Just Two Nights

Chapter 1

It’s been a long night. A super long night. It’s been awful, really, sitting at the same table as your friends, pretending to be interested in what they say when, really, you do not care, because you never wanted to be here in the first place.

You hadn’t gone out in a while before today, so you hadn’t remembered just how draining it is to have people around you all evening, have people talking to you, no less, and now all you want to do is get into bed. Sleep. Being alone sounds like a blessing, and it is definitely more fun than—well, this.

Still, you’d thought that, hey, going out once in a while couldn’t hurt. Right?

Well, you’d been wrong.

You desperately need to be on your own right now.

You’d excused yourself with a sigh a while ago, to get some fresh air—Seulgi had told you to go right ahead while Irene had been busy flirting—and after you’d gone outside, cleaning your lungs from the cigarette smoke you’d been breathing in all night, you went to the bathroom, too.

As, now, you’re on your way back from the restrooms, you suddenly, without any warning—you haven’t heard or seen anyone follow you—feel yourself being pushed directly into the wall on your left.

You groan. Loudly.

What the hell?

You have no time to react before a pair of hands comes to settle on your hips, and you’re being pushed forward even more. Your cheek meets the cold, rough wall, and you get a mouthful of your own long hair.

Your first instinct is to run away, to go back to your friends; you actually want Irene's incessant flirting with random people back right now. Seriously, you want to go back to safety. I really should have just stayed home, you huff internally. You’re frozen in place, though. Besides, the grip on your hips is so very strong, which means you wouldn’t be able to escape, anyway. The person—God, who are they?—presses themself into you, and they groan as their front meets your back. “I’ve been waiting to do this all night,” they whisper into your ear.

Instead of panicking—this is supposed to really creep you out—you can’t help the chills spreading all over your arms. All over your body, really. It’s not like you to moan, you’re usually the quiet type, but right now? You really want to. You’ve started pressing yourself back against whoever was behind you—subconsciously, mostly—and you’re definitely feeling something you like, so, even though this is not an ideal situation, you’re starting to want them, you’re starting to want a complete stranger, and you need to somehow show them that you do.

Their breath hitches when you do, and you swear the bulge poking your ass grows even bigger. “You’re so fucking hot,” they groan into your ear, “I couldn’t stop looking at you out there.”

You catch a whiff of their perfume, then, and you frown. It’s definitely a women’s scent. Does this mean the stranger who’s definitely packing is a woman?

Fuck.

This thought should not make you bite your lip, it should not make you close your eyes, either, imagining different scenarios where you’re on all four—or all spread in front of them. And, damn, it should definitely not make wetness pool between your legs. You clench your thighs together, hoping it lets you focus on anything but the arousal that has become increasingly uncomfortable—in such a short amount of time, not to mention—and you sort of desperately wish for the stranger to notice. You hope they notice. You hope they take you back into a secluded area; you hope they fuck you hard and fast and senseless and make you cream all over their cock.