His grin is devilish. “I was gonna say fucking hot, but yeah, filthy too.” He tucks my hair behind my ear, thumb brushing up the curve of my jaw. “Can’t say I’m surprised though. Youdidwarn me you like being filthy.”
“Mm-hmm,” I murmur as our bodies move together—slow and languid and forbidden.
His hand slides to my lower back once more, drawing us even closer together as the other settles between my thighs. Desire claws through me, a sudden rush of fire in my veins, burning through me with a need that’s so raw and visceral it would bring me to my knees if Tripp wasn’t keeping me upright.
“Do you think I can make you come without anyone knowing?” he asks, a wicked challenge in his eyes.
“Tripp,” I say, warning and yet there’s a desperate edge to it, almost like I’m begging him to try.
Even though it’s stupid.
Even though it’s reckless.
Even though if anyone sees, Wes will be the first person they call.
He swipes a finger through the slickness between my thighs, and my fingernails bite into the skin on his biceps. It’s the only thing that keeps me from crying out as he draws gentle circles around my clit like a pro.
“What do you have against wearing underwear in public, Quinn?”
My laugh is shaky from how he’s touching me so perfectly beneath my dress—a secret that only the two of us know. “I don’t like feeling confined. And if I wore any, this would be a little harder.”
“You won’t hear me complaining.”
My body floods with warmth as his fingers keep up a steady, torturous rhythm, each stroke bringing me closer to the edge. I have no idea if we’re still dancing. I’ve lost track of the music, of the crowd, of everything except the promise of release.
He lowers his forehead to mine, a dangerous smirk playing on his lips. “Christ, Quinnie, you’re wet under this dress for me.”
“Fuck, I know.”The words are a tortured whimper.
“Such a good little slut,” he murmurs. “Ready to come for me in a room full of people.”
The heat in my core builds and builds, spiraling toward a pleasure so acute it borders on painful making the room around us disappear. Wetness slicks his fingers, the circles messier, slipperier, dirtier.
It’s wrong.
Insane.
Immoral, probably.
But I’ve completely lost my head to Tripp’s touch, and I don’t want him to stop.
“How about you come like a good girl?” he says. “So I can take you out to my truck and bury my cock inside that soaked pussy.”
And that’s all it takes.
I explode. Biting so hard on my lip, I taste blood. Stars cloud my vision—bright and hot and white.
The music muffles, the crowd fading into nothing as my whole body pulses with the force of my orgasm. It’s like I’ve shattered into a million pieces and only Tripp’s firm hold is keeping me tethered to this spot.
Slowly, my senses return. When I open my eyes, I realize he’s danced us into a shadowy corner away from the speakers and most of the bar.
To anyone else, it probably looks like we’re just talking.
But I know better.
I meet his gaze and feel nothing but satisfaction.
No shame for what we just did.
