Chapter 3: Hiding & Listening – The Party Ignites

The lock clicks shut under my fingers the exact second I press my back flat against the spare-bedroom door. The borrowed robe hangs half-open, cool air slipping through the gap and brushing the bare skin where the micro skirt has already ridden high on my thighs. My heart slams so hard against my ribs I swear the vibration could carry downstairs, straight into the rising chaos of male voices and slamming car doors outside. I stay frozen there, one hand still trapped between my legs, fingertips grazing the soaked lace because the memory of Alex’s thick cock grinding against my ass in the kitchen is still burning into me like a brand. Ten minutes ago. Just ten. The denim heat of him, the twitch when I shifted, the low groan he buried in my hair—it’s all I can feel.

The room around me feels too intimate, too knowing. King-sized bed with crisp white sheets stretched tight, the kind that will end up twisted and stained by the end of this night if things keep spiraling. A big window overlooks the backyard where the guys are already cracking open beers, their laughter bouncing off the wooden fence. Thin walls let every sound bleed through like the house itself is whispering secrets right back at me. I shrug the robe off my shoulders and hang it on the hook behind the door, the fabric whispering down my arms. Then I crawl onto the bed on my stomach, still in the full outfit—micro skirt, cropped top, thong, heels—and pull my phone in front of me. The mattress dips under my weight, cool against my bare stomach where the top has ridden up.

Downstairs the playlist I made is already thumping through the floorboards, the same sultry R&B tracks from last night. The bass line travels straight up, slow and heavy, settling deep in my bones. Each low note makes my nipples pull tight against the thin fabric of the crop top, a sharp little ache that spreads outward. The vibration sinks lower, right between my legs, pressing the lace of the thong even tighter to my swollen folds until I can feel every thread clinging. I try to breathe through it, slow and steady, telling myself this is still just the joke, still harmless fun for Jake’s big night. But my hips have already started the tiniest involuntary rock against the bedspread, chasing that steady pulse like my body knows better than I do.