The heat in the club was heavy, clinging to me—thick, but inviting, laced with sweat, alcohol, and too much perfume. The bass pounded deep in my core, the dancefloor packed with strangers bouncing and grinding to a beat no-one recognised—it was intoxicating. 

I let it swallow me—let it drown me. My hips swayed to the music, unfamiliar hands at my waist guiding me, pulling me close. It was a distraction, but exactly what I needed. 

It had been weeks since that kiss, and it had all but consumed me. I’d ended up unloading on some friends—every detail but the kiss. 

“Let’s go out,” they’d said. 

“Nothing like a little revenge sex, right?” They’d laughed. They really had no idea. 

They were half right. I did need to get out; I did need distraction. But revenge sex? Not my style… I kept trying to convince myself of that. 

Every time his lips or touch invaded my thoughts—the way he tasted, the way his hands explored my body like it was something to claim, needy and wanting—I grew an inch closer to texting him back.

He’d been messaging almost daily, and when I didn’t reply, he’d text Jamie—try and make plans, ask to come over or invite him out. I’d been doing everything I could to avoid him, but he still haunted my thoughts… Even now. 

As the song came to an end and the DJ opted for something slower-paced, I slipped away from the stranger’s grasp and made my way to the bar—a massive U-shaped beast at the centre of the club that was overcrowded with drunk men hoping a few shots and a sleazy dance might get them laid. Thankfully, the DJ’s song choice cleared the bar enough—a few lucky guys getting dragged on to the dancefloor—and I grabbed the bartender’s attention.

She was younger than the others, clearly overwhelmed by the Saturday night crowd with a sweat that only made her glow. Smiling, I leaned over the bar to give her my order over the music—she asked about my friends, they were around somewhere, I shrugged. 

The fact of it was, at that point, I didn’t care. They only wanted to talk about my relationship drama, or try to hook me up with random guys I had no interest in, and I said as much, dragging over a barstool as she poured my drink—vodka and lemonade.

She set it down with a straw I didn’t need to ask for, and a shot. 

“On the house. Seemed like you need it,” she smiled, friendly. 

I wondered if I was that easy to read, if the frustration was evident in my face—trying and failing to avoid the thought of Theo, his lips pressed to mine, his hands groping at my ass and pulling me into the hardness of him.

Fuck. I shook the thought from my mind.

“Only if you have one with me,” I said, pulling myself back to the present and biting at the edge of my bottom lip. But a hand warming the small of my back surprised me, pulling my attention away. 

“I’ll have one with you,” the familiar voice pierced my chest, the warmth of it curling lower. “And a rum and coke.” His eyes stayed trained on the bartender, icy-blue, intense, and avoiding my own.

As she went about pouring the second shot and mixing his drink, he pulled up a stool beside me—tall, broad-shouldered, red-haired, and annoyingly handsome. 

What. The fuck. Did I fucking summon him?

“What are you doing here?” I asked, accusatory, although trying to keep my tone cool and calm.

“I could ask you the same thing, grinding all over that guy,” Theo’s voice was laced with ice—and it made my stomach flutter and a heat bloom between my legs. 

Shifting in my seat, I crossed my legs, suddenly painfully aware I’d opted not to wear any underwear despite the short length of my brilliant white, body-hugging dress—can’t have panty lines. I couldn’t help rolling my eyes at the idea now. 

“Is that jealousy?” I raised my eyebrows, turning in my seat to face him—forcing him to meet my gaze. But his stare stayed locked—unshaken, unreadable. 

“For me? Or for your brother?” I continued, eyes narrowing as I remembered his texts—no apology, no remorse. Are you okay? Can we talk? I need to see you.

He faltered then, his gaze shifting as the bartender set his drink and shot down, and a card machine. He pulled his phone from his pocket, tapping it against the machine and waited for the beep that confirmed payment—it took only seconds but felt like an eternity, even though I already knew the answer. 

I didn’t take my eyes off him—couldn’t if I wanted to. Everything about him was magnetic, drawing me in whether I wanted it or not, twisting through my stomach and clenching tight. I felt my face flush and tried mentally blaming it on the alcohol, on the heat in the club, on anything but him. 

I fiddled with the straw in my drink—still waiting—light glinting off the chunky rings adorning my fingers, my nails painted silver to match. He knew I knew the answer; what was he waiting for? 

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he finally said, matter-of-factly, and changed the subject.

“Can you blame me?” I cocked my head slightly, reaching for my shot and nodding my thanks to the bartender.

“Yes,” he replied, mirroring me and taking his own shot in hand. 

