He hated parties like this. Kristoff hated parties in general, but this one was textbook awful. A big posh house packed with obnoxious loudmouths, cheap snacks, and cheaper drinks. Dance music thumped out of the home theater speakers, the living room overfull with gyrating idiots using it as their impromptu dance floor. Kristoff leaned against the back wall, alone, nursing his third cup of crap beer. Alone because Sven was in the other room chatting up a dark-haired classmate. Or playing Xbox. Maybe both.

He was too old for this shit. He'd been working in the trades for five years while his friends went to college. But he hung out at the University because that's where they were, and as grumbly as he got about it, he appreciated that they insisted on including him.

But this party was pushing the limits of his gratitude. It was loud. It reeked of cheap cologne and shitty pick-up lines. And Kristoff hadn't worked up the nerve to talk to the red-head on the dance floor.

Sure, the place was packed with women, all warm smiles and figure-hugging outfits, dancing and laughing with each other and having a grand old time. But he only had eyes for her. Her hair in braids that looked like they were pinned up earlier, but now swung freely about her shoulders. Her simple black dress whispered about her petite frame as she danced. And her dancing… a unique mix of awkwardness and sass that said she either didn't know how to properly dance like the other girls, or she didn't care.

Either or both, it was a huge turn-on.

He couldn't keep his eyes off her. He knew he should; he was probably creeping her out. But she smiled at him every time their eyes met. She smiled at everyone, though, wide and friendly. Her smiles for him were probably no different from the ones she gave to everyone else.

Or were they?

The music segued from the poppy dance track that had everyone's arms flailing and feet stomping to something slower, darker. A heavy bass line throbbed out, urgent, insistent, and not the least bit subtle. The room flooded with party-goers, swirling around each other, pairing off, all but grinding to the beat.

The red-head danced alone, but that didn't stop her from feeling the music. She moved like tall grass bending to the music; her arms tracing sinuous patterns her body followed in perfect synchronicity. Men approached her, hungry eyes over plastic smiles asking her to dance, but she brushed them off. Her hips canted back and forth, the movement making hem of her dress creep up her thighs. She glanced at him, and there was no mistaking the sparks dancing in her eyes.

Entranced, he dropped his cup on a bookshelf and stepped onto the dance floor. Those hips were a siren's song, pulling him in with every twist, every thrust. Those eyes were blue fire, ready to both burn him and drown him in their depths. He found himself in front of her, no knowledge of how he got there, and still no idea what to say. She was silent as well, though her eyes raked down his body, clad in a simple black tee and jeans, and he felt his blood racing south after her gaze. She offered him her hand, and he glanced at it as if unsure what it was for. She blinked, long and slow, and bit her lip when at last he took it and pulled her in close.

Kristoff didn't dance. He never danced, had no idea how to dance, actually. The red-head, though… fuck. Her body bent to the rhythm, yet somehow owned it as well, all the while her eyes never left his over their still-clasped hands. Nobody would call what he did dancing, but Kristoff found himself swaying to the beat, to her rhythm. She placed his hand on her waist, and his fingers dug into those twisting curves. He pulled her closer, close enough that her lithe form brushed against him lightly, teasingly. She threw her head back as she danced, tantalizing him with the arched brilliance of her bare neck. His other hand found her hip, and pulled her flush to his chest.

Her open-mouthed smile was wanton as she swayed against him, pressing her abdomen against his stiffening arousal. He leaned into her, eyes on her mouth, where she had caught her plump lower lip between her teeth. But before he could make a move, a slim finger alit on his own lips. He glanced up and caught her eyes, full of mischief. She grabbed his burly forearm in both hands and pulled him out of the living room.

They wended their way down the hall, twisting and turning until they found themselves in a small walk-in closet, barely big enough to hold the two of them. It must've shared a wall with the living room, judging by the muffled music bleeding into the enclosed space. The dim light cast odd shadows over their faces, but did nothing to hide the sparks that still danced in her eyes. It wasn't hard to see what she wanted, and if he wasn't hard before he was rock-solid now. She turned and locked the door, and he bent to kiss her lovely neck. She sighed, tilting her head to the side, opening her neck to his kiss. He found her waist again, practically spanning it in his huge grip, and kissed his way up to her ear. "What's your name?" he murmured, nipping the tender flesh behind her ear.

She turned in his grip, deliberately brushing against his groin. Her hands snaked around his neck, fingers kneading into the base of his skull. She leaned in, her breath ghosting against his lips, and replied, "Does it matter?"

He moaned, and she darted her tongue past his parted lips. His hands drifted up her sides, wandering her lush curves. She pressed closer to him, melting into his touch, until his thumbs ghosted over the already stiffened peaks of her breasts. Her head fell back with a groan, and he latched onto her exposed throat, loving the way it thrummed against his lips with every whimper.

