Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Lot
All yours.
I’ve never given anyone control of the app before. Wouldn’t trust most men out there with something that leaves me this vulnerable. But I’ve always fantasized about coming in public with people surrounding me, not suspecting a thing. Dice’s party felt like the perfect place… with the perfect man.
He pulls around to the side door, skipping the line out front.
With one hand pressed to the dip in my lower back and the other holding Queenie’s bed, we slip inside Docks.
The space has been transformed into a nightclub.
Dim and moody with neon strobe lights cutting through the dark.
It’s not even nine, and the air already feels thick.
My shirts are on display. The neon logo pops against the wall and the employees are wearing the samples.
I’m feeling good. Raunchy as hell. The lubricated toy is nestled inside me, full but silent—a constant reminder that Dice is the conductor.
He hasn’t touched the app yet, but the pulse of anticipation beats beneath my skin and between my legs.
While I get Queenie set up in the office, Dice heads to the booth to start the party.
I’m going to watch him for a bit. I carefully slide onto the barstool, with a clear sight to the booth.
Biceps and headphones. Nimble fingers. Subtle hips.
Smooth transitions. Commanding the room like a masterclass in sound and sex appeal.
“Hey, Lot,” Benny greets me, reaching for the shaker. “How’s your dad?”
“Getting better.”
“That’s good. Let him know we miss him.”
Please. That lie is as obvious as the strobe lights. “You don’t have to suck up to me. I know he’s a nightmare to work for.”
Caught, he chuckles, but I let him know it’s cool.
“I’m not here to spy and report back. You’re all doing a great job. I told him that.”
“Appreciate it. Not sucking up when I say these new shirts are dope.”
“I’m glad you like them.”
He pours a shimmering drink into a glass, garnishes it with a blood orange slice and a cherry. “From Dice.”
“What is it?”
“His latest creation and tonight’s special, Sass in a Glass.”
Feels personal. The sip is a fizzy flavor bomb with a kick of heat that tickles the back of my throat.
I slide my tongue along my bottom lip where the taste lingers and glance over at the booth. Our eyes connect, a hot pull across the room. I raise my glass in a toast… right as—
Buzz. “Oh, gawd,” I breathe.
“So good, right?” Benny says.
“Amazing,” I manage, referring to more than just the drink.
That first hit was just a tease, though. The next one takes it up a level. I clench my ass cheeks and catch Dice’s devious expression—a smirk that could melt vinyl and says Yeah, I did that.
I’m highly sexual, but I’ve always been more adventurous on my own than with a partner. That trust hurdle. Anal play is something I began exploring a year ago, finding that it intensifies my orgasms.
Dice cues up En Vogue’s “Free Your Mind,” like it’s a message. Benny and Chelsea are busy at the bar. Drinks are flowing. People spill onto the dance floor. And I just sit back, sipping my cocktail real slow, legs pressed tight, watching Dice. Daring him to give me more.
Zap! An intense buzz jolts through me. I grab the edge of the bar to keep from levitating right off the stool.
He grins, tapping my buttons. Literally.
Syncing the next round of pulses with the music.
“Tear the Roof Off” sends the floor—and my ass—into chaos.
He leaves the vibe on through George Clinton’s “Knee Deep.”
I can’t sit still. If I don’t get off soon, I’m gonna drown in a puddle of my own juices.
“Hey,” some random guy says, sidling up next to me. Mid-twenties, Abercrombie-type. Clean jaw. On the hunt. Probably smelling my pheromones.
“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks.
“I’m good,” I say, tipsy on pleasure, a grin curving one side of my mouth.
His eyes drop to the hem of my skirt, hiked up my thighs, hips winding on the stool. “You like to dance?”
“I do.”
Buzz. A higher tempo. Ooh, Dice being petty for real. I bite down hard on my bottom lip, fighting a moan.
“You all right?” Abercrombie asks.
I could toy with this young pup just to poke the bear, but retaliation is a bitch. And Dice holds all the power in his fingertips.
“I’m fine. Enjoy the rest of your night.” I stand, leaving my empty glass and the man, making my way toward Dice, hips swaying, ass humming, pussy wet.