Again, I raised my eyebrows—the only response I had. I clinked my tiny glass against his, a little aggressively, making us both spill, before knocking it back. The alcohol burned on the way down, and I was grateful for the sensation—anything to distract from the heat he was causing now. 

Still, I couldn’t tell if the warmth curling low in my core was caused by the booze or by him—his presence, his gaze, his palm sliding across my bare thigh. I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose, and then reached for my drink, drawing in a long sip, before nudging his hand away.

“Don’t,” I said, meeting his stare, pleading. I knew the lighting under the bar made everything apparent—the way my dress stretched tight over my chest, hips and thighs. I knew it looked almost sheer, highlighting just enough detail if you really looked—the colour in my nipples, which were starting to tense at his attention, the piercing poking through.

“What would you have said if I answered?” I continued, tilting my head slightly as I held his stare.

He hesitated, looking at the glass in his hand like it might hold a better answer.

“I’d have told you I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you,” he said, and when his eyes met mine again, they were softer somehow—warmer. He pulled himself closer to me, his thighs spreading around my crossed legs, brushing lightly, the denim he wore coarse against my bare skin and sending shocks through my body. 

I felt my stomach flutter in response, and the warmth between my legs throbbed as I clenched my thighs together. I poked at the ice in my drink with my straw—it was exactly the answer I’d expected, and it was exactly what I had been feeling.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I asked—because it didn’t. I gulped the last of my drink, nudged at his thigh, and stood. The bar was filling up again, more noise, more bodies, more heat—it was suddenly becoming claustrophobic. 

Without a word, I turned on my heel and made my way to the exit, my jacket on a hook near the security guards. One of them handed it to me with a smile that was anything but innocent, and I brushed his arm in thanks, pulling it around myself as I stepped outside. 

Theo, of course, was on my tail, hands in pockets, fishing for the box of cigarettes he always brought when he was drinking. He followed me to a quieter spot outside, the crowd thinning as the music inside picked up. Still, smoke and vapour clouded the air around us—small groups were laughing, a girl was sobbing into her phone at the edge of the crowd, and a guy was slumped on the curb. Same old story. 

“It isn’t about making you feel anything,” he said, stopping beside me as I leaned against the concrete wall of the club, watching anything but him. He offered me the box, but I pulled a vape from my pocket in a statement—I didn’t want anything from him, I told myself. A lie. 

“It’s just the truth,” he continued, pocketing the box as he slipped a cig between his lips and lit it.

I scowled at the way my body responded to such a basic answer—dampness growing between my legs, heat burning through every part of me. I closed my eyes and took a draw from my vape, inhaling deeply and holding it for one, two, three…

Fuck…

I exhaled and looked up at him—all curious and piercing, like if he stared long enough, he could drag all the answers he wanted out of me. I didn’t know if he knew he already was, even if I couldn’t say it out loud. 

Because the truth was, I wanted more—I didn’t regret that kiss, and I wanted it again. I wanted to feel his lips on mine, on my jaw, on my neck, trailing lower. I wanted to feel his hands on me—my waist, my hips, my ass—pulling my body into his, devouring me piece by piece. 

I felt myself reacting to the thought and shifted on my feet, crossing my ankles to clench my thighs together—anything to stop the wetness spreading. But, as if he could smell it, Theo leaned in close, one hand braced on the wall, his body brushing mine ever so slightly—just enough to make the hair at the back of my neck stand to attention and goosebumps spread across my thighs. He leaned down over me, lips brushing the edge of my ear.

“Don’t pretend you haven’t thought about me, too,” he whispered before taking a drag from his cigarette. I watched the cherry burn bright—glaring at me. At that moment, I hated how well he could read me. I wanted to tell him he was wrong and arrogant—despite the heat radiating off of him, threatening to undo me. 

Instead, I reached across him for the cig, my fingers brushing his, and brought it to my lips. I held his stare, hot and icy at the same time, as I inhaled—one, two, three—and exhaled toward his chest. Leaning up on my toes, still about a head shorter than him, even in platformed boots.

“Careful,” I purred in his ear. “Say shit like that, and you might actually get what you want.” I traced my tongue along the rim of his ear before placing his cigarette between his lips and stepping away. 

He inhaled, his other hand in his pocket. I stood between him and the crowd, allowing him to adjust himself out of sight, and smirked at the bulge twitching in his jeans. His shirt strained across his chest, muscles tight beneath brilliant white—matching my dress like he knew he’d see me. 

As he exhaled, he stepped closer again. Despite my boots, it seemed like he towered over me—his presence almost intimidating, making me feel smaller. But I couldn’t help leaning into it, into him, as he brought his cigarette to my lips, holding his gaze as I inhaled, then exhaled, his hand circling my waist and pulling my body against his. 

