I'm already with another man. He touches me. And I let him.
He moves behind me. His strong fingertips press into the small of my back. His hold is somehow both delicate and firm. My heart flutters wildly. Only a few minutes have passed, but I'm already glazed with sweat, my own.
"At my wedding, there were too many grooms," I say. My words come out gentle whispers, fragile notes muffled by the music which is simply too loud.
"Tell me about it," he says. His voice is ocean deep, his accent an enigma, fading in and out. "But first, do me a favor and spread your legs wide."
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