Page 160 of Collide
I break the kiss. “Alex,” I whisper sharply. “People might see?—”
I glance around. Sure enough, there are whispers. A few phones angled too deliberately.
“Let them,” he says, and pulls me back in. This time, he doesn’t stop at a kiss—he lifts me fully into his lap.
I surrender. His lips feel like heaven, and he massages my tongue with his until I’m putty in his hands.
I feel him—hard and growing—pressing into my thigh. The heat of him, thick through his pants, pulses against my skin. His fingers trail up my leg like he’s memorizing every inch, dragging until they find the hem of my panties. He doesn’t move further. Just toys with it. Flicks the elastic, letting it snap back, biting into my skin.
I gasp into his mouth, a low moan caught in the back of my throat as my hips shift, yearning for more. I’m wet, tequila and lust searing through me.
I want him to touch me, my body begging for release. He could brush my clit right now and I’d probably orgasm from it.
He grabs my ponytail and tugs it. My head tips back, exposing my neck, and his mouth is at my ear, hot breath curling down my spine.
“Ahh.” A groan escapes my mouth.
“Imagine me holding this while I fuck you from behind.”
My thighs clench. Breath stutters. The image hits like a lightning strike—me bent over, him deep inside, that fist in my hair, his voice in my ear.
God.
I get wet at the thought. My chest rises fast. Skin flushed. I’m seconds away from dragging him into some corner?—
“Babe! Come dance with us!” Riley’s voice breaks through, slicing the moment clean in two.
It takes me a second to catch up.
“Please,” Philippa adds, wobbling slightly in her heels, her lip gloss smeared, eyes glassy.
Alex’s grip tightens around my waist. He’s not ready to let go. Neither am I.
I turn to him, heart still sprinting. “Duty calls,” I say, breathless, kissing the tip of his nose like it’ll steady me.
“Put on a show for me,” he murmurs, then squeezes my ass from under my dress, firm like he’s staking a claim.
I yelp, half-laughing, half-flustered as Riley tugs me toward the dance floor. I glance back once.
He’s watching.
Jaw set. Eyes dark.
And I’m still throbbing.
Riley twirls me and we start to move, hips swaying, arms loose, the beat sinking into my bones. The electricity of Alex’s touch still clings to my skin, a ghost of heat I can’t shake.
Riley slides behind me, her hand curling around my neck. I turn, my back pressed to her front, grinding as the bass throbs between us.
“Babe, you’re in trouble,” she purrs into my ear, her breath sticky-sweet with tequila. The lights strobe across her face. Philippa dances somewhere in front of us, lost in her own rhythm, hair stuck to her lip gloss.
“Why?” I shout over the music, spinning to face her again.
Riley just smirks.
The rhythm builds. It feels good to dance—mindless, messy, sweat gathering at the base of my spine. Riley grabs my hips, turning me slowly, deliberately, until I’m facing the VIP section again.
And there they are.
