“Hmm.” The low sound rumbles against all points of contact. His deep inhale pushes me toward the glass; I drift back again as he breathes out. “I wanted to pull you off that stage and take you to the coat check.”

I shiver. “Then you should know”—I turn to him, my back almost against the glass, and raise my chin, exposing the zipper pulled high on the rounded collar of my jacket—“I leave work at work.”

No hesitation. He takes hold of the zipper and draws it down slowly, shifting to stand so close that his hand barely wedges into the space between us. I rest my hands at his waist. The jacket parts, and his hands come to my collar. He kisses my temple, then leans closer, his breath tickling the shell of my ear. “Do I have permission?”

When I nod, his stubble scrapes against me. “Do I?”

“Hm.” He peels the jacket from my shoulders, smoothing the leather to rest at the bend of my elbows. I start to straighten my arms—

He pulls me roughly to him by my jacket, and I gasp. My arms are pinned to my sides, and my pulse leaps at the sudden restraint, lacing my desire with a rush of adrenaline I can taste. Darcy nudges my head aside with his own, pressing a kiss below my ear. “No.”

A fresh jolt of surprise lances through me, sending all erectile tissue to delightful attention. He just said no.

He kisses lower, moving along my neck in a blazing path of lips and teeth and tongue. My breath catches, and he lifts his head, bringing his lips to mine. The relief is exquisite and immediate and not nearly enough; it’s like trying to release a dam through a keyhole. My arms ache to hold him to me, to reciprocate, but his grip and the leather keep my arms bound, useless at my sides. The loss of control is unfamiliar and exhilarating, making every muscle below my belly button clench.

But I still have control of my body. I arch into him, searing myself against him from sternum to pelvis, savoring the solid resistance of his torso and abdomen. I angle myself further, grinding against his hip—

Darcy groans. That is not his hip.

He relaxes his grip, easing the jacket from my arms, and breaks the kiss to toss it onto the rim of the tub behind him. He takes stock of my dress, the deep V of the neckline and the buttons running from just above the center of my bra to an inch below my navel. He’s seen it before.

He meets my eyes. “Do I still have permission?” I nod.

I stand as still as my thundering heartbeat will allow as he undoes the top button, his knuckles grazing the insides of my breasts. Not being allowed to touch him has gone from challenging to cruel, but the standard has been set.