He gropes her all over

Cody’s hand moved first.

It slid along the side of her waist, thick fingers spreading over the gold fabric, feeling the narrow curve of her body where the dress clung. Emily went rigid. She could feel the damp heat of his palm even through the material. He didn’t ask. He just kept going, the cramped space giving him every excuse to stay pressed tight against her.

His fingers climbed higher.

They found the underside of her breast and cupped it fully, the soft weight of her filling his large hand. The strapless dress offered almost no barrier. He squeezed once, slow and deliberate, feeling the give of her flesh, the way her nipple tightened against his palm through the thin gold fabric. The sensation sent another heavy pulse through his already hard cock. She was softer than he’d imagined, fuller, and the forced closeness let him map every contour without her being able to step away.

Emily’s stomach turned. Disgust rolled through her in a cold wave. She wanted to shove his hand off, to knee him, to scream—but the house was still quiet in that dangerous way that meant the cops might not have fully left. One sound and the closet door could fly open. One sound and she’d be standing there in a short gold dress with a Solo-cup smell on her breath and a citation waiting. She bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to taste copper and stayed silent.

Cody took the silence as permission.

His other hand dropped lower, sliding over the flare of her hip and around to her ass. The short hem of the dress had already ridden up; his fingers met bare skin at the bottom edge of the fabric, then pushed higher, cupping one full cheek and squeezing. The soft flesh overflowed his grip. He kneaded it slowly, spreading his fingers, feeling the shape of her, the way her body was forced to stay pressed against the hard line of his erection. Every time he squeezed, his cock dragged against her lower stomach, the friction thick and deliberate.

Emily’s breathing stayed shallow and controlled only by force of will. His hands were everywhere—one still working her breast, thumb now rubbing across the peak of her nipple through the dress, the other openly groping her ass, pulling her tighter against him so the soft give of her body had nowhere to go. She felt the dampness of his palms, the heat of his soft stomach crushing into hers, the heavy length of him grinding in slow, sticky circles. Revulsion sat heavy in her throat. She hated the way her body was trapped, hated the way the gold dress that had made her feel bold downstairs now felt like nothing more than easy access.

Cody’s mouth was close to her ear. His breath was warm and sour.

“Fuck, you’re soft,” he whispered, almost to himself. His hand on her breast squeezed harder, lifting the weight of it, testing the shape. His other hand slipped fully under the hem of her dress now, palm spanning one cheek of her bare ass, fingers digging in as he pulled her hips tighter against the thick ridge in his jeans. He rolled against her again, using the grip on her ass to control the friction, dragging his cock up and down the soft plane of her lower belly and the top of her thigh.

Emily’s free hand found the hanging shirts and clenched them until her knuckles ached. She couldn’t make a sound. She knew that. The hallway outside was still too quiet. Any noise—any protest louder than a breath—could bring boots back up the stairs. So she stayed locked in place, body rigid, while his hands moved over her like he owned the space and everything in it.

His fingers on her breast found the top edge of the strapless dress and tugged it down just enough. Cool air touched her skin for a second before his warm, damp palm covered her bare tit completely. He groaned under his breath at the feel of her—soft, heavy, the nipple tight against the center of his hand. He rolled it between his fingers, pinching lightly, then harder, while his other hand kept kneading her ass, spreading the cheeks slightly so the short dress rode higher and higher.

The closet smelled worse now—his sweat, her fear, the leftover beer on both their breaths. Emily felt every point of contact like a separate violation: the soft bulk of his stomach, the hard press of his cock, the greedy hands that refused to stop. One palm full of her bare breast, fingers working the nipple; the other openly groping her ass under the dress, pulling her into each slow grind. She was uncomfortable in a deep, crawling way that made her skin feel too tight. Disgust sat thick behind her teeth. She wanted the door open. She wanted space. She wanted his hands off her.

Cody didn’t give her either.

He shifted his stance just enough to press his erection more firmly between her thighs, the thick length trapped against the soft heat there while his hands continued their work—squeezing, rubbing, mapping every curve the gold dress had put on display downstairs. His thumb stroked across her nipple again. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her ass hard enough to leave marks. Every movement ground him against her, using the tiny closet and her forced silence as the only permission he needed.

Emily stayed silent.

She had to.

The only sound in the dark was their breathing and the soft, wet shift of fabric and skin as Cody’s hands kept groping her tits and ass without pause, his body locked tight against hers, the hard evidence of how much he was enjoying it rubbing steadily between them while the house outside remained dangerously quiet.