Aaron corners her when she goes to the bathroom

Chloe excused herself from the dance floor with a soft squeeze of Josh’s hand and a bright, carefully practiced smile. “Bathroom,” she murmured against his ear. “Be right back.”

Josh nodded, already being pulled into conversation by Ethan and one of the groomsmen. “Hurry. I want another dance before the night’s over.”

She walked away with the same measured steps she had used all evening, thighs pressed close, one hand hovering near the hem of the dark green satin dress. The short skirt swayed with every careful movement of her hips, the cool night air still finding its way beneath the fabric to kiss the bare skin between her legs. The absence of her panties felt louder now that she was alone. Every step reminded her that nothing covered her except the thin layer of satin that ended high on her thighs.

The path to the restrooms wound past the catering tents and along the side of the main building, lit only by distant string lights and the occasional glow from a service doorway. Chloe kept her eyes forward, gold clutch pressed against her side, the pointed toes of her matching pumps clicking softly on the stone. She had almost reached the small outdoor restroom structure when a familiar voice cut through the quiet.

“Chloe.”

She froze. Aaron stepped out from the deeper shadow near a cluster of potted trees, still in the too-tight navy blazer, the black lace of her panties no longer visible in his hand but clearly still on his mind. His eyes dropped immediately to the short hem of her dress, lingering on the smooth stretch of thigh above her pumps.

“I need to talk to you,” he said, voice low and urgent.

“Aaron, not now. I’m going to the bathroom and then straight back to Josh.” She tried to step past him, but his hand closed around her wrist—not hard, but firm enough to stop her.

“Just for a minute. Please.” He tugged her gently toward a narrow gap between the building and a tall wooden lattice screen thick with climbing vines. The space was barely wide enough for two people, hidden from the main garden and the path. Soft music and distant laughter drifted over the hedge, but the alcove itself was dim and private.

Chloe’s heart slammed against her ribs. “Someone could walk by—”

“They won’t. Everyone’s dancing.” He pulled her fully into the shadowed space, the lattice at her back, the cool wood of the building wall at his. The moment they were out of sight, his free hand slid under the hem of her dress.

Chloe gasped, both hands flying to his wrist. “Aaron—stop—”

His palm was already on the bare curve of her ass, fingers spreading across the smooth skin he had only imagined until now. The touch was clumsy, eager, almost reverent. He squeezed once, then again, kneading the soft flesh as if confirming it was real. Chloe’s breath hitched. The short satin dress rode higher under his wrist, the night air rushing against newly exposed skin.

“You’re bare here,” he whispered, voice thick. “I knew it. I can feel it.”

“Please—” She tried to twist away, but the narrow space left her little room. His other hand joined the first, both palms cupping and groping her bare ass, thumbs pressing into the soft lower curves. The motion forced her hips forward slightly. She felt the front of his trousers brush her thigh, already hard.

Then one hand slipped lower, sliding between her legs from behind. Thick fingers found the smooth, bare folds of her pussy and pressed upward. Chloe’s entire body went rigid. A soft, involuntary sound escaped her throat as he cupped her fully, the heel of his palm grinding against her mound while two fingers parted her lips and stroked along the slick inner heat.

She was a little wet. The constant awareness of being bare, the earlier adrenaline, the forbidden nature of every step she had taken tonight—her body had responded despite the discomfort. Aaron’s fingers slid through the moisture easily. He made a low, almost broken sound of pure excitement.

“You’re wet,” he breathed against her ear. “For me.”

“I’m not—” Chloe’s voice cracked. She pushed at his chest with both hands, but the effort was half-hearted, her body locked between the lattice and his bulk. “Aaron, someone is going to see us. Josh is right—”

His fingers moved more deliberately now, one thick digit circling her clit while the others stroked through her folds, gathering the slick evidence of her reluctant arousal. He groped her ass with the other hand at the same time, spreading her cheeks slightly so the cool air touched places that made her flush hotter with shame. Every motion of his hands made the short dress ride higher. She could feel the satin bunched around her hips, leaving her completely exposed from the waist down in the narrow, shadowed space.

The distant music seemed louder. Laughter rose and fell somewhere beyond the lattice. Chloe’s pulse thundered in her ears. Any guest looking for a quiet place to talk, any server cutting through the side path, any curious relative stepping away from the dance floor—they would only need to glance into the gap to see her pressed against the lattice, dress shoved up, Aaron’s hands buried between her bare legs.

“Aaron, stop,” she whispered, the words tight with panic. “Please. This is too much.”

