A heavy beat thumps through the floor as you move through the crowded kitchen. Flashing lights and grinding bodies envelope your senses and you grip your bottle a little tighter, pushing through the crowd until you're practically tumbling out of the back door.

You round the corner, finding comfort in the shadows and take a deep breath. The evening breeze and cool brick soothes your warm skin, the slight drip of condensation from your bottle dripping down your fingers.

You hadn't expected to spend your Saturday evening amongst a sea of sweaty bodies and smoke, but Ellie had forced your hand, refusing to let you spend another weekend cooped up on the sofa.

The same Ellie who had conveniently ducked out on you the second she saw Dina.

You're no stranger to this type of thing, but recently the solitude of your home has outweighed any desire to go out partying. Even now, in the throes of it all, a minute alone away from it feels good. You tilt your head back, eyes closed trying to extract just a moment of calm from the screeching and playlist of 90's throwbacks.

"Hey stranger."

Even in the dim light you can tell she looks good. A tight black tee stretches across her broad shoulders, moulding to her trim waist. Her arms bulge slightly when she takes a sip from her beer, eyes never leaving yours.

"Hey Abs."

Abby Anderson. Friend by proxy, craved by default. She'd worked her way into your silly little brain the day she met you with her coy smiles and rasping voice. You still remember her knocking at your bedroom door, her body taking up most of the frame as she asked for the code to the wifi.

Why Ellie couldn't just give it to her you don't know, but you couldn't complain. She'd hunched over your shoulder, repeating every digit bsck to you as she typed it into her phone. Then, before she left she gave you a simple friendly pat on the thigh and said “thanks pretty girl” with one of those half tipped smiles.

You spent the nights following face down in your pillow, riding your fingers imagining it was her strap pushed deep inside you.

She continues watching you, skin tinted purple and half concealed by the shadows. The silence stretches to an almost uncomfortable width between you and you clear your throat.

“Nice party.” Maybe you should’ve stayed silent. Abby just shakes her head and smiles, clearly amused by your futile attempts at conversation. For a while she just stands there, nursing her bottle, always watching you.

“You’ve been avoiding me?” She speaks after a moment. Abby loves this, making you squirm. Making statements and disguising them behind questions. You take a special interest in your scuffed shoes avoiding her gaze, because beneath her insufferable cockiness, she’s not lying.

Being in her presence alters your brain chemistry piece by piece until all that swirls around you there is Abby Abby Abby. Still you don’t give her the satisfaction of an answer, settling on shrugging your shoulders instead.

She takes a step closer and suddenly the brick against your back feels icy rather than soothing. You’re trapped beneath her gaze and her slow approach.

“C’mon pretty girl, you not gonna give me an answer?” There she goes again with that pretty girl. Questions that aren’t really questions. Maybe if she was less everything you’d be able to function like a regular human being around her.

“No apologies? No sorry for making you miss me Abby, huh?” She’s so ridiculously close to you now, making her demands. She’s putting her cards down on the table, waiting, pushing until you pull and unravel the thread between you two.

“What are you doing Abs?” You feel the ghost of her knuckles tracing your arm, leaving a burning fire in their wake. She takes another step closer, until your shoes bump one another.

“Tell me to stop.” She puts her bottle down, resting her now empty palm against the brick, inches above your head. “You tell me right now to turn around and walk back into that party and I will.”

“I-“

She’s everywhere. In your dreams when you sleep, on your mind when you wake. And now she’s here. In the flesh. She smells like pine and alcohol, sweet with a bitter edge, grounding you in what you’re struggling to believe is reality. Your words die on your lips. Of course you don’t want her to leave, you’d do just about anything to make her stay.

“Hm, that’s what I thought.”

Her broad nose nudges your cheek, cold against your burning skin. She presses a chaste kiss to the corner of your lips, a taunting smirk lighting up her features as you keen for more. Her forefinger and thumb grip your chin ever so lightly, eyes trained on your lips, making you stew in the unrelenting tension.

Finally, her lips touch yours, slow and exploring at first, as though she wants to savour the moment as much as you do.

