Justin pov:
She started to move—slowly, cruelly. Not humping. Grinding. Smooth, measured torture. I could feel everything through the denim—her bare core dragging over my cock like she was trying to kill me with pleasure.
"June," I warned.
She leaned in, her voice brushing my ear. "Shh. We're just watching the dance floor, remember?"
I gritted my teeth. My fingers twitched, digging into her skin. "You're not watching anything."
She smirked. And kept moving.
It wasn't even about teasing anymore. It was about control. And the little witch on my lap knew exactly how to steal it from me. She was rolling her hips in slow eights now, chest brushing mine, her breath catching every few seconds like this wasn't hurting her just as much.
And maybe it was. But she was enjoying every second of watching me try to stay still.
