Page 49 of Breakout
Kellan and Clay step up a moment later, each wrapping their girl up in their arms.
I look down at Peyton, wishing I could kiss her like they are kissing theirs as we speak.
“I’m going to get Peyton home. She’s wasted,” I call out.
Kellan gives me a thumbs-up, still mauling Cora.
Clay pulls back. “You sure? You don’t even have your car.”
I frown. I didn’t think of that.
“Wait. We didn’t finish our mission,” Grace says, spinning to me. “She has to dance with a guy.”
I frown. Is that why she called me here?
“All right, Gracie. Let’s go dance then,” I tell her, pulling Peyton to the dance floor.
“You smell delicious,” Peyton tells me as soon as I have her in my arms.
“You are drunk,” I tell her, kissing her nose.
She gasps, looking around. “People will see.”
That only makes me chuckle harder. “Everyone is drunk. It’s fine. Now dance with me, wifey.”
She moves in closer, moving her body against mine. Every brush of her skin is torture. It’s like electricity is pulsing between us. I let her body fit mine like a puzzle piece, letting her drunken motions guide us.
My dick hardens as she brushes against me harder, rubbing her heat against my leg.
She’s getting herself off.
That’s the only thought in my head as I press my leg up harder. I let her set the pace, keeping her tight against me until I feel her body stiffen as she comes against me. The damp fabric on my leg confirms what I already knew.
My wife just came on my leg in the middle of a group of strangers. There’s something so hot about knowing that.
As I pull away from her, I can see how sleepy she is already getting. She always is after a good orgasm.
Moving back to the group, I’m not surprised to find the couples making out while Wyatt scans the club.
“Can we go now? Peyton might pass out,” I joke.
Clay pulls back. “Yeah. Let’s go. Wyatt, you staying?”
I don’t miss how he eyes that same group again before shaking his head. “I’ve seen enough.”
I hold Peyton close to my side, Wyatt taking her other side as we make our way out to the car. It’s then we realize our predicament.
“I can call a ride,” I tell Clay, digging out my phone.
“I’ll just sit on Kellan’s lap. Peyton can sit on yours or Wyatt’s.”
I look at Wyatt, who doesn’t say a word.
“Beck,” Peyton breathes out.
Cora cackles. Legit cackles.
“Guess drunk Peyton doesn’t hate you after all.”