A shiver ran down my spine, and I clenched my thighs together, feeling the bulge in his jeans brush against me—twitching and tempting. 

God, please…

I felt my resolve faltering, but pressed a hand to his chest—hard, muscles tensed. 

“Stop,” I murmured—unconvincing—then stepped away, drawing long and hard from my vape.

On exhale, I turned and headed back towards the club doors. I hung my jacket back up and went straight to the dancefloor—a heavy beat playing, obnoxiously loud and just what I needed. I weaved my way through the crowd, bodies brushing and heat pulsing, finding my way as close to a speaker as I could.

I closed my eyes and let the music envelop me, hips swaying to the beat, arms overhead. I let an unfamiliar arm circle around my waist and pull me in—anything to distract from the presence looming at the edge of the dancefloor. 

I knew he’d follow me in, knew he’d find me, knew he’d be watching—and I wanted him to.

The body behind me moved in time with me, holding me tight, and I felt Theo’s eyes burning as he watched. I glanced in his direction, just for a moment, and saw the muscle prominent in his clenched jaw, arms folded tight.

Shit…

I couldn’t tell if I felt guilty or not, but I kept moving, slowing as the music slowed, coming to the end of the song. The guy shouted over the speaker, something about a drink, and I nodded, barely paying attention.

The moment he left me, Theo stepped onto the floor, heading straight for me—people moved out of his way, like he was a volcano about to erupt. A new song flowed into the last as he reached me, taking my wrists and pulling my body into his. 

I couldn’t see the fire burning behind his cold stare, the lighting on the dancefloor all but gone save for the dancing strobes. 

“Did that make you feel better?” He shouted in my ear over the bass. 

“That jealousy’s becoming a real problem,” I said, smirking as I looped my arms around his neck.

“It turns you on,” he matched my smirk, although the playfulness didn’t reach his eyes. 

And, of course, he wasn’t wrong. I felt the heat between my legs pulsing to the beat of the music, the slick spreading across my inner thighs. 

His hands moved around to my ass as he leaned his body hard against my own, walking me back to a dark corner where the strobes couldn’t reach. He kneaded the supple flesh, fingers lifting my dress as they explored. I felt myself giving in, closing my eyes and moving my body against his, grinding against the bulge tucked expertly under the waistband of his jeans. 

A gasp escaped me, unheard over the music, as his fingers slipped between my ass cheeks, venturing further, circling my hole where the wetness spread—overt and obscene even in the dark of the dancefloor. 

He watched me as he teased, eyes dark with something unspoken—actions not yet taken— and I let him.

“Can you feel what you do to me?” I said in his ear, nipping at his lobe.

He groaned—low and ragged, felt more than heard as it rumbled through his chest against mine. I clenched around nothing, soaked and pulsing—just as needy as the fingers teasing at my ass. 

I ran my fingers through the fade at the back of his head, pulling his head down to mine, brushing my lips against his, just enough to feel the heat of our breath mingle—to feel the heat of him.

Then, I pulled away. 

He buried his groans in my neck and hair as I turned around, yanking his hands to my hips and grinding my ass back against the bulge in his jeans, hard and slowly. 

Fuck…

His fingers dug into my hips, bruising—possessive, but unsure of how far I’d let them go. 

I tipped my head back against his shoulder, an arm reaching around to the other side of him, fingers circling around the back of his neck.

“Keep your hands where I put them,” I said in his ear, lips brushing his earlobe.

He obeyed.

We moved to the beat, grinding, letting the bass guide us—thumping hard from my chest and down to my core. His breath hitched every time I rolled my hips, but my pussy throbbed to the beat of the music—fast and impulsive. 

He was panting now. I could feel it—his chest rising and falling behind me, the tension building. But so was I, sweat beading down my neck, nipples taut and straining against the fabric of my dress, wetness slick across the inside of my thighs. 

Then, because he deserved it, I shifted my hips back harder, dragging the length of his cock between my cheeks, through the wet heat he’d already worked into me. My dress lifted higher, almost exposing me entirely. 

I felt his fingers twitch and dig harder into my hips.

“Don’t,” I warned, breathless, looking up at him—pleading. 

His breath hitched as I pressed back into him, slowly, deliberately—grinding just enough to feel the full length of him against me.

His hands stayed in place, fingers tight on my hips like he was holding on for dear life.

“You feel that?” I asked, tilting my head up to brush my lips along his jaw. “How hard you are for me?”

He could only nod, jaw clenched, eyes clamped shut in his focus.

“How close you are?”

Another nod, shakier than the first. 

