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An industrial-looking building looms before them, two stories tall, red brick, with a huge retro sign that says simply, The Box. It's a pretty popular place, more bar than restaurant; loud music, low lighting and scantily clad people. They check for ID upfront. That alone should tell you what kind of place this is.
Quickly making his way inside before the rest of the group, wearing his underage stamp in shame. Nash flags the wait staff for a table, pointing to a large corner booth that should fit everyone, albeit snuggly.
The dim lighting and loud music make it easier to watch her as she makes her way through the entrance. Her eyes dance on his for a beat too long, enough for him to know he is still in the game, even if she is still hesitant.
He could feel Jen beside him like a shadow, plastered to his back. He needed to get rid of her, but judging by the scathing look Melody just threw her, perhaps keeping her close might bring Melody around. He waves everyone down, conveniently scooting in right after Melody.
You can't escape me that easily. I want to make it as hard for you to breathe as you make it for me.
Just that slight brush of her skin against his hand brought a rush of addiction over him. His hyper fixation on Melody effectively renewed. Her skin was like a drug, and he needed more. Yes, he knew his obsession was not cute anymore, like when he was a kid. Everyone teased him at home about it back then, but right now, all he wanted to do was touch her.
Melody
___________________________
Was it hot in here? It’s definitely hot in here.
The booth vinyl stuck to her leg as she squirmed in her seat to get comfortable. Squished between Duke and Nash was the last place she expected to end up. There were so many people everywhere, and by the time she had put away her ID, she was being ushered into a booth right after Duke.
Trying to keep as much distance as she could from him. She just ended up plastered against Nash, who, in truth, was probably more dangerous than Duke could ever be. He actually had the capacity to ruin her in more ways than one. Not only would it break Rosa’s heart that she was thinking naughty thoughts about her little boy, but he had the ability to ruin her for any future relationships.
If he could get her all hot and bothered with just a few messages and meaningful looks, she didn’t even want to think about the effect he would have when he finally put his hands on her.
IF… if he would put his hands on her. Crap, she can’t even keep her thoughts in check. This was not going to end well.
Duke casually drapes his arm over the back of her seat while he and Peter loudly discuss the craftsmanship of the pecan and citrus blend in some random hipster beer. Settling into her seat, she takes a sip of her beverage. She has no idea what she ordered in her flustered state, something tropical based on the taste. Slowly scanning the crowd as a low buzz starts to relax her limbs.
The room they are in has a modern look: unfinished brick walls, exposed electrical, and ductwork. It works. The music is rhythmic and thumping. She slowly begins to unwind, swaying to the music, her mind drifting to more pleasant things.
The atmosphere is notably uninhibited and dim, giving her the courage to observe Nash without shame. He has grown into a handsome man. His long-sleeved Henley is snug over his chest and biceps. He must have changed his shirt before coming out with them. His legs are splayed wide, his left leg nearly flush with her right, as he seems to be listening intently to a story Marisol is telling.
He is facing away from her, his strong hands lightly gripping his sparkling water with lime.
Oh lord, he is under 21. His stamp is taunting her.
Groaning aloud, she lays her forehead on the table just as the barest hint of a touch, feather-light against her bare thigh, pulls her out of her shame-filled spiral. If she hadn't been staring down at her legs at just that moment, she probably wouldn't have even felt it.
Large tanned fingers moving slowly against her milky white skin, she watched his hand as it massaged her skin, her body responding eagerly. Her brain slow to make the connection that this was probably wrong, but fuck if it was not the hottest thing she had ever seen.
Melody goes rigid, eyes wide as realizes what's happening, turning to face Nash. He repositions himself so that more of his body is flush to her side, giving him better access to her legs. His face is still turned away.
Idle conversation murmured between him and his sister. Her eyes are drawn back down to his hand as it ventures further up, fully grasping and kneading the flesh of her upper thigh. She can't help the shiver that follows, the alcohol allowing her to give herself entirely to the moment.
Visually, the stark contrast between their skin is addicting. The roughness of his hands to her softness was intoxicating. She widens her seat, opening to his touch unconsciously. His hand travels slowly up her legs. His trajectory is clear, teasing her sensitive skin, causing her eyes to drift shut slowly, her core clenching for a release as her stomach hollows out.
The music changes abruptly, and Nash uses that moment to shift his body towards her, reaching over the table with his other hand. Her slow moving brain can't seem to catch up, she doesn't know what he is reaching for. It was only after his left hand easily glides up her leg, resting right at the edge of her lace panties, that she realizes this was his intention all along.
Fingers traced along her sensitive skin over the lace, teasing her with the barest of grazes. Her mouth parts, letting out a whimper of unfulfilled want. She shakes herself, picking up her drink and peering up through her lashes at the table.
Crap, I hope no one heard that.
Thankfully, everyone remains in deep conversation, although the room does seem to have filled up considerably since she last looked up. The murmur of conversation, dancing, and drinking is louder than she remembers, too.
Noticing her slight inattention, Nash’s touch becomes more insistent and bolder, rubbing over her core right where she needed him. Her panties wet, body begging for more. She becomes lost in his touch, opening up her legs in silent invitation. He pulls her right leg over his lap, pulling her closer to him. She didn’t flinch, letting him move her body to get a better angle.
Switching his hand now, he is fully facing her, his right hand working magic between her legs. Her hips followed his lead, rubbing against his hand shamelessly under the cover of the table.
Nash’s fingers gently slip under the hem of lace, his arm hidden under her dress. She pushes her hips higher, leaning her head against the backrest of the booth, her mouth open in a low groan. Slowly, his finger delves into her, thrusting in and out in a sensual rhythm.
