Saskia and Nadia had been dancing for an hour. In all that time, neither of them had touched the other once.
That was the game. The club was dark and thundering, and the floor was a sea of arms and glitter. Across a small gap of heated air, they moved in perfect, wordless synchrony. Saskia’s black dress clung to her.
Nadia’s white shirt was open one button more than it had been at ten o’clock. Every time their eyes met, a bolt went through both of them.
Nadia turned and let her hips roll in a slow figure eight. Saskia felt it low in her belly, in the pulse of her own button. It was as though the music had been poured straight into her. She mirrored it, and Nadia’s eyes went dark.
They drew closer, inch by inch, until there was a breath of space between them. Then there was less. Saskia could feel the heat of Nadia’s body down the whole length of her own. Their lips were so near that each of them breathed the other’s air.
“Still good? Nadia murmured. Saskia nodded against her ear.
“Then not yet. Make it last.”
Saskia nearly whimpered. She slid a hand up to her own throat. Nadia watched it travel, and her mouth fell open.
They left at last, in the cool blue hour before dawn. In the back of the cab they sat side by side with their fingers laced together on the seat between them. That was all, and it was plenty. Every bump in the road felt like a hand.
They could hardly stand by the time they reached the door. Nadia stopped there, one palm flat on the wall beside Saskia’s head. “Yes?” she said.
“Yes,” said Saskia. “You?”
“Always yes.”
They kissed as though they had been waiting for years.
The rest is theirs.