We duck down the hallway and find a door. Flinging it open, we discover the room’s empty. Perfect. I’ve never been so happy to see a janitor’s closet in my life. I kick the bucket and mop out of the way as Julia enters, follow her, and slam the door shut. This closet is dark, and I put my hands on her. She gasps just with that contact. Julia pulls on a chain, and a light bulb comes to glaring life above us.

No. I reach up and yank it off.

“I want to fuck you like this,” I tell her, sealing her mouth with mine. “In the dark.” My lips brush hers. She tastes fucking glorious, the rich tang of alcohol warm on her breath, mixed with cherry lip gloss and the scent of arousal. She pulls me against her, hooks her arms around my neck, and climbs me.

Goddamn, this woman goes after what she wants.

I’m about to come just thinking about it.

“I don’t have any condoms,” I grunt as I help her pull her shirt over her head. Her bra is lacy; I toy with the edges of it, my fingers ghosting over the swell of her breast. She moans as I pull the bra down, her nipple going hard as I touch her. I flick my tongue across her peak, take her breast into my mouth and suck. Julia moans, keening deep in her throat. Even pinned up against the wall, she bucks against me, urgent. Her need is driving me on. Fuck.

“Hold on,” she gasps, and gets me to let her down for a second. Fishing around on the floor, she comes back up. There’s the sound of crinkling plastic.

Are those . . . glow-in-the-dark condoms?

“Bachelorette party. Waste not, want not,” she breathes, then kisses me again, moaning when my tongue thrusts into her mouth.

She tugs at my shirt; fuck it. I pull it over my head, discarding it onto the dark floor. I’m blind in here, and there’s only Julia’s hands questing over my chest, trailing down my torso. She kisses my neck, flicks her tongue across my nipple.

Jesus. It’s taking all my considerable will power not to fuck her right now.

I put my hand between her legs, feel how damp her panties are. While she gasps, I yank them down, so hard I’m sure it’s a miracle I don’t fucking tear them. I play with her a moment, circling my fingers around the swollen bud of her clit, earning a hard moan. But I don’t touch her yet—not full on, at least. I drag those fingers up and down the seam of her pussy until they’re soaked with her juices, once, twice, enough times to have her gasping in my ear and going mad against me.

Then I edge my fingers inside her, and try not to groan.

God, she’s so wet. And tight. Her cunt hugs my fingers like she’s claiming them. But I have other things in mind, and start pumping. Slow at first, then harder, my thumb settling in the neighborhood of her clit and doing all I can to drive her anywhere as nuts as she’s driven me.

Her arms go around my neck. “I’m going to come,” she gasps. “Oh God.” She grinds against my hand, her whimpers gaining volume, her pussy tightening around me.

Fuck.

“You can come when my cock is buried in you,” I whisper into her ear. I pick her up and pin her to the wall. “Not before.”

She gives me one of those ball-teasing groans in response, and I can’t stand it.

My teeth tear free one of the condoms as my hand works at my zipper. Then—shit yes—she takes over. Her hot hand encircles my cock and I try, I really try, not to pant or moan or do anything that might reveal just how in control of this she is. Her tender hand around my dick is my fucking undoing. She strokes my cock down to the base and squeezes me damn near cross-eyed before dragging her hand up again. It goes like that for a few seconds. Drag, squeeze. Drag, squeeze. Drag, squeeze. It’s heaven, but I know her pussy will be better, and I have to be inside her.

I take the condom out of my mouth, and I swear I mean to put the damn thing on, but my mouth finds the curve of her breast instead, and I pepper eager little kisses across her skin. My brain and body must have disconnected, because I know I need to be ready, but it seems more important this moment to slip a hand between us again. Feel her warm, wet flesh against my skin. So I do that, and she rewards me, her strokes coming harder, faster. Like she has a fucking line of sight to what I want, what I like, what makes me lose my mind.

“Fuck me. I can’t stand it anymore,” she whispers. Her lips whisper across my cheek, my neck, and her fingers circle the head of my cock, spreading the precum and furthering my path down insanity.

“I need you inside me,” she says. She takes the condom, still in my hand, and rolls it over my shaft. Thank fuck one of us was thinking clearly. Or more clearly. I don’t think either of us was doing much in the way of thinking.

I part her legs and ease her down, my cock drawing a line from her clit to the mouth of her pussy. She gasps and fists my hair, and I smirk at her as I sink into her warm cunt. Not all the way, just enough for her to get the idea. Then I pull out again and resume the wet path from her slit to her clit.

Fuck me, but she is tight. It’s glorious.

