The flutter
Before I could stop myself, I was being dragged to the dance floor. Smith took long, virulent strides, and despite my best efforts, my short legs couldn't keep up. I jogged behind him in the Jimmy Choos, attempting to keep up with the speed, my cheeks burning. He fought his way through the mob and stopped in the center of the dance floor.
I was out of breath.
He yanked me tightly into him, slamming our bodies against one another.
My head briefly touched his before coming into contact with his strong chest as my hips touched the tops of his thighs. I gripped the bridge of my nose as tears welled up in the corners of my eyes. Ouch, that hurt.
He examined my face while holding my cheeks with two hands. As he inhaled deeply, his nostrils flared and he had stern eyes. You will survive.