Kill Switch by Penelope Douglas

out. Arms up, feet moving from one elementary position to the
next. There was no flow. It was like a warm-up.
But then the lyrics started, a deep and raw voice coming
out of the sound system, and she popped up on her toes,
stepping one foot in front of the other, her body all of a sudden
coming to life and slinking from one move to the other.
And that’s when the song registered. You’re a Mean One,
Mr. Grinch.
But it was a cover—some bluesy, rock variation—sexy,
slow, and taunting.
I clenched my jaw.
Her shoulders rolled, one after the other, and her hips
swayed to the music, her eyes closing and her neck bending
like a seduction.
The drums kicked in, building up the song, and she jerked
her body with every beat. Then she threw her head back,
moved her arms, spun around, and rolled her head, pulling the
pin holding her hair up, and it all came spilling down around
her as the music let go and the singer’s voice cried out its raw
rendition.
“Whoo-hoo!” Shouts went off around the room as people
started to lose control, and I balled my fists, watching her.
That wasn’t fucking ballet. She may as well be taking her
clothes off.
“Oh, hell yeah,” some guy cheered.
“Shit, that’s hot,” another one chimed in.
Motherfucker.
She twirled and stepped, moving like sex and running her
hands all over her body, the muscles of her toned thighs visible
through the sheer skirt all the way up to her crotch. The leotard
left nothing to the imagination. Her hair whipped around,
falling in her face, and her lips parted, making her look hot
and breathless. My cock warmed with the rush of blood, and I
wanted nothing more than to give her the spanking she damnwell
deserved out in the car right now.