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I put my hands on her hips.
Just resting there. Lightly. Her skin was hot under my palms, and she felt incredible, and for one second it was worth it.
Then she went completely still.
“Owen.” Her voice was flat. “Hands.”
“Sorry. You just…”
“I just nothing. I told you the rules a minute ago.” She lifted my hands off her, one at a time, and placed them back on the velvet like she was putting toys back on a shelf. “There’s a camera right there. If Dez sees that, I get a warning and you get a pavement.”
“I’m sorry. Really.”
She looked at me for a long moment. She was still sitting in my lap, topless, her nipples still hard, and I could feel her warmth through my jeans. Some of the sparkle had gone out of her face, though. She’d become professional again in about two seconds.
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s try that again.”
She started dancing again. Slower this time, more careful, a little more distance between us. She was still gorgeous. Still grinding, still letting her tits brush my chest. But it felt like she was dancing at me now instead of with me.
My hands were trembling on the couch. Part of me knew I’d blown something. Another part of me, the stupid part, was still staring at her hips and thinking about how good they’d felt.
She turned around and lowered herself onto me, arse first, and that stupid part got louder.