Re: ("chaste") dancing: sam & cris
He knew she couldn't see his face, 'cause she wasn't looking at it. When she turned, gaze snagged like some silver fish in the sea, he felt the weighta it on his body. Cris smiled, though it was unseen by the gringa, and he took the stairs two at a time. It was just enough speed to meet Sam at the landing, just as she launched herself against him and tightened arms around him.—He did keep them balanced, but he shifted his weight quick to his heels from the ballsa his feet and planted feet hard on scuffed floor. He lifted one arm up, drink safe in hand, but the other slung low, hand trekking the smalla Sam's back as he pressed her to him. She felt good.
Her breath was hot on his throat, soft words skating over Adam's apple. He pressed his nose to clean, crafted blonde and breathed her in. Soap lived quiet beneath almond and vanilla rich, her skin was summer breeze, jasmine, and sweet cloves. "You do too." Cris' hand slipped to the curvea Sam's ass possessive. Club-goers parted around them like unwilling river cleaved by rock. The guy didn't even notice. "I missed you." He smiled against tamed crown. With the rime and rimma his glass under Sam's chin, he tipped her face up to him, knuckles brushing her lips. He didn't even thinka the fact that she had lipstick on. He wanted to touch her there. This wasn't that day tinged coastal pink, her in a black, borrowed skirt, with red on her lips just so he'd look—so he'd want. He didn't have no ring, no tethers to nobody, 'cept Sam, and he touched her like she was his.
He offered her the rum wordless, his eyebrows lifted and his beetle-black gaze far too intent waiting for her lips to part and press to glass—waiting to watch them, like it was some perverted act he was too eager to witness. He licked his own lips reflexive and thoughtless, and he swallowed the same. Finally, as he waited, he told her, just a lil too throaty to be casual: "You look gorgeous, bella."