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the bass. She could feel her breasts bouncing on the counter beat, and arousal tightened low in her belly.
    â€œKeep dancing for me,” Phillip said, his voice a velvet drawl.
    She took a step away so he could see her better. In a private show just for him, she swung her hips to the beat and thrust her pelvis a little bit. She was in the groove and hit each move just right.
    â€œMy God,” he murmured, “the way you push it.” His smoldering look gave her confidence, made her glow. He rested his hands on her waist, and with every bop of her hips Zoe became increasingly aware of her every curve. She danced to provoke him—twisting to bring his thumb closer to her breast, turning to run his hand over her flat stomach, moving so his fingertips floated over her ass.
    He stood and began to dance with her. He didn’t overpower her. Instead, he brushed against her, teasing back and inviting. A caress here. A stroke there. She seductively turned, and his lightest touch told her that she had his complete attention.
    The music slowed, and he took her into his arms. He didn’t press against her, but she grew extremely aware of his presence. His hooded eyes had darkened, and they never left her. She knew if she touched him between his legs, she’d find him rock hard, and she felt powerful. Electricity sparked between them. When her breast touched his chest, her nipples instantly hardened, and her desire for him became almost palpable.
    â€œWe’re going,” he almost groaned.
    Zoe didn’t object.
    Â 
    They were breathing hard when they left the club, not just from physical exertion. Phillip led them around a corner toward Washington Square Park. A fountain spouted sparkling water toward the sky. A vast garden of daffodils surrounded the fountain with a yellow so bright she could see them in the moonlight.
    â€œBeautiful,” Zoe remarked.
    â€œYes. Let’s walk around it.” He set a slow, leisurely pace. Night shrouded the park in mystery. The dog run, usually roiling with canine life and yuppy owners, stood gray and empty, and she saw none of the usual clean-cut NYU students playing frisbee or hanging out.
    Zoe caught a whiff of marijuana as they passed several couples sitting on iron benches. Most were making out. Zoe saw someone giving head to someone else, and she quickly looked away, trying not to feel scandalized. Phillip slowed the pace further, and her heart began to pound. She jumped nearly out of her skin when a car alarm went off right behind her. The bright lights of Broadway seemed miles rather than steps away.
    â€œHere,” he said finally, leading them to an empty bench. “Let’s catch our breath.”
    That sounded innocent enough. Zoe sat, and he moved in next to her. The cold iron of the bench quickly permeated her dress and chilled her heat. She shifted back to avoid it. “Are you cold?” he asked, moving closer still.
    â€œIf you’d’ve asked me yesterday, the answer might have been different,” she said with a brave grin.
    â€œYou were never cold—you just needed . . .”
    â€œWhat? You?” She challenged.
    â€œA firm hand. Show me your breast.”
    She bridled, but then checked herself. Maybe he’d forget the spanking thing if she were obedient from here on out. Subduing her embarrassment, she pulled the front of her dress until her breast was bared to the cool night air.
    And to his mouth. He leaned over and licked it. She could feel his hot breath on the wet, sensitive skin. The sensations bewitched her senses.
    â€œHold it for me, Zoe. Hold your breast.”
    Shutting out all other thoughts—like that someone might see them, that good girls don’t hold their own breasts or make out in parks—she cupped her breast and offered it to him.
    He devoured it, roughly caressing her back, her arms. He surrounded her with his touch as he ravaged her.
    Slowly, images from the intimidating park