I slip inside the booth’s side door and close it behind me.
Dice’s eyes are molten. “Trying to make me jealous, Web?” he asks, low and rough.
I set my purse down, not answering.
He cranks up the tempo and a full-body tremor steals my breath. “Fuck, Dice!”
He dials it down. “Answer the question. You liked flirting with that dude while I’m playing with your ass?”
“No.”
He shuts it off and I moan in protest.
“Put it back on.”
“Gimme the truth.”
“It was nothing. Harmless.”
“Don’t play with me, Lot.”
“I’m not. But I want you playing with me.”
He stares back. Standing close. Not touching. But desire hangs between us like a clap of lightning.
“Tell me what you want.”
“You,” I say.
“Here?”
“Yes. With your music. Your crowd. Your fingers.”
He groans, dripping sex, and taps his phone, giving me a deep, sultry vibe. He grabs my hips, guiding me to stand in front of the deck, my back against him. He slips the headphones over my head, leaving one ear uncovered, and brushes his lips against it. “Cue up the next track.”
I place the twelve-inch record onto the turntable.
“You know what to do,” he murmurs, sliding one hand beneath my skirt.
I somehow steady myself to listen for the beat, drop the needle, and raise the knob on the fader to seamlessly blend in the song.
“Good girl,” he rasps, killing the lamp light and darkening the room. “Now open those gorgeous legs for me.”
The booth is glass, but the table is solid, covering us from the waist down. The eroticism of hiding in plain sight sets my lust on fire.
I widen my stance, our breaths catching. His fingers slide into my drenched core. The vibrator rubs up against that pudendal nerve, carrying the sensation to my pussy and clit.
I grind against his cock, driving pressure in all the right places.
The door opens. Mortified, I freeze as I hear Lamont’s voice.
“Brought you some water, Dice.”
“Appreciate it,” he says, voice normal even as he resumes the push and withdrawal of his fingers. Slow, shallow thrusts that don’t disturb my skirt.
Already on the verge, I stifle a moan, the tension in my body ramping up to a fever pitch by another person’s presence inside the darkened booth, only lit by the console and strobe lights.
“Music’s slamming,” Lamont says, setting water bottles down on the other table. “I didn’t know you spin, Lot.”
“Umm… not really,” I stammer.
“She’s just being modest,” Dice says. “Lot knows how to spin real good.”
If I wasn’t so close to coming, I’d elbow him in the stomach, but my grip on the table is all I’m hanging on to. Lamont really needs to go.
“Would you like a drink, Lot?”
“No, thanks,” I say, swallowing hard.
“Let me know if you need anything.”
“Will do.” Dice’s thumb grazes my clit and I nearly lose it.
They exchange a few more words, but the rest of the conversation is lost beneath my looming orgasm. As soon as he’s gone, Dice plunges a third finger inside me.
The beat of the song climbs. The strobe lights streak across the room in brilliant colors. Bodies pulse just feet away, women looking up at him… at us. Dice circles my clit.
And.
I.
Break.
Apart.
My scream is drowned out by the music as I come in a fiery burst. He holds me up with one arm banded around my waist, his fingers keeping rhythm as we face the dance crowd, finishing off the rawest, most exhibitionist sexual encounter I’ve ever had.
Dice adeptly switches out the record and leans in, lips at my ear. “I love feeling an orgasm move through your body. The sounds you make. How hard you come.”
“You make it so good. Always. Fuck me here.” My body’s still humming like I’m plugged into the speakers.
“Can’t,” he groans, hard against my ass. “Not the way I need to.”
He grabs his phone and lowers the buzz. Then announcing a short break over the mic, he puts in a USB, switching to a prerecorded mix.
“Come on.” He removes the headphones and ushers me out of the booth in a hurry. I remember my purse at the last second.
He pulls me down the staff hallway, going deeper into the back where the stockroom is. Dice punches in the code, shoves the door open, and tugs me inside.
The moment it clicks shut, he spins me against the metal.
Shoving himself between my legs, his mouth crashes down on mine, greedy and impatient.
No soft kisses. No teasing. Just utter possession.
My purse hits the floor. He presses the length of his body tight against me.