Her hands grip the glass bottle as your hands go lax at your sides, placing it next to hers on the old rusting barbecue.

Then her hands are on your hips, rough yet soft, commanding your movements and giving you the chance to back away all at once. You don’t.

Abby has never been a patient person. She always takes what she wants when she wants it. You can’t complain though, she does it do damn well. It takes a moment for your brain to catch up with your body. Abby Anderson is kissing you, not in some dream where she evaporates into the harsh morning sun, not in some shower time fantasy that runs up your water bill. She’s here. Tangible. Kissing you.

She tastes faintly of mint and cheep beer, her soft tongue moving harshly against yours as she all but claims you in a kiss. Her thumbs stroke the soft skin of your stomach, the rough pads of her fingers a source of electricity.

You rest your hands in the nape of her neck, pulling her impossibly closer. Her soft blond hair tickles your fingertips and when she nips your lower lip, your back arches, moulding you perfectly into her.

Her thumb strokes just above your bellybutton, small torturous circles sending your stomach into spasms and your thighs clenching. It’s impossible to stay as calm and collected as her, especially as she pops the button on your jeans, taking her sweet sweet time to pull down the zipper.

Her lips suckle on the sensitive skin of your neck, leaving a pretty purple mark. It’s so visible, unable to be hidden by your shirt. No matter where you go tonight, everyone will know that Abby Anderson has claimed your body. Not that she didn’t already own your mind and soul.

Her rough fingers, tracing the your damp cotton panties, not giving your enough pressure to truly feel her. But she’s there. So close to where you need her.

“Please.” Your voice is quiet and hoarse, every function of your being focused on getting Abby to touch you. You desperately push your hips into her, gasping from the small bit of pleasure that’s not nearly enough to give you relief.

She pouts at you, removing her hand entirely and you wonder how she could be so cruel and give you so much at the same time.

You’re surprised you don’t fold there and then, that single touch enough to have you needling against her lips. She presses her fingers against your sensitive clit, rubbing in small circles, trailing down to your sipping hole and back up. She keeps you like that for a while, on the edge of pleasure, desperate and doe eyed all for her.

Maybe it’s the way you whisper her name like a prayer, or the soft dazed glint in your pretty eyes, but she relents sliding a finger inside of you right to the knuckle, pressing her lips against yours to quieten your soft sounds.

You grip the tight material of her shirt, anchoring yourself to her as you get lost in her taste, her scent, her sounds.

“More. Please Abs. Need to feel you.” She didn’t think it would take so little to get you babbling like this, half way to sinking into her like a rag doll. She presses another of her digits into you, groaning as your tight wet channel greedily sucks her in.

“You’re so good for me baby.” Her lips are warm and soft against your cheek when she pecks you, a stark contrast to the images she has of you floating around her head, or the way her hand moves between your legs.

“Gonna let me stretch you open, ruin this perfect little cunt?” Another demand. One that has you clamping down on her. You nod, the only words on your lips her name. Abby Abby Abby over and over.

The pads of her fingers nudge something inside of you when she curls her fingers, palm smacking your clit with the force of her thrusts. She actually chuckles when your eyes roll back into your head and your mouth opens. You look so pretty like this, bent to her will.

She alternates her thrusts, keeping you panting from her unforgiving pace one moment and whining from the slow grinds the next.

But it’s not enough for her, for either of you. Her hands make quick work of helping you yank your t-shirt up and bra down, exposing you to any prying eyes.

The image would startle anyone, Abby’s build frame hunched over you, her hand down your trousers as she sucks at your exposed breasts, barely concealed by the shadows, not even 10 steps from the porch.

"Such perfect tits." The light breeze picks up slightly, brushing over your sensitive nipples, wet with Abby's spit.

“Abby, fu-uck” Your voice breaks off into a harsh moan when her teeth sink into your flesh. It’s barely enough to hurt, but it leaves a small mark, like her own personal claim on you. You buck your hips further into her hand, almost buckling when the rough callous of her thumb presses against your clit.

She has some type of power over you. The kind where your brain takes a while to catch up with the rest of you, leaving you to blurt out stupid things.

