Free Lead and Follow by Katie Porter

thigh against her pussy. Damn, it was a dirty dance. She tossed her head back, feeling effervescent. Her partner guided her with every step, his arm strong at her back. Maybe it was just the bachata, but she was able to let go. No competition here, other than the way she wanted to blow that girl Jeanne out of the water.
    Remy clapped once and whistled. “You like showing off for him, do you?”
    “He already knows what I can do.”
    “I don’t think either of you do. C’mon now. He’s lovin’ this. Dirty it up, baby girl.” He held his hand out to Jeanne. “C’mere, girly. Let’s take notes from the masters.”
    Lizzie met Dima’s eyes, which were intense and yet oddly playful.
    “You heard him,” he said. “Let’s get dirty, little one.”
    They both grinned. Everything they’d ever shared on the dance floor amped up, fueled by familiar competition and a sharp new edge of desire. She found the rhythm like a bird catching a fast updraft of air. Soaring. She held on to Dima’s shoulders, where hard muscle played beneath her palms. Their torsos came together for a long, slow grind. He took her around the waist, not even bothering with her hands. His heated expression promised he could lead using her hips alone.
    She knew it. Knew it like she knew the feel of his body pulsing against hers. Primal and flat-out sexy .
    He slipped a hand up her back, fingers splayed between her shoulder blades. Lizzie arched into that hold and stretched her arms overhead. Dima grazed his mouth down between her breasts, then yanked her up and into three whip-fast turns. Letting go, letting him lead, she worked harder than she had in months. She also melted on the inside.
    Fantastic.
    The track ended with Lizzie beautifully lightheaded. No way could she dance like that and not experience a hefty turn-on. A hardcore bachata affected her as strongly as a fast fuck up against a wall. Athletic. All about the pelvis, where man and woman fit together. She was a sweaty, slightly breathless mess, but damn did she feel good. With two fast spins, Dima dipped her back into a full body layout. He sank to his knee and bowed over her stomach. Both of them panted. Lizzie grinned at his quiet, contented growl.
    With a flourish, he drew her to standing and freed her with a spin. The same exit as always, but supercharged with electric sensations. She felt slinky and hot—the first time in months she’d found that thrill on the dance floor. One look at Dima said he was equally dazed. If a humorless Russian ballroom dancer could drool without actually dripping saliva, he was doing just that.
    Remy released Jeanne and met Lizzie by the sound system. He took her hand and kissed her knuckles. A sheen of sweat glued the white tank top to his pecs, and his jeans rode low on lean hips and a toned tummy. “We could be great, chère ,” he said softly. “But I think he got it covered.”
    She wished it could be that simple.
    “You’re very good,” she offered, running the hell away from the idea her desire was so obvious.
    He huffed out a chuckle at her polite rejection. “You’re surprised, aren’t you?”
    “By what?”
    “Me.”
    She laughed and shook her head. “Damn, you’ve got balls. But yes, you surprised me. I thought you were supposed to be a contemporary dancer.”
    “All bets are off here. I mean, she’s supposed to be one too, but here we are dancing bachata.”
    He flicked his gaze to where Jeanne took a sip of water. Her lack of confidence was obvious. Lizzie twisted her lips, knowing it was completely unfair to gloat about having shown the woman up. The thing was, Jeanne wasn’t a bad dancer. In fact she was probably fantastic in her given style. Under the rigors of Remy’s fast and sexy moves, however, she was entirely outclassed.
    Remy stood at Lizzie’s back and kissed her shoulder. “You belong here with us.”
    Across the practice room, Dima was glaring daggers. Probably the only reason she didn’t push Remy