Page 123 of You Were Always Mine
She gasps, low enough no one else can hear, but I feel it vibrate through her body as she grinds on me, shameless, slow, filthy. The bass of the music rattles the booth, but all I can hear is her breath catching, her little whimpers against my neck.
I press two fingers along the seam of her panties, not inside, not yet—just enough to tease her clit with every roll of her hips. She’s dancing for everyone else, but she’s breaking for me. My cock’s hard and straining under her, and she knows it. She moves deliberately, grinding down like she wants to wring the breath out of me, and my fingers follow, cruel, rubbing her in time with her own dirty rhythm.
“You wanted to dance, Scar?” I whisper in her ear, my voice raw. “Then fucking dance for me. Grind that little pussy on me until you can’t breathe.”
Her nails claw my shoulders, her head falling back, but she keeps moving—circling, grinding, trembling. I keep my fingers tight against her through the lace, sliding with the wet that’s already soaking through. The music covers the sound of my teeth gritting as I fight not to tear her apart right here.
I hook my fingers under the thin lace and shove them aside, sliding straight into the heat of her. The wet clings to me instantly, obscene, and she jolts against my chest like I’ve just lit her nerves on fire.
Her body doesn’t stop—she keeps rolling her hips, dancing like the music owns her, but it’s me she’s grinding on, me she’s breaking for. My fingers drive up into her, filling her, curling deep until her whole body clenches around me.
“Good girl,” I growl against her ear, my free hand gripping her hip, forcing her to ride my cock through my jeans while my fingers fuck her. “Dance for them—fall apart for me.”
She whimpers, muffled into my neck, but her hips don’t stop, grinding harder, faster, the filthiest rhythm in time with the bass. Every thrust of my fingers drags wet sounds out of her, swallowed by the music and the crowd, but I hear them. I feel them.
Her thighs clamp around my hand, trembling, her nails digging crescents into my skin. She’s trying to choke down the cries, trying to hide it, but I don’t let her. I press my thumb hard over her clit and curl my fingers deeper until her whole body jerks.
“Say it,” I whisper, low and lethal. “Tell me whose fingers are inside you while you dance like a fucking slut.”
Her breath hitches, her lips part, and her hips slam down on me harder, desperate, shameless.
Her whole body tightens like she’s right there, teetering, about to shatter on my fingers. I feel the pulse, the twitch of her walls begging to break around me.
And I stop.
Not completely—I keep my fingers inside her, buried deep—but I hold still, forcing her to grind down on me tochase the friction herself. The way she gasps, the panic in her throat, it makes me grin against her ear.
“Thought I was going to let you cum?” I murmur, low and razor-sharp. “Not yet, Scar. You’re gonna keep dancing. You’re gonna soak my fucking hand in front of everyone and still not get what you want.”
She whimpers, tries to roll her hips harder, but I tighten my grip on her waist and control the pace, slow, torturous. Each drag of her clit against my thumb is enough to make her sob but not enough to tip her over.
Her nails dig into my shoulders, her teeth scraping at my neck like she’s feral with need. “Please,” she breathes, broken, and I nearly lose it, but I clench my jaw, crueller for it.
“Keep begging. Louder. Let them wonder why you’re grinding on me like you’ll die without it.”
The bass rattles through the booth, but I hear the wet sounds of her cunt every time I curl my fingers, then stop just shy of giving her release. Her thighs are trembling, her body convulsing against me as she fights for something I’ll never give her yet.
I tilt her chin up so she’s forced to meet my eyes in the dark. She looks wrecked—mascara smudged, lips parted, sweat-damp hair sticking to her face. Beautiful.
“You don’t get to cum until I decide,” I whisper, cruel and soft at the same time. I drag my soaked fingers out just enough to smear her slick up her thigh, then shove them back in, hard. “And I’m not deciding tonight.”
Her cry was muffled in my shirt, sounding desperate and raw. She keeps moving anyway, grinding, dancing, humiliating herself in my lap, because I own her need.
She’s soaked all over my hand, grinding on me like she’s trying to fuse herself to my cock through denim,every muscle in her body tight and trembling. She’s so close I can feel it—the flutter around my fingers, the way her breath stutters into broken gasps, her face buried in my neck like she’s praying I’ll let her come.
“Go on, Scar,” I whisper in her ear, cruel, coaxing. “Cum for me in front of everyone. Let them see who fucking owns you.”
Her thighs quiver, her body jerks, her teeth scrape my skin—she’s seconds away, begging with the way she moves.
And then?—
“Funny spot for a dance, don’t you think?”
The voice slices through the music like glass.
Tyler.
Her whole body goes rigid on my lap, panic flashing across her eyes before she even dares look. I feel her go cold, the orgasm ripped from her like it never existed.
