The party had started winding down, the heavy bass from the speakers now nothing more than a dull hum in the background. Empty cups and half-eaten snacks littered the coffee table, and the last few stragglers were either passed out or stumbling toward the door. I wasn’t drunk, just buzzed enough to feel loose, uninhibited.

And I wasn’t the only one.

He was sitting across the room, lazily sprawled in an armchair, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. I knew that look. We’d been doing this for months now—no strings, no expectations, just the kind of raw, unfiltered heat that burned between us whenever we found ourselves alone. Or almost alone.

My friend had long since disappeared into her bedroom, leaving only a few sleeping bodies and drunken whispers in the corners of the apartment. The sectional couch was empty now, looking just as inviting as the way his eyes were raking over me. I didn’t need him to say anything—I just stood, stretching deliberately, letting the hem of my dress ride up just enough to tease. His smirk deepened.

I walked past him, slow, deliberate, heading for the couch. I didn’t have to look back to know he was following.

The second I settled onto the cushions, he was there, sliding in next to me, his thigh pressing against mine.

“You staying the night?” he asked, voice low, teasing.

“Maybe,” I murmured, turning my head just enough to let my lips graze his jaw. “You?”

His hand landed on my thigh, fingers warm against my skin. “Depends.”

I shivered at the promise in that single word.

His fingers trailed higher, slow and unhurried, brushing the edge of my panties, and my breath hitched. I darted a glance around the room—one person was curled up in an armchair, completely unconscious, and the others had disappeared into the back rooms. We weren’t exactly alone, but that only made it hotter.

“Right here?” I whispered, half a warning, half a challenge.

He grinned, his lips brushing against my ear. “You scared?”

I should have been. I wasn’t.

I felt his hand slide between my legs, fingers pressing against the damp fabric of my panties. I gasped, my hips instinctively arching toward his touch, and he chuckled softly, his mouth trailing down my neck.

“You’re already wet,” he murmured against my skin.

“Shut up,” I whispered, but there was no real bite to it.

His fingers pushed my panties aside, sliding through my slick heat, teasing me with slow, lazy strokes. I bit my lip to keep from making a sound, but when he slipped two fingers inside me, curling just right, a soft moan escaped before I could stop it.

He moved quickly after that, shifting over me, his body pressing me down into the cushions as I reached for his belt, fumbling in my urgency. He chuckled again, the sound dark and knowing, before he helped me, shoving his jeans and boxers down just enough.

And then he was pushing inside me, stretching me, filling me.

I clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders as he started to move, slow and deep at first, then faster when he felt the way my body responded to him. The couch creaked beneath us, the only other sound the ragged way we were breathing, the quiet, desperate gasps escaping my lips.

His hand slid under my thigh, lifting my leg higher, pushing even deeper. My head fell back, my teeth sinking into my lip to keep from crying out. I could feel it building, that tight, coiling heat deep in my stomach, winding tighter with every thrust.

“Come for me,” he whispered against my ear, his voice thick with need.

And I did.

Hard.

I shook beneath him, my body pulsing around him as the pleasure ripped through me, sharp and overwhelming. He groaned, thrusting into me a few more times before he followed, his body tensing, then shuddering as he spilled inside me.

For a long moment, we just lay there, tangled together, breathing hard. Then, finally, he pulled away, reaching for his jeans while I smoothed down my dress.

I smirked, still catching my breath, and reached for my phone. He raised an eyebrow as I took a picture—just a subtle shot, nothing too obvious, but the damp spot on the cushion told the story well enough.

“What’s that for?” he asked, grinning.

I shrugged. “Proof.”

His grin widened. “You’re bad.”

I only smirked, leaning back against the couch, already thinking about the next time.