A couple of circular turns and I am tilted, forcing me to bend back, arching in the back. Diego leans over me, breathing deeply and sharply somewhere near the collarbone. There is no touch, but I can imagine how this picture looks from the side. For the two-faced, an open neck and fangs nearby is almost pornography. Diego's ragged breathing and a strong desire for calm that suddenly rushed from him do not add.

But his hands are firm. He tightly controls what is happening, slowly raises, bringing closer. The surrounding people, the noises, the walls of the club all begin to move away. I fall into a treacle of...