Hallway

D’s grip on your hand tightens as he pulls you down a dimly lit hallway, the bass from the party thumping through the walls. His other hand slides around your waist, fingers pressing possessively into your hip as he backs you against the cool drywall. The scent of his cologne—something smoky and expensive—fills your space as he leans in, his breath warm against your lips. “Been waitin’ to do this all night, girl” he growls, voice rough with want. Then his mouth crashes into yours, hot and demanding. His tongue slips past your lips, tasting like whiskey and mint, and you melt into him, fingers tangling in the tight curls at the nape of his neck.

His thick thigh presses between your legs as his kiss deepens, the rough denim of his jeans grinding against your core. You moan into his mouth, arching against him as his free hand slides down to grip your ass, pulling you harder against the unmistakable bulge straining against his zipper. Even through layers of fabric, you can feel the thick, heavy outline of him—hot and insistent against your hip. D breaks the kiss just long enough to smirk, his voice a dark rumble. "Ain't even got you upstairs yet and you already shakin' for it." His palm drags up your side, fingers skimming the curve of your breast before he pins your wrist to the wall.

D’s lips trail down your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point as his free hand slips under your top, calloused fingers tracing the lace of your bra. Your body arches into his touch—until a sharp, sudden clarity slices through the haze of lust. Wait. What the hell am I doing? Your male mind surges back like a bucket of ice water, screaming at you to stop. The feel of D’s stubble against your throat, the possessive grip on your waist—it’s all wrong.

The thought vanishes as D’s thick fingers slide past the waistband of your panties, his calloused fingertips tracing slow, teasing circles over your slick heat. Your breath hitches—every nerve alight—as his middle finger drags through your soaked folds, his dark chuckle vibrating against your throat. "Fuck, you wet as hell already girl, you really miss this" he rasps, moving your jand to his crotch, his voice rough with approval. His finger presses inside without warning, stretching you just enough to make your knees buckle.

D’s free hand slides down to the front of his jeans, pressing your palm against the thick ridge straining against the denim. “Feel that?” he growls against your lips, grinding your hand into the heat of him. “All fuckin’ yours tonight.” Your fingers curl instinctively, tracing the swollen outline—hard as steel beneath the rough fabric—and a rough groan rumbles from his chest.

D’s fingers still deep inside you, he pulls back just enough to lock eyes—his dark gaze burning with dominance. “You want this big black dick?” he growls, curling his fingers to drag a whimper from your throat. “Then beg for it.” Your breath hitches as his thumb circles your clit, slow and torturous. “C’mon, shawty,” he taunts, lips brushing your ear. “Tell me how bad you need it.” His free hand fists your hair, tilting your head back as his teeth graze your jaw.

God you needed it, but you couldn't...surely?