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He sat beside her, legs stretched out before him, and sighed. “I haven't danced in awhile. I've missed it."

"Are you good?” Wariness edged through her earlier anticipation. What if she couldn't keep up?

He stretched his hand to her, palm out. “This is a good song. Why don't you find out?"

His confidence intimidated her, but only until she stepped into his arms. He tucked their joined hands between their bodies so the back of his wrist brushed her breast and flattened his other palm at the small of her back, bringing her hips against his. Already she could feel the ridge of his erection and they hadn't started moving yet.

"Watch me, Veronica,” he murmured, and rolled his hips against hers to the rhythm of the song.

God, did he have great rhythm. She stared into his dark eyes, saw his intent before the first step. She moved backward at his urging, still pressed to him, moved forward as he guided her with the barest pressure on her back until they moved together to the beat in their own little section of the floor. Vicente grinned as they twirled, and dropped his hand from her back to spin her away from him before curling his arm around her shoulders and tucking her against his side.

She gazed up as they circled side by side, backwards now, and he slid his hand along her arm to take her hand, catching her other as he turned her away from his body and guided her through a series of spins before bringing her back, breathless, against his chest. His smile was pure delight and she curled her hand around the back of his neck to bring her mouth to his as the song ended.

"You are amazing,” he murmured against her lips.

And thirsty. And hot. And really regretting her choice not to wear a bra because dancing caused a lot more jiggling than she expected.

"Let's cool off for a minute,” she murmured, backing away.

"Not yet."

He pulled her back against his chest, smoothing his hand down the length of her back and kissing her, his mouth slanted across hers, tongue stroking, leaving no doubt in her mind about his intent. He slipped his hand under her hair and she pulled away.

"I'm sweaty,” she protested.

"So am I."

He kissed her again as other dancers moved around them and soon they were also moving to the music, her arms looped over his shoulders, his hands on her hips holding her against his growing arousal, his mouth hovering over hers. They were so close, they could have been the only people in the room; them, and the pulsing beat of the music.

The song ended and another began, then another, and Vicente held her close. Veronica forgot about her chocolate martini as she drowned in Vicente's chocolate eyes. Her breasts rubbed against his chest until her nipples ached for his mouth, and his hardening cock stroked her mons through the jersey fabric of her dress.

Oh, yeah, he knew just what he was doing. She could see it in his crooked smile.

"Here?” she asked weakly.

He brushed his lips over the shell of her ear. “Have you ever come on the dance floor?"

She swallowed, curling her hands in the fabric of his shirt. “Have you?"

"I'm going to make you come."

She glanced around at the crowd. He couldn't have chosen a busier club. “Too many people."

"None of them paying attention to us. Can you come like this, rubbing against me?"

"I don't—"

But she didn't get the sentence out before he pivoted her on her heels, brought her back against his body and slid both hands over her breasts, down her stomach, his right hand not stopping until his long middle finger rested right over her mons, teasing her clit with its proximity. She concentrated on not arching her hips into his touch as he chuckled against her skin.

"You like this way, then?"

"Vicente, you can't—"

He pulled her tight against him with his left hand at her waist, so her ass rode the hard ridge of his cock, which, knowing him, he'd whip out and plunge inside her while she was mindless with the orgasm he seemed intent on giving her.

Right now.

She squeezed her thighs together, which only aroused her further, and he skimmed his hand up over her breast and back to her waist, circling his hips and pushing her swollen clit against his finger. She caught her breath and reached behind him to curve her hand around the back of his neck. He brushed his lips against the side of her neck and she closed her eyes, letting her hips slide forward into his touch. The shock of pleasure weakened her knees, but he held her up, held her against him, his erection nestled in the cleft of her ass, rubbing along the line of her thong. All it would take was a flip of her skirt and he would be fucking her and she would fly apart in front of all these nice people.

"That woman over there,” he said against her ear. “She knows what we're doing. I think she is jealous."