I can feel the lust coursing through him, the burn of his blood.
I grasp the back of his neck, flooded with excitement as his mouth works me over. Kissing, tonguing, licking, biting, dragging the damp heat down to nip the pulsing vein at the side of my neck.
“You’ve been fucking with my head all night,” he grumbles, his hands cupping my tender breasts, squeezing them through my top. “Grinding on that stool while I pulsed your ass, coming all over my fingers in my damn booth.” He bites my lip again.
“You gonna punish me, Dice?” I bite him back.
“Fuck, yes,” he groans, shoving up my top, my bra, and feasts on my nipples.
Everything inside me clenches. I lower my hands to his chest, pushing them inside the opening of his shirt, sliding my palms over his sweat-misted skin, the rigidity of his muscles, the thump of his heart. “Do it!” I hiss before pushing him away to grab my purse, fumbling inside for the condom.
He takes it from me, dropping my purse back to the floor. “Turn around.” His command is guttural.
Aching for him, I plant my palms against the door. He lifts my skirt, baring my ass, then spanks it four times. Our groans echo off the walls, hot and needy.
“You look like sin.” He palms the cheeks, cooling the burn.
And I twerk for him, letting my booty roll and bounce.
“Damn, Lot.” He smacks it again.
“Tear up this pussy, Dice. Make me scream.”
His forefinger runs over my wet folds and taps the toy in my ass, spiking my arousal to the point of insanity. I hear the foil tear. His clenched-teeth hiss as he rolls on the condom. I’m leaking buckets when he grabs hold of my hips, bracing me for impact, and plunges.
I was ready for it. Warned, eager, prepared. But the intensity, the sheer power of his lust, knocks the breath out of me. I arch my back, nails clawing the door.
“You’re so hard and huge.”
“Take it,” he says, his voice all gravel heat. “That’s what you do to me.”
The thrusts are deep and deliberate, pulling all the way out before slamming back in. Every stroke drags against my swollen, sensitive walls. The rhythm is relentless. Punishing. Perfect.
“Fuck, you feel good,” he groans. “So tight around me. You were made for this.”
My ass claps with each thrust, the slap of skin on skin sounds decadent and filthy in the room surrounded by cases of liquor.
He grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls me upright so he can kiss my neck. “You love when I fuck you.”
“Yes,” I moan, wild with it. “I love fucking you too.”
“Show me.” He stills and bends me back over. “I want to watch you sliding over my cock.”
He’s halfway inside me. With a moan drenched in urgency and sweat, I push back, impaling myself on him, trying to repeat his heavy plunges, imagining how it must look, with me wide open, slick on slick, his cock disappearing inside me, then sliding out again.
He curses and groans, then resumes driving into me harder, deeper, his hips snapping with purpose. One hand slips around to rub my clit in tight circles, fast and furious.
I climax again. Louder than before, it’s primal, unhinged, an endless stream of sensation blasting through me. He urges out every shudder before he pulls out and turns me around. I’m shaking all over.
He faces me, hands at my waist, lowering his body to align our centers. Holding my gaze when I would have otherwise closed my eyes.
“Tell me you’re mine,” he grits, thrusting back into me. His eyes are dark, features taut, on the edge. “Say it, Lot. Say you’re mine.”
My emotions explode. “I’m yours, Dice,” I gasp mindlessly. “All yours.”
His body tenses, hitting the end of me, growing impossibly harder. My eyes are glued to his face, to the arousal ravaging his features as a groan rumbles from his chest the second he comes.
“Fuuck.” He pumps out his release, his arms wrapped around me like I’m the only thing tethering him to Earth.
I slump against him, rocked to my core.
“Damn,” he murmurs, still breathing hard. “I’m not sure how I’m gonna spin after that.”
“The show must go on,” I say lightly and ease away, needing space. “I’m gonna clean up and go check on Queenie.”
He watches me, eyes unreadable as I adjust my clothes and tuck everything back in.
“See you out there,” I say, grabbing my purse and making my exit—all casual. Like my pulse isn’t racing. Like I’m not breathing too fast. Like I hadn’t just told him I’m his.
And meant it.