The city hummed around us, a living thing pressing close as Griffin’s fingers laced through mine. We’d just polished off a dinner that left my lips swollen from kissing you between bites, my thighs already damp from the way your dark eyes tracked the rise and fall of my breasts in that clingy black dress. You smirked when I caught you staring, voice rough as you said, "Keep looking at me like that, and I’m gonna fuck you right here on the sidewalk."
I laughed, swatting your chest but secretly thrilled by the promise in your words. "Save it for the hotel," I teased, though the thought of you bending me over a park bench right now had my pulse spiking. Instead, we wandered, the neon glow of storefronts painting your skin in shifting colors as you pulled me into the rhythm of the night.
Then we saw the poster—glossy and inviting, tucked between a pizza joint and a boarded-up laundromat. "New club opens tonight," you murmured, dragging your teeth along my earlobe. "What do you say we check it out? Still early enough to get wild."
I bit my lip, already imagining the music thrumming through my veins, your hands gripping my hips as we moved together. "Only if they’ve got a killer DJ," I purred. "I’m in the mood to get my groove on."
Your grin was all teeth. "Then let’s go get you dancing, baby."
The bouncer took one look at us—a couple that looked like we belonged in a damn perfume ad—and waved us right past the line. He didn’t even ask for IDs. Smart man. No one in their right mind would’ve stopped us. Inside, the air was thick with sweat and sex, the bassline of the music vibrating through the soles of my strappy heels. You guided me through the writhing crowd, our bodies already syncing as if we were part of the rhythm, until we reached the VIP section. Plush velvet sofas, a table littered with empty glasses, and the kind of privacy that made my skin prickle with anticipation.
"Fuck," you groaned, pulling me onto your lap. Your hands slid up my thighs, fingers teasing the hem of my dress. "You’re gonna kill me tonight."
I rolled my hips against you, already drunk on the friction. "Then die happy."
That’s when I noticed it—the couples around us weren’t just dancing. They were doing things. Hands disappearing under skirts, mouths crashing together, bodies pressed so close you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. My breath hitched. The air smelled like sex and sin, and God help me, I wanted a taste.
You felt it too. Your cock twitched against my ass, thick and insistent. "You see that?" you growled, nipping my shoulder. "That’s what happens when you wear a dress like that."
I turned, straddling your thighs as the music pulsed around us. "Maybe I want to see more," I challenged, grinding down on you. Your fingers dug into my ass, pulling me flush against your length. The friction was maddening.
"You sure about that?" you rasped, eyes burning into mine. "Because once we start, I’m not stopping."
I leaned in until my lips brushed your ear. "Then don’t."
Something snapped. You flipped me onto my back on the sofa, your body covering mine as your mouth crashed onto mine. The kiss was brutal, hungry—tongues tangling, teeth clashing. My dress rode up, baring my thighs to the room, and I didn’t care. I wanted them to see. Wanted them to know what you were doing to me.
Your hands tore at the straps of my dress, dragging it down until my tits spilled free, nipples already hard and aching. You groaned, mouth latching onto one while your fingers pinched the other. "Fuck, Pandora," you snarled between bites. "You’re so wet already."
I arched into you, my own hands yanking at your shirt until your chest was bare, all those hard planes and ridges I loved to trace with my nails. "Less talking," I panted. "More fucking."
You didn’t need to be told twice. Your fingers hooked into my panties and yanked, the fabric tearing as you shoved two thick digits inside me. I cried out, my back arching off the sofa as you worked me, thumb circling my clit with every thrust. The sounds of the club faded, replaced by the wet slide of your fingers and my ragged breaths.
"That’s it," you growled, your free hand gripping my throat just enough to make my vision blur. "Take it. Take me."
I came with a scream, my nails raking down your back as pleasure crashed over me. But I wasn’t done. Not even close. I shoved at your chest until you fell back, then straddled you, my fingers flying to undo your pants. Your cock sprang free, thick and flushed, and I didn’t hesitate—I sank onto it in one smooth motion, taking every inch until my ass met your thighs.
You hissed, hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. "Fuck me," you growled.
Oh, I intended to.
I rode you like a woman possessed, my tits bouncing with every snap of my hips, my pussy clenching around your cock. The VIP section wasn’t private anymore—couples had stopped to watch, their own pleasure forgotten as they got off on *us*. The thought sent a fresh wave of heat pooling between my thighs.
"Look at them," you panted, thumb finding my clit again. "They’re jealous of you, baby. Jealous of how good I’m making you feel."
I moaned, grinding down harder. "Then make me feel better," I demanded, my voice raw. "Fuck me like you mean it."
You flipped me onto my stomach, dragging me to the edge of the sofa so your cock was buried to the hilt in one brutal thrust. What a night.