56. Dirty Dance Floor I

56. Dirty Dance Floor I
꧁꧂ Dirty Dance Floor ꧁꧂

The club was pulsing with neon and bass.

The air was thick with sweat, perfume, and the sharp bite of spilled liquor.

Bodies pressed together on the dance floor, grinding to the relentless thump of the music, lights flashing in sync with every heartbeat.

Ira stood alone in the middle of it all, hips swaying, eyes half-closed, letting the rhythm pull her under.

She was twenty-eight, plus-sized, and beautiful, her skin a warm caramel that glowed under the strobe lights.

Her sleeveless crop top hugged her massive breasts; the fabric stretched tight, threatening to spill them out with every move.

The leather mini skirt barely covered the curve of her ass, riding up just enough to tease the thick thighs that jiggled softly when she danced.

She was alone tonight.

Her friends had vanished into the crowd with some guys, leaving her to lose herself in the music.

Then she felt him.

A presence behind her, close, warm.

A hard chest pressed against her back; strong arms slid around her waist like they belonged there.

“Hey, pretty lady,” a deep voice rumbled against her ear, low enough to cut through the music. 

“Isn’t it boring dancing alone?”

Ira’s breath caught.

She tilted her head slightly, catching a glimpse of him in the flashing lights: tall, dark-skinned, muscular, low taper fade, golden eyes that burned even in the dark.

He moved with her, hips rolling in perfect time, his body fitting against hers like it was made to.

His hands stayed respectful at first, resting on her waist, but his chest pressed tighter, letting her feel the hard planes of muscle and the heat radiating off him.

“You look so pretty,” he whispered, lips brushing her ear, voice thick with want.

His eyes raked over her body, lingering on the way her crop top strained against her heavy breasts and the way her leather skirt rode up, teasing the thick curve of her ass.

Ira swallowed, heart pounding.

She could feel him: hard, thick, pressing against the small of her back through his jeans.

Her pussy clenched at the contact; a rush of heat flooded her.

“Thank you,” she managed, voice small, nearly swallowed by the music.

He pressed closer, his lips grazing her ear again. 

“I’m Felix. What’s your name, pretty one?”

“Ira!” she yelled over the beat, turning her head so their faces were inches apart.

“Ooohhh, a pretty name for a pretty lady.”

She blushed, body moving gently to the beat, hips rolling against him.

“Care if I dance with you?”

She hesitated, then nodded softly.

He whispered a “Thank you” into her ear and kissed her neck—soft at first, then a slow, wet lick along her pulse point, his tongue flat and dragging, tasting the salt of her skin.

Ira froze, her entire body locked up from the contact.

She swallowed hard, knees nearly giving out beneath her.

Felix was already dancing behind her like he hadn’t just stolen her breath.

She moved in sync with him, hips rolling, ass grinding back against the hard length pressing into her.

His hands roamed harmlessly over the clothed parts of her body at first: waist, hips, the bare skin of her stomach where her crop top ended.

Everything was fine.

Until she felt it again: thicker now, harder, poking obscenely against her ass.

She froze mid-dance, breath hitching in her throat, face turning scarlet.

“You good?” he asked, his breath warm against her ear.

“You should stop that,” she said, her voice shaky.

“What?” he yelled, moving his ear to her mouth.

“Stop that!” she barked into his ear.

He looked up at her, a mischievous smirk tugging at his lips.

His hand wrapped around her waist tightly; fingers caressed the bare skin of her stomach with slow circles that made her shiver.

She gasped.

Fuck, his touch was so hot, so possessive.

His lips moved from her neck to her collarbone, sucking lightly, then to her chin, brushing a kiss there, then to her temple, pressing a soft one, and back to her ear.

He licked her ear slowly, his tongue tracing the shell from bottom to top, then dipping inside, swirling wet and filthy, sucking the lobe into his mouth with a soft pop.

Ira’s whole body jerked, and a little desperate whimper escaped her lips.

“Don’t you like it?” he whispered, voice dripping with tease.

Ira opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again.

Before she could find her voice, his hands moved from her waist to her breasts; his fingers found her hardened nipples through the thin fabric of her crop top and pinched them hard, then rolled them between his thumbs and forefingers, tugging gently, then harder.

“See? Can’t even deny it. Your body doesn’t lie. You want it so badly.”

Ira was in shock.

She’d never experienced this before, and she didn’t know what reaction to give.

Scream? Bite his hand off? Slap him? Or just stand there quietly and let him do whatever he wanted?

His touch was so hot she couldn’t find her voice. Everything about him was hot.

She just stood there, letting him play with her nipples right on the dance floor.

Her eyes roamed around, trying to see if anyone was looking, but everyone was too occupied with their own shit to even notice her.

His voice came again, low and teasing. 

“Don’t be scared, no one is watching. And trust me, I don’t bite… just stay calm. I’ll do the work.”

Ira wanted to jerk out of his grip, but instead her head moved subconsciously and she nodded in agreement.

“Good girl,” he chuckled, continuing to kiss and lick her ear: slow, sloppy licks now, tongue plunging inside again, sucking the lobe until it was swollen and wet.

A shudder ran through her spine and she didn’t know when she started grinding her ass against his hard cock, slow circles, feeling every thick inch through his jeans.

Felix groaned into her ear, low and filthy, his cock throbbing hard in his jeans, begging to be released.

His hands slipped under her crop top and began squeezing and playing with her soft, creamy, big, fat breasts: kneading them like dough, fingers sinking deep into the flesh, thumbs flicking her nipples fast and relentlessly.

He played with her tits at the same time he ground against her ass; the skirt had already ridden up, exposing her fat, jiggling cheeks.

He glanced down at it and the mere sight sent him crazy.

Fucking hell… she’s not even wearing panties.