The growl that rumbled from his throat sent shivers down her spine. Sorcha gasped as broad hands slid around her waist and pulled her against his chest. She splayed her fingers against his heat. His legs framed hers, inner thighs pressed against her hips. Her stomach was flush against his—crystals biting through the thin fabric. “This is hardly proper,” she whispered. “Humans do not dance as the Fae do.” “This is how you dance?” “Well, not particularly.”