Veronica opened her eyes and immediately met the gaze of a woman near the tables. Knowing they were being watched amped up Veronica's pleasure. Then Vicente bumped her hips into his hand and the orgasm that swept through her was slow and languid, weakening her muscles so her head lolled back against his shoulder, her eyes drifting shut as pleasure pulsed through her with every beat of her heart.

As limp as she was, Vicente was tense with his own desire. He turned her in his arms and stroked her hair back from her face.

"Call Arthur, tell him to get the car,” she murmured. She didn't care if the driver watched them. She wanted Vicente inside her and she wasn't above begging.

He covered her mouth with his and she dissolved into the sexuality of the kiss, dragging her tongue along his as he tangled his fingers in her hair. Then he broke the kiss and turned, catching her hand and leading her off the dance floor. She stumbled at first, her legs still rubbery from her orgasm. He glanced back and slowed, and she realized he wasn't leading her to the exit and the car after all. He was heading in the opposite direction, and she already recognized the determination in his eyes.

"Not the bathroom,” she managed when she caught up to his shoulder.

"No."

But he led her down a hallway and up a short flight of stairs. How did he know where to go? Had he done this before? With whom?

She didn't want to ask those questions now, but, “Do you scope these places out ahead of time?"

"I saw it when we came in.” He opened a door and glanced around.

They were backstage—well, they would have been if a band had been playing tonight instead of a DJ. Veronica could see the dance floor through the heavy curtains surrounding the area. Vicente closed the door securely behind them, scanned the small dark space. He found a wooden speaker cabinet and released her hand to drag it over.

"Bend over,” he said, his words brisk, tight.

She did, bracing her hands on the cabinet, anticipation and fear of discovery tensing her muscles when she heard him unzip, heard the rip of the condom package. He flipped up her skirt just as she'd imagine him doing on the dance floor, shoved aside the fabric of her thong and plunged into her, his hands on her hips, holding her still.

The angle was exquisite, his cock deep and high inside her pussy, different than before, his hips slapping against her ass as she rose on her toes to bring him deeper. He bent his knees to accommodate and her orgasm began to build, tightening her cunt around him, her clit swelling again, aching for his touch, or her own. He leaned over her, lips brushing her ear.

"You can make all the noise you want this time. No one can hear you with the music."

So she unclenched her teeth and let his thrusts drive moans of pleasure from her throat. He slid his hand down to her knee, bent her leg to lift her knee onto the speaker cabinet as well, opening her wider for him, and he drove harder, deeper into her slick channel, coasting one hand up her body to free one breast from her dress, stroking, kneading, tugging. She didn't want to move her hips, didn't want to dislodge him, but God, she wanted to come. She wanted to come now.

"I want to touch myself,” she said over her shoulder.

His groan vibrated down her body and the rhythm of his strokes stuttered for a moment. “Jesus. Yes. Make yourself come."

She slid her hand inside her panties. She was so wet she had trouble finding a rhythm to match his, finally gave up trying and created her own, her middle finger flicking her clitoris in quick strokes that made her thighs tense, her ass tighten. When Vicente changed his rhythm, rolling his hips against her ass, pressing deeper, she spasmed, this orgasm thundering through her. She threw her weight back against him again and again until he took charge, pounding into her until his hands clasped on her waist and he groaned his own climax and dropped his head to her back. She could feel him struggle to catch his breath, and as good as he felt inside her, she wanted to turn, to take him into her arms.

She wanted him to hold her.

Instead he withdrew, dealt with the condom. She straightened, her back aching, and pulled her panties and dress back into place. Through the curtain, she met the eyes of the same woman who'd watched them earlier, and Veronica's heart gave a hard thump. Had she been watching the entire time? Had their actions turned her on? The woman merely saluted Veronica with her glass and turned away.

Vicente called for Arthur then and guided Veronica out of the club, only giving her a slight smile as he did. Once they were in the car, he kissed her, wonderful, deep, gentle kisses and nothing more, all the way back to her apartment. But when they parked and she asked him to stay, he said, “I can't,” and once he saw her to her door, turned away.