“Not yet,” I said, rolling my hips again—one more time—before I turned in his arms, pressing my body back into his and leaning up on my toes. I ran my tongue along the base of his throat, forcing a ragged breath from him—an almost-groan. 

“At least pull your dress down,” he murmured, his tone almost whiny and desperate. The music shifted, the bass mellowing, and my movements slowed. He took the moment to do it for me, yanking the hem of my dress down and groping at my ass defiantly—making me whimper into his neck as his fingers dug into me. 

The crowd thinned—less heat, less chaos. A few girls stumbled past us toward the bathroom, laughing. I smelled the sweet fruitiness of a vape near the speakers and slipped my arms from around Theo’s neck. 

The moment was over, he was spent, and I was ravenous. I pressed my forehead to his chest, a silent plea between us—

What are we doing?

He didn’t speak, didn’t dare move. He just stood there, holding me in his arms, breathing heavily. 

The club would be closing soon; our time was almost up.

I took his hand, leading him off the dancefloor—past the stragglers, across sticky floorboards, through the lingering vapour that always curled thicker at this time of night, security more concerned with the chaos outside than the few left inside.

Back outside, I chose a spot away from the crowds of drunk and rowdy smokers. Theo didn’t hesitate to pull out his box of cigarettes, offering it to me first before he pulled one for himself—wordless. The flush in his face and neck had cooled but the glassy stare in his eyes was locked on anything but me. I wondered if his thoughts mirrored my own—guilt and shame mixed with excitement and want. 

I leaned into him as he offered his lighter, striking it so I could light my cigarette. I inhaled, long and deep—as if it offered more relief than the cool night air. It did, but it wasn’t sobering.

“Still want more?” I broke the silence on an exhale, the smoke bouncing off his hard chest as he inhaled his own. I couldn’t meet his eyes—both afraid of what I’d see, and entranced again by his physique lit up by the street lights around us—tall, broad, muscled but deliciously soft in the middle. Nowhere to hide under them.

He only stepped towards me in response, the words caught in his throat, closing the space between us.

Leaning up against the wall, I had nowhere to go—and in that moment, I didn’t want to go anywhere. I looked up at him as he turned his head to exhale, and my eyes traced the length of his neck, a vein pulsing at the side. I wanted to run my tongue along that vein, up to his earlobe, and bite—anything to get him to say something.

“And then some,” he finally answered, choked, meeting my stare. His eyes—blue and dangerous—were dark. Serious. It made me flush, heat curling deep inside me. 

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he continued, leaning down, his lips finding my neck, teeth grazing.

A hot shiver ran down my spine and coiled itself between my legs. I lifted my ass off the wall, leaning myself into him—brushing the bulge in his jeans. I knew what I did to him, and I enjoyed it. Too much. 

But did he know what he was doing to me?

I brought the cigarette to my lips, inhaling my response. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of that answer—not yet. 

Then, he stamped out his half-spent cig against the wall and pocketed it, a frown creasing between his eyebrows. Grabbing my wrist, he pulled me around the corner to a side street, forcing me to drop my own. 

I didn’t have a second to say anything before I was pressed back against hard concrete, and his lips were crushed against my own, fingers digging into my hips as he held me in place. 

I pressed my hands firmly against his chest—a false effort to stop him. But I kissed him back—it was feverish, like we’d both been starving since the last kiss. 

I couldn’t help the moan escaping into his mouth as our lips parted and our tongues intertwined, which only seemed to encourage him. His fingers dug harder into me as he pulled me into him, pressing the whole of his body against mine. 

I felt his bulge again, hard, evident, and straining in his jeans, and couldn’t help grinding against it—dragging a groan from him and forcing him to break the kiss in a ragged breath. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him to me and finding that sweet spot at his neck just beneath his ear. 

I licked and kissed and nipped, forcing more groans from him, which only seemed to motivate. 

“D…” he sighed, his hands leaving my hips, circling around to my ass and gripping hard, making me grind into him harder. I felt his cock twitching, teasing and encouraging—and I felt my pussy respond, throbbing and needy.

“Tell me what you want,” I purred against his neck, my grinding slowing as I waited for his answer. 

“You,” he whispered, leaning back to look down at me. His gaze pierced through me, unravelling me, and my body responded.

I felt my cunt clenching painfully, desperate to be filled, and reluctantly broke away from him, taking his hand to pull him further down the street, further away from the crowd and the streetlights—further into the dark.

Down a dank alleyway, Theo pinned me again, a low growl passing his lips before he dropped to his knees, lifting my dress as he went. I curled my fingers under the hem, lifting it further to my waist as his hands rested on my thighs.