But he didn’t stop. His fingers continued their clumsy, eager exploration—stroking, pressing, sliding through the wetness that betrayed her. He squeezed her ass again, harder this time, pulling one cheek aside so he could drag a fingertip along the sensitive skin there before returning to her pussy. Chloe’s thighs trembled. A soft, traitorous pulse of heat rolled through her core even as her mind screamed at the danger.

She was uncomfortable. The touch was too rough, too inexperienced, too public. Yet her body responded with another slow trickle of wetness that coated his fingers. The contradiction made her stomach twist with fresh shame. She kept one hand braced against his chest, the other gripping the lattice behind her for balance, gold clutch still somehow clutched in her fingers. Her dark green pumps shifted on the uneven ground as she tried to keep her legs from parting further under the pressure of his hand.

“Just a little longer,” Aaron murmured, almost to himself. His breathing was ragged. He pressed closer, the hard line of his cock rubbing against her hip through his trousers while his fingers continued to grope and stroke. One thick finger circled her entrance, not pushing inside yet but teasing, spreading her open enough that the cool air touched her most intimate places. “You’re so soft. So wet. The guys would never believe this.”

Chloe’s eyes darted toward the open end of the alcove. A pair of guests walked past on the main path, their voices clear for a few seconds before fading. Her entire body locked in terror. Aaron’s hand never paused. He kept groping her ass with slow, possessive squeezes while the other hand worked between her legs, fingers slick now, sliding easily along her folds and over her clit in clumsy circles.

The dual sensations—rough palms on her bare cheeks, wet fingers exploring her pussy—made her knees weak. She felt exposed in a way that went beyond the missing panties. The short dress was useless now, rucked up around her waist. Anyone who looked would see everything: the full curve of her ass under Aaron’s hand, the bare mound he was cupping, the way her thighs trembled with every stroke.

“Aaron,” she breathed, voice shaking. “Someone is going to catch us. Please. I have to go back.”

He finally stilled, though his hands remained exactly where they were—one still spreading and groping her ass, the other still cupping her wet pussy, two fingers resting along her slit as if claiming the space. His forehead dropped against her shoulder for a moment. She could feel the heat of his breath through the thin satin of her dress.

“Okay,” he said at last, the word rough. “Okay.”

He withdrew his hands slowly, almost reluctantly. The sudden absence of his touch left her feeling even more exposed. Cool air rushed against the wet skin between her legs and the places his palms had warmed on her ass. Chloe immediately shoved the hem of her dress down with both hands, smoothing the dark green satin over her hips and thighs as if the fabric could erase what had just happened. Her fingers came away slightly damp. She wiped them quickly against the inside of the skirt, heart still racing.

Aaron stepped back just enough to let her move, eyes dark and glassy behind his glasses. The front of his trousers was openly strained. He looked like he wanted to say more, to ask for something else, but the distant sound of footsteps on the path made them both freeze.

Chloe slipped past him without another word, gold clutch pressed tight against her side, pumps clicking too loudly on the stone as she hurried the final distance to the restroom. Her legs felt unsteady. Every step made the slick folds of her pussy shift against each other, the wetness Aaron’s fingers had encouraged now impossible to ignore. The short dress still felt dangerously inadequate.

Inside the small restroom she locked the door, braced both hands on the sink, and stared at her reflection. Flushed cheeks. Slightly mussed blonde hair. The gold jewelry still perfect at her throat and ears. She looked almost composed—except for the way her chest rose and fell too quickly, and the knowledge that her bare pussy was still wet and sensitive under the thin green satin.

She cleaned up as best she could with paper towels, the cold water and rough paper only heightening the awareness of how thoroughly she had been touched. When she finally stepped back into the night air, she forced her posture straight, smoothed the dress one last time, and walked toward the lights and music with the same careful, controlled steps as before.

Josh was waiting near the edge of the dance floor. His smile was warm and completely trusting when he saw her.

“There you are,” he said, pulling her close. “Everything okay?”

Chloe nodded, letting him wrap an arm around her waist. The pressure of his hand against the satin made her acutely aware of the bare skin underneath—still slightly damp, still sensitive from Aaron’s groping fingers. She leaned into Josh’s side, smiled up at him, and tried to pretend the rapid beat of her heart was only from dancing.

But every time the short hem of her dress brushed her thighs, every time the night air found its way beneath the fabric, she felt the ghost of Aaron’s hands still on her—cupping, stroking, claiming—and the cold fear that the next person to look too closely might see exactly how exposed she truly was.