Karaoke Tease Ends With Her Ass

The private karaoke room still smelled of spilled beer and the ghost of cheap champagne when the last of their coworkers finally spilled out into the hallway, laughing too loud and slamming the door behind them. Kara kicked off one heel, then the other, and flexed her toes against the sticky carpet. Twenty-eight, sharp as a new campaign brief, and still buzzing from three hours of forcing smiles across the marketing floor’s annual blowout. Emmett hadn’t left. He never left first when it was just the two of them. Thirty-two, all broad shoulders and that permanent five-o’clock shadow that made every junior associate stare a second too long, he lounged on the low leather banquette with a half-empty bottle of something amber and his tie already loosened. They’d been flirting for two years—coffee-machine brushes, late-night Slack DMs that skirted the edge of filthy—but tonight the air felt thicker, charged.

Kara scrolled the song list with deliberate slowness, hips cocked, the tight black dress she’d worn to the party riding high on her thighs. She chose something slow and filthy, a track that demanded movement. The first bass notes hit and she turned, already rolling her ass in a lazy figure-eight that made the hem of her dress climb another inch. Emmett’s eyes locked on exactly where she wanted them.

“You always watch me like that,” she said, voice low and throaty into the mic even though she wasn’t really singing yet. “Like you’re trying to memorize the way it moves.”

He didn’t look away. “Hard not to when you put it on display like that.” His voice was rough, scraped raw by the earlier round of group anthems. “Been watching it all night, Kara. Every time you leaned over the dessert table. Every time you danced with that intern just to make sure I noticed.”

She laughed, spun, and backed up until her ass brushed the front of his trousers. The contact was light, teasing, but she ground down once, slow, feeling him already half-hard against the curve of her. “I like being watched,” she murmured, still half-singing, half-confessing. “Like knowing someone’s staring and wanting. Especially you. You’ve been hard for my ass since the Christmas party two years ago. Don’t even try to deny it.”

Emmett’s hands settled on her hips, big and warm, not quite pulling her tighter yet. “I’m not denying shit. That dress is criminal. The way it clings when you shake it—fuck. I’ve spent half the night thinking about bending you over the nearest flat surface and finding out how tight you are back there.”

The admission landed hot between her legs. Kara’s pulse kicked. She chose another track, something even slower, all bass and breathy vocals, and really worked it now—dropping low, rolling up, glancing over her shoulder to catch the raw hunger on his face. She loved this, the power of it, the way his gaze felt like hands already on her. She ground harder against him on the next beat, feeling his cock thicken fully, thick and insistent against the cleft of her ass through the thin fabric.

“Tell me,” she said, voice husky. “Tell me exactly how badly you want it.”

He exhaled hard through his nose, fingers flexing on her hips. “Badly enough that I’ve jerked off thinking about spreading you open and watching my cock disappear in that perfect fucking ass. Badly enough that if you keep teasing me like this I’m going to lose it right here.”