My fingers tighten in his shirt as I kiss him, slow and unhurried, letting the world see exactly what I am saying without a single word.
Heismine.
Not because he holds me.
Not because he protects me.
But because I choose him.
When I pull back just enough to breathe, my forehead rests against his once more, and his hand tightens at my waist in response.
“Careful, dove,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, roughened at the edges. “You keep looking at me like that…”
A soft, steady smile curves my lips. “Like what?”
His thumb brushes along my jaw in a slow, almost reverent motion, though there is nothing gentle about the way he is looking at me now.
“Like you know exactly what you’re doing.”
He makes me feel confident.
I feel alive. Time slips.
Not in minutes, not in anything measurable, but in sensation. The steady pull of the music, the heat of his body against mine, the way the world dissolves into nothing but movement and breath and the quiet, constant gravity that exists between us.
I stop noticing the crowd.
The lights.
The noise.
All of it fades into something distant and unimportant, because Trey doesn’t let me drift too far—not physically, not mentally—his hands always there, reminding me exactly where I belong.
With him.
His mouth brushes my temple, then my cheek, never quite a kiss, never quite innocent either, his breath warm against my skin as his hands shift slowly along my body, mapping me in a way that feels both familiar and newly discovered all at once.
I move with him, without thinking, without hesitation, my body responding to his like it always has.
There’s no space left between us.
Not anymore.
His grip tightens at my waist before sliding lower, his fingers tracing the curve of my hips before slipping beneath the edge of my dress, pushing the lace up just enough to let his hands settle where he wants them.
My breath catches.
“Trey…” I whisper, but there’s no warning in it, no protest—just his name, soft and breathless as my fingers tighten slightly in his shirt.
His head dips, his lips brushing the shell of my ear as his voice drops low, rough, threaded with restraint that feels like it’s hanging by a thread.
“We should leave, baby…” he murmurs, his hands tightening where they rest, drawing me closer in a way that leaves no doubt about what he wants. His mouth brushes my ear as he speaks. “I’m fucking dying to be buried deep inside you… to feel your tight pussy grip my cock. Do you want me, Dove?”
A shiver rolls through me, heat pooling low, my body reacting before my thoughts can catch up, because I feel it—the shift in him, the strain in his control, the way he’s holding himself back for me.
I gasp softly as his hand slips beneath my dress, cupping me through the thin fabric of my lace panties, before he pushes it aside.
“Fuck…” he breathes. “You’re already so wet.” I know this is reckless. I know I shouldn’t let him unravel me like this, not here, not where anyone could see—but the thing I love most about Trey is his wildness. The way he never does anything halfway. The way he loves like it consumes him. He runs a finger through my folds before thrusting it inside me. I moan in pleasure, arching my back, pushing our bodies closer.
