Stiles was a fucking mess after that dance, her pussy throbbing like a drum, clit swollen and begging for more. The way Derek’s huge dick had grinded against her, teasing her bare lips through that thin dress—god, she was horny as hell, needy, her thighs slick with her own juices dripping down. She could barely sit still on the couch, shifting her legs, trying not to moan out loud while her friends laughed and ordered more drinks. Derek was still on stage, finishing up with the group, but his eyes kept flicking back to her, that cocky smirk saying he knew exactly what he’d done to her.

He wrapped up the show, bowing to the cheers, then sauntered over, leaning down close to Stiles’s ear while her friends were distracted. His breath was hot, voice low and gravelly. “You’re soaked, aren’t you, Stiles? I can smell how wet that pretty pussy is. There’s a private room backstage— no eyes, just you and me. Want me to take care of that ache?”