Page 111 of Stroke of Fate

I grin. “Thanks, Mack.”

When we reach the dance floor, we find our friends. Austin and Sam wish me a happy birthday, and Pia shoves a red solo cup into my hands. I take a whiff of the liquid and scrunch my nose.

“What is that?”

“I don’t know.” She giggles. “Made it myself, so it’s safe and surprisingly tasty.”

I take a tentative sip, and she’s not wrong. “Mm…not bad."

It's a little sweet, but I’m making this my last drink for the night. Between the wine, beer, and whatever this concoction is, I don’t think I can stomach mixing more alcohol.

When the music changes to something upbeat and contemporary, Pia hauls me toward Elsie and Macy, who arealready in the crowd. The bass vibrates through the floor, and I get lost in the music.

Somewhere between the first and second song, Levi and his friends join in, and I alternate between dancing with my boyfriend and my girls. Even Mack and Sam sneak in a dance with me, though I’m pretty sure it’s just to piss Levi off, judging by the grins they throw his way.

I have no idea how many songs pass, but by the time Levi tugs me off the dance floor, I’m breathless and slightly sweaty.

He doesn’t say anything as he holds onto my hand, maneuvering us through the house, and I don’t ask questions.

He guides us up the stairs to the second floor, trying door handles until one finally swings open.

I watch as he quickly hides his beer bottle behind a large potted plant. Before I can react, he pulls me into a small bathroom.

“Levi, what—” my words are cut off when he pushes me up against the wall and grinds his growing erection into me. I whimper when he shifts, the apex of my thighs begging for more friction.

“Do you know how hard it’s been seeing you in this outfit all night and wanting nothing more than to touch you?” Levi rasps as his tongue snakes out and licks the sweat off my rapidly beating pulse. He moves further down the crook of my neck until he gets to a tender, fleshy spot. He bites down and sucks. Then, his tongue runs over the mark, soothing the sting. “Taste you until your pussy drips on my tongue.”

Another whimper falls from me, a little more desperate than the last. “I like knowing how turned on I make you.”

“So you’re admitting to being a tease on the dance floor?”

“Maybe—”

He cuts me off for the second time in a matter of minutes. This time, it’s when he pulls my underwear to the side and slips two fingers inside me.

He groans his approval against my neck when he feels how wet I am for him already. But instead of moving like I think he’s going to, his fingers lie limp inside me.

“Levi, please move.” I pant, not caring that I’m practically begging him to finger fuck me.

He smirks, leaving me to take matters into my own hands. Moving my hips over his fingers, I try to get some of that friction I’m aching for. But the angle is awkward, and I get no relief.

I huff out a frustrated breath, and he chuckles. I grab his wrist, fully prepared to move his hand myself, but he stops me by putting his thumb on my clit and applying pressure.

A soft cry leaves my mouth, but frustratingly, he pulls his thumb away.

“Tell me why you deserve to come?”

“Because I want to,” I say lamely, but he shakes his head.

“Not good enough.” He rasps.

I stare into his eyes, which remind me so much of home, good memories, and love in the purest form: unconditional and without expectations.

I rack my brain, trying hard to think of what he wants me to say, but all it can focus on is coming over his fingers. Fingers, which are still nestled inside my slick heat.

Somewhere in my subconscious mind, it clicks, and I know what he wants to hear. “Because I’m yours.”

“Mine,” he growls, rewarding me by finally moving his fingers.

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