure what to do about it.
No—I’d avoid a sneaky bathroom trip for his sake. In solidarity, you see. Not because I hoped that I could save this climax for a… shared moment.
“I see,” Tom breathed out, like he was stunned by this information. Or like he was struggling to control his own impulses, too.
I peeled myself away from him with a great deal of reluctance. As much as I wanted to dry-hump him until I made quite a mess, I shouldn’t. I had just enough lucidity left to remember that I was seeing this man in a professional capacity tomorrow.