Chapter 8: Sneaking Back Out – Stolen Touches All Night

The living-room lights are still low when Alex and I slip back into the main space, the heavy bass of the playlist pulsing through the floor like a second heartbeat I can feel in my bones. My legs are unsteady on the heels I’ve yanked back on, every step making the micro skirt shift against skin that’s already slick and sticky from what we just did in the bathroom. His release is warm under the fabric of my crop top and thong, a secret layer that shifts with every breath and makes my nipples slide against the thin material in a way that sends fresh sparks straight to my core. I can feel the faint sheen of it starting to soak through in places no one should notice, but the risk of it only makes my pulse race harder.

Jake spots me immediately from across the room and waves me over with that huge, trusting grin, pulling me into a quick hug that presses my chest right against his. The cum-smeared skin under my top slides against the fabric of his shirt for one heartbeat too long, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from gasping. He smells like beer and the cologne I picked out for him last month, completely oblivious that his best friend’s load is still cooling on my tits while he laughs in my ear about how the stripper surprise has been the highlight of his life. My eyes find Alex over Jake’s shoulder. That dark, possessive stare is waiting for me, and it feels like a brand across every inch of exposed skin.

The stolen touches start almost right away, quick and electric in the narrow hallway between the living room and kitchen where the light is dimmer and the crowd thins out for a moment. Jake’s distracted pouring another round of shots, his back turned, when Alex corners me against the wall. No one can see us fully from here, but the doorway is open and anyone could wander past at any second. He yanks the crop top up just enough, cups one breast in his big palm, and leans down to suck my nipple hard into his mouth—tongue swirling slow and deliberate, teeth grazing the sensitive peak while his other hand slides under my skirt again. His fingers push the thong aside and slip two thick digits into my still-dripping pussy, pumping once, twice, curling just right against that spot that makes my knees buckle. I brace one hand on the wall, biting my lip until I taste blood to stay quiet, the wet sounds of his fingers barely masked by the music thumping through the vents. The risk floods me hotter than the pleasure itself—my arousal coating his hand instantly, dripping down my inner thigh in a fresh trail.