It starts with one song. I take your hand in the living room and ask you to slow dance with me. Nothing else. No ulterior motive. I just want you close for a minute. My hands on your hips, your head against my chest, the music playing softly around us. But you make it difficult to stay innocent. I kiss your forehead, your cheeks, your mouth. I tell you how sweet you are, how wanted you are, how hard it is to behave when you’re pressed against me like this. Then the dance slowly turns into something else, and I guide you back until you’re pinned to the wall. From there, I take my time with you. Kissing your neck, your collarbone, your chest, your stomach, your thighs. Sucking your tits. Holding your hands against the wall while I get between your legs and use my mouth until you cum for me. Then I take you to bed and fuck you slowly while you’re still sensitive, still wet, still trying to recover from my tongue. I want to cum with you this time. I want to feel you clench around me while I fill you. Afterwards, we lie there together, still hearing the music from the living room, joking about dancing, dirty dancing, and whether this might be our new song.