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We make our way through the room, finding our table and exchanging a few greetings along the way. Vince acknowledges several acquaintances with a nod or a handshake, pausing once to introduce me to an older gentleman he knows from the local courthouse. The conversation is brief and pleasant, and then we’re on our way again.

What strikes me most is how comfortable Vince seems. He isn’t looking over his shoulder or worrying about what anyone might think. He’s enjoying himself. He’s not ashamed. If anything, he seems proud to have me on his arm.

Dinner is amazing. We have lobster bisque followed by herb-crusted filet mignon with truffle mashed potatoes and roasted asparagus, and finish with a warm chocolate fondant cake with a molten center and vanilla bean ice cream. The band plays softly while we eat. We talk about my classes, his work, and our plans for the next few days, moving easily from one subject to another. Vince makes me laugh with his dry observations, and I love watching the amusement creep into his expression when I tell him something he finds funny. He seems so relaxed tonight, leaning back in his chair with a glass of wine, listening to me with that familiar, attentive look. Occasionally he reaches for my hand across the table, and I find myself smiling at him.

By the time dessert is finished, the atmosphere has begun to change, the ballroom growing livelier. The band starts playing more contemporary music, the conversations become louder, and people start standing up. The chandeliers dim, leaving the room illuminated by candlelight and the thousands of tiny bulbs decorating the Christmas trees.

“Would you like to dance?” Vince asks, holding out his hand.

“I’d love to.”

He leads me onto the dance floor, where I discover that he’s a surprisingly good dancer. He moves easily, one hand resting at my waist as he guides me through the music. I follow his lead, enjoying the warmth of his hand against my back and the sensation of moving together.

We dance through several songs as the dance floor grows increasingly crowded. The music becomes louder and more energetic, and the formal atmosphere of dinner transforms into a proper New Year’s Eve party.

When the band begins a slower song, Vince draws me closer. I slip my arms around his neck and look up at him, admiring his handsome face in the soft light. With the lights dimmed and so many couples around us, it’s easy to forget that we’re in a room full of strangers. There’s a sense of anonymity in the darkness and noise.

Vince’s hand slides lower on my back until his palm rests at the curve of my waist, his fingers brushing the top of my hip. I press into him, my body flush against his, and tilt my head back to look at him. His eyes are dark, fixed on my mouth, and when I rise slightly on my toes, he meets me halfway. His hand tightens at my hip and I open for him, and his tongue slides against mine. I make a small sound in my throat that I know he can feel because he groans in response, pulling me even closer.

Around us, the dance floor is a crush of bodies, everyone moving in the dim light, and nobody is paying attention to one more couple kissing in the dark. I let my hands roam, sliding from his shoulders down over his chest, feeling the firm muscle beneath the crisp shirt. One of his hands stays anchored at my hip while the other slides up my spine, his thumb tracing the bare skin between my shoulder blades where the dress dips low.

“You’re going to get us in trouble,” he murmurs against my lips, but he doesn’t pull away.

“I don’t care,” I breathe back, and I mean it. The champagne has made me bold, the darkness has made me reckless, and the feel of him against me has made me horny. I arch into him, my breasts pressed against his chest, and I feel his sharp intake of breath.

Vince’s thigh presses between my legs as we sway, the friction feeling good, my hips moving against him, seeking more. His hand at my back pulls me into the motion, guiding me, and I feel the bulge of his cock pressing against me. He’s hard. My eyes widen. When I look up at him, he’s smiling. God, I want to touch him. I want to slide my hand between us and feel him in my palm.

I drag my mouth from his and press my lips to his jaw, his throat, tasting his skin, and then I run my palm down his stomach, lower, and press my hand against him through the fabric of his trousers. He sucks back a breath, and then he captures my wrist, stilling me, his breathing ragged against my ear.

“You’re killing me,” he says, low and rough. “Do you know that?”

I smile, giddy and aroused and completely uncaring about the room around us. “Then take me somewhere.”

His eyes search mine, dark and burning, and he laces his fingers through mine and starts moving through the crowd, pulling me with him.

He leans down as we walk, his mouth brushing my ear. “We’re going upstairs.”

“Okay,” I say, breathless and eager. “Yes. Let’s go.”

I laugh as I follow, my body thrumming with anticipation. We pass couples dancing, waiters with trays, groups of laughing people. Nobody looks twice. Nobody knows that I’m soaked through my panties and that I’m about to let my stepfather fuck me in a hotel room while a thousand people celebrate downstairs.

We leave the crowded ballroom behind and make our way toward the elevators, the music growing fainter with every step.

Vince

I kiss Sophie as the elevator climbs, my tongue in her mouth, one hand cradling the back of her head, my hips rolling against her. I’m rock hard, and can barely wait another minute to be inside of her. To feel her.

The corridor is empty. We jog down it, holding hands and laughing, Sophie having to skip in her heels. When we get to the hotel room door, I fumble the key card, swipe it, push the door open, and then she’s against it, my mouth on hers before the latch has fully caught.

Her zipper gives under my fingers. I work it down her spine, slipping the narrow straps from her shoulders until the dress pools at her feet. She’s in a skimpy black bra and a thong, her skin so firm and golden in the lamplight, and the sight of her nearly undoes me right there. Her hands are at my bow tie, then my shirt buttons, clumsy with urgency. I help her, yanking the shirt off, and then my hands are on her breasts, cupping them through her bra, thumbs finding her nipples. I back her toward the bed, my mouth moving from her lips to her jaw to the pulse point in her throat. I kiss her collarbone, then lower, pushing her bra aside to take one nipple between my lips. Then I lower her down onto the bed and slide her thong off. I spread her thighs and lower my mouth to her pussy, my cock jumping at her taste. She’s wet—so ready—and I lick her slowly, feeling her tremble under my tongue.

“Vince. Oh God.”

I push two fingers inside her, and her hips lift off the bed. Her inner walls clamp around my fingers, and my mouth doesn’t stop. I suck her clit between my lips, flicking my tongue over it, and feel her start to tighten.

“Come for me,” I murmur against her. “Let me feel it, baby. Come on my mouth.”

It doesn’t take long. Her pussy tightens, she sucks in a breath and holds it, and then she’s pulsing around my fingers, her whole body shaking. I keep my mouth on her through it, gentling my strokes as the orgasm rolls through her, and she collapses back against the pillows, panting. Her hand finds my hair and strokes it weakly.