Page 242 of Lessons in Cruelty

When I look down, Haven’s grinning up at me from less than a foot away. She puts out her hand, laying her palm on my chest, and starts to dance.

I’ve never seen her move like this.

Hips undulating in perfect rhythm with the pulsing beat, her shoulders shimmying, her bottom lip sliding between her teeth.

Her pupils are so blown out, her eyes look black.

I’m furious at Melissa for letting her get this fucked, but for all I know, this is a regular Tuesday for Haven. The way she moves, this isn’t her first neon rodeo.

We’ve been apart for three years, and who the fuck knows what Haven’s been up to? From what I’ve heard, she’s no stranger to a good time.

That contact on my pec feels like a live wire between us. I capture her wrist, keeping her skin flush with mine as I slide her hand down my stomach, around my waist, to my back.

I pull her close, and we lock together like a fucking blacksmith puzzle.

Like we were made to fit.

She turns her face away, her cheek pressed to my arm, and we grind against each other, her leg between mine.

The heat of her body coats my skin like an extra layer of paint as she rolls her hips back and forth.

We start out with an inch, maybe a little more, between our bodies. But by the time the song reaches its crescendo, we’re stuck together like slices of unwrapped cheese.

And fuck, it feels good.

Like mind-blowing, earth-shattering good.

My hand is on the small of her back, hers on mine. And we’re both pushing, trying to get our bodies even closer as we writhe against each other. Haven turns her head, pressing her cheek against my chest, her hands skidding up my back, her nails digging in.

Seeing Haven in nothing more than body paint and titty pasties should have had me rock hard. But molly always gives me stimdick for a few hours, and shit, it sucks.

I guess it’s a blessing in disguise. If I had a hard on, would she still be grinding me this hard?

This slow?

Then even slower.

Even harder.

Syncing with the music as the DJ slows it way down to a deep, dirty, delicious bass that pushes the subwoofers to their fucking limits.

I look down, my heart thundering in my chest when she stares up at me with her doe-like eyes.

She’s absolutely shredding her lip.

I tug up the edge of my trash bag to find a sucker I stuck behind the elastic of my boxers. I hold it out to her, but she doesn’t even look at it. Her eyes are closed, and she’s just grinding my leg like⁠—

She’s trying to get herself off in public.

On a stranger’s leg.

I laugh, because Jesus fucking Christ. She goes around telling me she’s not a slut, then she does this? I rip the plastic cover off the sucker and brush it against her lips until she opens her eyes and looks at me.

She reluctantly parts her lips, but then shudders and turns away when I try to slip the sucker inside.

Fuck.

The second I try to speak to her, this is all over. She’ll know it’s me, and I’m pretty sure she’ll tell me to go fuck myself with a broom handle. Might even offer to help.