“Imagined you fuckin me dumb on your strap, making me take it.” Your breath catches in your throat when her wrist flexes, changing her angle slightly. “Feels so good.”

A triumphant grin breaks out on her face and she tilts her head slightly, swallowing down her own moan.

"You think about me when you're playing with this pretty cunt of yours?" She whispers, breath hot against the shell of your ear. “Don’t go all quiet on me now.”

You’re a babbling incoherent mess, bent to her will. Your body moves as one with hers, your lips move when she tells you, your brain turns to mush as she wishes. In this moment you’re hers. All you can do is nod.

“Did you leave your door open on purpose? You want me to catch you lookin so pretty with your ass in the air, huh? Whining my name like a bitch?” There’s a condescending edge to her voice that spurs you on more than you’d like to admit.

Any initial embarrassment you’d felt is washed away the instant you realise that she had enjoyed it just as much as you. Abby Anderson enjoyed perving on you as much as you enjoyed the thought of her using you into the mattress.

“You love it don’t you, knowing I watched you fuck yourself.” You can’t contain the whine that bubbles up and out of your throat, paying no mind to the fact that someone could be listening.

She laughs again.

“Yeah, you fuckin do.”

You rest your hands on her stomach, her muscles rippling beneath your fingers with each precise movement. You let your hands roam, wondering if she'd let you pin her down and rub your puffy clit against each perfectly sculpted ridge.

"Abby!" a voice calls from somewhere around the corner, "Abs where are you?"

Your head turns quickly, seeking out the disembodied voice in the dimly lit garden. You should push her away, maybe pull your shirt down and have some decorum. But of course she’d never let you, instead pressing her body closer to yours, keeping you exactly where she wants you.

“No no no, eyes on me, thats it pretty girl.” Her fingers grasp your chin, forcing your eyes away from where the vaguely familiar voice had called out to her.

The sound of her fingers fucking into your messy cunt is downright filthy, drowned out only by the spike in music when someone steps outside. You grip her braid when she hunches over, tongue flicking at your nipples again. Her lips are soft yet torturous when she suckles on them, pulling wanton moans from you.

She hooks her fingers, grinding her palm down on your clit, shifting her other hand from your chin to your lips, muffling your cries.

“He doesn’t get to see you like this.” Your nails dig into her biceps when her pace becomes bruising. “C’mon baby, use me, cum all over my hand.”

You have no choice to comply. There’s no way you couldn’t when you’re practically riding her hand, her thick fingers so perfectly hitting every spot you need them. She pushes her palm flat against your sensitive clit, teeth scraping lightly over the marks on your tits and you’re done for.

You press your hips into her hand, riding out your orgasm as the world becomes a little hazy, a slight ringing in your ears as you all but gush all over her palm.

Gazing up at her barely illuminated face, she looks about as wrecked as you feel. Her pretty cheeks are tinted pink and her lips are a swollen cherry red. She looks so pretty like this. A slight bit of jealously sets in your stomach when you consider anyone else seeing her like this. It’s stupid but it should be for you and you only.

She presses her sweet lips to yours, letting you grind down on her once more and removes her fingers from your wrecked panties. The kiss is messy, the two of you moaning into each others mouths like there isn’t a party going on a few feet away.

She pulls back, only slightly, enough to take in your half lidded gaze and swollen lips. Her thumb traces your bottom lip as she mutters under her breath "fucking Owen," listening to him call out her name but making no effort to move.

When his voice grows closer she steps away from you, sighing. He's not going to let up. She tentatively pulls your shirt down and helps you fix your trousers, pressing small kisses to your cheeks.

"Come find me later, yeah?" It's not so much a request as it is a command. One you find yourself easily obliging to.

Then she's gone, stepping into the glow of the purple lights, surrounded by tendrils of swirling smoke from someone's cigarette. She follows Owen for a few paces and pauses.

She's nonchalant when she turns to you and presses her fingers to her tongue, sucking your slick from them with a barely there smirk.

— gross, nat!

— in a room full of people she’ll be texting you

— feelings are way too much

— her girl

— her favourite hook up