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Over the next week, they managed to find all kinds of places to satisfy his need for public sex. Veronica drew the line at bathrooms and kitchens, but there were more opportunities than she would have expected. They fucked in the copy room of the company five floors up, in a booth at an Irish pub, in the back of a movie theater—not as easy as it sounded, with those chairs that flip up—and at an Indian restaurant, surrounded by colorful curtains. They fucked in the back of the car twice, the first time with Veronica's back to Vicente's chest, the second time face to face.

In between, they talked, got to know each other. She told him about Evil Steve and what he'd done to her self confidence, about why she'd moved to the city, wanting independence, and her dream of owning her own architectural firm. He told her about his childhood in Spain, his flamboyant mother, his own insecurities-how a man that gorgeous had any, she couldn't figure out-and how much he loved being in America.

Still he wouldn't come up to her apartment when she invited him, still they hadn't fucked in bed, still her fantasy of feeling his weight over her was unmet.

"I have a treat today,” Vicente said, opening the car door with a flourish when he picked Veronica up Sunday afternoon.

She looked so pretty in the red and white polka dot sundress that hooked behind her neck, and he wanted to trace the heart-shaped outline of the fabric that framed her lush breasts, press his mouth to the curve of her throat, breathe her in. He'd become addicted to the scent of her, her sweet shampoo, the soft powdery scent of her throat. He took in a deep breath when she bent to look in the car at the picnic basket on the seat.

She turned to him, eyes shining with the humor he'd come to know so well. “Is there actually food in there?"

He couldn't resist touching her, and tucked her hair behind her ear. “I've been feeding you."

She lifted her eyebrow. The mouse was gone. She'd come out of her shell around him, not just sexually, and he loved it. She was incredible, funny, smart, quick thinking.

Creative.

Okay, memories of how creative, combined with the glint in her eyes and the teasing curve of her mouth made his cock hard. But today, even though he had a plan, he wanted to take it slow. Their last few encounters had stretched out in conversations that had intrigued him, that had made him want to look deeper at her.

He took her hand to help her into the car, refusing to wonder—for long—if she wore panties. She'd stopped wearing them at work, though she occasionally wore a thong if they went out.

He loved her ass in a thong.

Pushing the image aside with no small effort, he climbed in after her, and when he simply reached for her hand and brought it to his lips, her eyebrows went up. He placed the picnic basket between them, resting his arm over it, and instructed Arthur to proceed. He caught the driver's disappointed glance in the mirror, and a surge of protectiveness came over Vicente. He didn't want to share his intimacy with Veronica with the man. He'd done it once and hated himself afterwards. The next time they'd had sex in the car, Vicente had closed the partition between passenger and driver and kept her turned to him, for his eyes only.

What had changed?

Arthur let them off outside the park and Vicente swung her hand as they walked down the path. He'd already selected the spot and hoped no one else had claimed it, since it included a wonderful balance of privacy and scenery.

They were in luck. He led her over a rise and spread his hand in a flourish.

Only she wasn't paying attention. She'd stiffened and was looking down over a different area, where some young men were playing Frisbee, showing off in front of a group of young women.

"What is it?” He tugged her hand, eager to reveal what he had inside the picnic basket. He'd been looking forward to this since he'd come up with the plan two nights ago and didn't want to wait anymore.

"Steve."

He frowned at the word, then it processed. “Evil Steve?” A strange combination of surprise, jealousy and pride curled through him, and he turned toward the group, trying to pick out which of these men had attracted her attention, then broken her heart. Curiosity got the better of him when he couldn't detect the culprit from this distance. “Let's go say hi."

"What?” Her voice shrilled and she whipped around to face him.

"Why not?” He took a step toward the field, stretching her arm out between them as she stayed still. He hated seeing her uncertainty return, hated thinking that man had anything to do with making this stunning woman turn herself into a mouse. He hated thinking of any man having that power over her, even himself. “You look amazing. Wouldn't that just drive him insane, seeing you gorgeous and sexy and happy?” Moving toward her, he curved his hand around the back of her neck, stroking his thumb over her jaw until her eyelids fluttered in pleasure. “Come on. You know you want to."