I looked down at him, staring, almost awed, at the sight of me—pussy exposed, wetness shimmering between my spread thighs. I felt myself hot, twitching, and pulsing—eager for his touch.

“Please,” I whimpered, leaning myself towards him. 

He didn’t move at first—just knelt there, breathing hard, jaw tight, taking in every detail. The tight little bud eager for his attention, smooth pussy lips glistening—evidence of the effect he had—the strip of hair up my mound, damp with sweat from the night.

His hands pressed to my thighs, pulling them further apart. I angled towards him, and slipped a hand down, spreading my pussy for him, my middle finger finding my clit and circling slowly—forcing a ragged sigh from me.

“Please, Theo,” I murmured again, leaning my head against the wall and closing my eyes as I continued touching myself, adding the pressure of my ring finger. 

Obeying, he took my hand, lacing his fingers with mine, while the other took its place. His middle finger slipped between my folds, stroking slowly, teasing, and I felt his nose press against my skin, followed by a long inhale and low groan—like he’d just come home. 

“You smell like sin,” he whispered against me, his breath hot and sending shivers through me.

My thighs trembled, and I pressed myself into him.

“You taste better,” he added, certain. And then, his mouth was on me.

I gasped—a sharp sound full of anticipation—a hand flying to his head, fingers curling into thick, waxy hair, as his tongue traced flat through the slick.

He licked me like he wanted to drown in it, like he couldn’t breathe without it. He found my clit easily and circled—rough and quick—as he slipped his finger back in place, stroking with the same urgency his tongue had on my sensitive bud. 

My thighs shook, closing on either side of him as he pushed his face deeper, inhaling as he licked at my aching cunt, tongue teasing—slow, then fast, slow, then fast. 

“Fuck, Theo…” I cried out louder than I meant to and bit my lip, wincing at the sound.

Looking down at him, I caught the intense stare in his eyes as he watched me come undone at his assault—begging me to cum for him.

I heard giggles, but they sounded far away as he groaned into me, forcing my knees to buckle. I gripped my fingers into his hair to steady myself, biting my lip to muffle my moans as I rolled my hips into him without shame—only need. 

“Don’t stop,” I murmured, breathless. “Don't. Fucking. Stop.”

My stare was urgent, begging. He didn’t. 

His tongue became relentless, licking at my clit with a desperate ferocity while he slipped his finger inside me, and then another, pumping in, curling, and out, in, curling, and out.

I didn’t break his stare—couldn’t if I wanted to. His free hand held my thigh in a bruising grasp—as if this was the only thing that mattered all night. 

And it broke me.

“C-cumming…” was all I could mutter, as my body gave in. 

My thighs tensed on either side of him, tears pricking the corners of my eyes, a cry catching in my throat as heat burst outward—tight, sharp, and consuming. I bit hard into my lip, tasting metal, as my hips rolled and bucked against his mouth. 

My pussy clamped around his fingers, every curl of them dragging me higher, until I broke—spasming against him, choking back another moan as I felt him groan into me like he was the one unravelling.

The vibration pushed me over again—one last wave. My fingers tangled in his hair and held him there, breathless, and fucked, and unable to stop, desperately chasing and dragging my climax out as long as I could. My body shook, legs threatening to give away, but it went on, and on, and on…

“Oh fuck… ” I moaned, panting and trembling.

I barely had time to catch my breath before he stood, catching me—balancing me, legs weak. 

His eyes were glazed over, mouth wet with me. I coiled my arms around his neck, pulling him in to taste myself on his tongue—hot and sweet, a kiss filled with unfiltered need. I pressed my body against his, grinding my needy pussy against his bulge, lifting a leg and wrapping it around his waist. 

“D-” he groaned in my mouth, breaking the kiss. I felt his fingers digging into my waist—his breath ragged and desperate. He looked at me, urgent and intense. “You’re gonna make me cum…”

I pressed myself harder into him and felt it—his cock throbbing through denim, soaked with precum.

“Cum,” I whispered against his lips. “Just like that. For me.”

And I kissed him again, teeth grazing his lower lip as he gasped into my mouth. I moaned softly as I felt his body tense and press hard against mine—grinding with mine as his cock throbbed.

He lifted me off my feet, my legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed me hard into the brick. My pussy twitched with every throb, encouraging and, finally—

A low groan broke the kiss as he came. I felt the warmth and wetness spread in his jeans against my pussy—his body pressed firm against mine, trapping me between him and the wall. His hips twitched with every spasm of his cock and he swore under his breath.

My name was on his lips—mumbled, ragged and broken—and I swallowed it, sealing the secret between us.