“I want you to beg me for it,” I whisper against her mouth, because, why not? I’m a masochist. But moreover, I really want to hear this woman beg. Tell me she needs my cock inside her, needs to come, needs me to be the one who makes her come.

She presses her lips to mine, hard and unforgiving. I grunt into her mouth as she rakes her nails down my back, my every nerve and molecule hypersensitive to her touch. Her kisses are almost as good as sex . . . but no, that has to be the alcohol talking.

I pull away at last, panting, then take a tour down her throat. Her taste, sweet and salty with sweat combined with everything woman, makes me harder.

I think it does, at least. At this point it’s hard to tell.

Then her mouth is at my ear, and she’s whispering furiously. “Fuck me right now. I’m begging you. Fuck me hard. Make me come. Please.”

I can’t respond, because she’s dragged my face up to claim my lips again, her tongue plunging, stroking, and I know I can’t hold on anymore, even if I wanted to. Which I don’t, because I’m not that much of a masochist. After circling her clit with the head of my cock one last time, I drag myself between her pussy lips and finally—finally—ease my cock into her. And she’s tight. So tight. Tighter than I thought, tighter than a woman has a right to be. Her cunt is pulling me deep. Her heat scorches me, and my rebellious brain—bastard that it is—whispers, demands, has the gall to tell me how much better it’d be if I were feeling her skin-to-skin. If that damn condom weren’t necessary. If her naked flesh were wrapped around mine.

And then I think, well, it can’t be better. It can’t get better.

Can it?

Mother of fucking god, why did I tease myself so much?

I release a ragged breath, and when I can’t go deeper, when I’m buried to the hilt, that breath becomes a moan. One she echoes.

Fuck. Her pussy is hot and perfect, squeezing me into oblivion. My name is a mantra on her lips, her hips following me as she tries to keep my cock inside her. But I need friction, and so does she. I pull back, savoring the feel of her wet, perfect flesh dragging along mine, then I sink back inside. I do this again, and again, memorizing everything about how she feels. And despite how intoxicating it is, fucking her in the dark, I find myself wanting to see her, watch her face flush and her lips part and her eyes go wide as she keeps chanting my name. As she comes all over my cock.

“Hold tight,” I tell her, and start thrusting hard, until the air around us is a symphony of her rhythmic gasps, accented by the hot slaps of our bodies coming together. Julia bucks, claws at me, the little sounds she’s making driving me out of my mind. I bury my face in her throat to keep from blurting something I’ll regret later.

I can’t see her, but I can feel her—her tits, her cunt as it welcomes my cock again and again. My balls are tightening and I know I’m close, but fuck, I need to feel her tumble first.

I keep her against the wall, one arm cradled around her waist as my other hand slips between our warring bodies. She inhales roughly when I encounter her slippery flesh, and goes crazy against me the second my fingertip brushes her clit. Her moves become faster, harder, more desperate. Her hair whips my face when she leans into me, and I swallow the cry I know was coming in a hard kiss.

“I’m going to come,” she moans against my lips.

Good. I hope she screams when she does. My finger nudges her clit faster, not too hard but enough to get her there—to drive her over the edge—as I drive my cock inside her heat. I want her to feel me for weeks.

“Call my name. Come for me,” I whisper, and bite down on her bare shoulder. It’s not a hard bite, but it does its job. She jerks and gives me one of those whimpers again.

“Nate. Fuck me. Nate,” she whispers, a song played just for me. I feel the orgasm building inside of me, and as she spasms harder, her pussy tightens on my dick, I know she’s just as close. I need her to get there first, or at least when I do. I press down on her clit, and it’s the last whisper of my name that has the world exploding around me, a spinning void of light in the darkness.

“Fuck,” I growl, unable to hold off anymore, my cock jerking as I spill inside her. Her pussy is convulsing around me, pulling harder and harder and she’s saying my name like she’s afraid she’ll forget it. The sound of it—Nate, Nate, Nate—escalates until her voice has nearly drowned out the slaps our bodies make.

I pin her to the wall, panting hard, our hearts hammering against each other. Slowly, eventually, I return to myself long enough to lower her to the ground. She wobbles a little, still in those sexy, impractical heels. She leans her head against my chest, gasping.

“I didn’t think I had it in me,” she says.

“The dance? Fucking me?” I tilt her chin up and kiss her, hard. She groans deep in her throat.

“Both.”

“I’m glad you had it in you,” I whisper into her ear.

“I’m glad you had it . . . in . . . me?” she says, sounding confused. Then she starts giggling. It’s a throaty, sexy sound. And I can’t help it. I laugh along.