He didn't know if it was the music, the beer, or her hands pulling his face into her cleavage, but Kristoff felt uncharacteristically bold. He nuzzled her breasts, mouthing them through the thin jersey cotton of her dress. His hands drifted down her sides, then up her thighs. He knelt, his lips wending their way down her torso, his hands slipping her panties down her legs. He captured her eyes, loving the way they stormed as he bunched her dress around her waist and waited, desperate for a cue to proceed. Her breathy "holy shit" had him grinning like a starved wolf.

One beefy palm pressed against her sternum, holding her to the wall. The other caressed her thigh, squeezing, sliding her further open, giving him the access he craved. Her folds were already slick with want, and he breathed in her arousal. His exhale brushed her damp curls, and she whimpered with anticipation. Seeing her so raw and open and wanting him stoked his own arousal, and he flicked his tongue out, light as a feather, to caress her clit. Her gasp, and her taste, fuck her taste, snapped his control, and he all but attacked her cunt with greedy lips, giving her clit open-mouthed kisses like a long-lost lover. She keened, thrusting her hips, begging for more. He let his tongue explore her, claim her, dragging it along swollen folds and back up to her clit, suckling and flicking without mercy.

More. He needed more.

He grabbed her leg and threw it over his shoulder, blossoming her folds so her every secret was spread bare before him. He put his mouth to her again, dipped his tongue into her entrance, stroking her inner walls. Her strangled moans sang in his ears. A slender hand grasped the wrist pinning her to the wall, the other threaded into his hair, pulling him tighter into her. The wide bridge of his nose pressed against her clit, and she ground down on him, fucking herself on his face. He eagerly obliged her unspoken demand, his tongue thrusting in and out, matching her rhythm stroke for wanton stroke.

He'd never fucked a woman like this before, this brazenly, this publicly. He didn't think he'd last, not that he cared. His universe centered on her cunt, her pleasure. He felt her muscles tense, her rhythm falter. He grabbed a fistful of her ass and curled his tongue inside her, and grinned as she fell apart around him, drowning him in her climax. He worked her over with his tongue, clit to slit and back, drawing out her orgasm, lapping up her release. She relaxed in his hold, and her kissed her drenched center, his stubble catching her tender flesh, and he suckled on the crease of her hip. A little bruising love bite to remember him by.

He licked his lips as he stood, and couldn't bite back the groan as his arousal rubbed against the confines of his jeans. He loomed over her, pressing his body against hers, pinning her to the wall. She rose up on her toes, adding more friction to the ache in his pants, and kissed the corner of his lips. His mouth opened to her, and she whispered one word into him:

"More."

She didn't have to tell him twice. He made short work of his fly, freeing his cock and burying it in her heat. She groaned, still sensitive and coming down from her high. He grabbed her thighs and lifted her higher, his hips ground into hers, pressing her against the wall. She pulled him into her kiss, claimed his mouth, keening into him as he fucked her in time to the pounding rhythm coming through the wall. She was so slick around him, so hot, canting her hips to pull him deeper inside with each thrust of his hips. She writhed against him, slender hands grabbing his biceps, his shoulders, diving under his tee to run greedy fingers across his chest, her short nails digging into his skin.

The bassline thrummed faster and faster. Tension mounted, building and building to an inexorable crescendo, but he was powerless to her music. He felt her body constrict around him, clenching him tighter and tighter as her fucked her harder and harder. He wasn't going to last; she felt too fucking good. The tension snapped, and she came with a wail he buried in his neck as he growled and emptied himself into her, pumping into her trembling heat until, spent, he collapsed to his knees, holding her firmly against his still-twitching cock.

Panting, sweaty, and sated, they clung to each other in the darkness. The music segued back to something bouncy, but it was background noise compared to the quieting thunder of their racing hearts. He ran tired fingers up and down her spine, stopping to play with her now even more mussed red braids.

"Thanks," she purred. "I needed that."

"Anytime, beautiful."

She laughed and smacked his chest. "Think you'll get lucky enough for another go?"

He grabbed her hand and kissed each of her knuckles, lingering on the one with the diamond on her third finger. "I still think I'm the luckiest man in the world."

Anna's smile was soft as she leaned to kiss his forehead. "Thanks for coming. I know these parties aren't your thing."

"Anything for you."

"I'll hold you to that." she kissed his eyelids, then his nose, then lingered at his lips, humming with pleasure. "I especially liked how you improvised. Though I thought the plan was to sneak out early and enjoy the apartment to ourselves."

"I've learned to just roll with it."

She buried her face in his neck to stifle her giggles. He held her close, relishing in her warmth. They eventually stood and straightened each other's clothes. "Back to the party then," Anna opened the door and smiled up at her disheveled fiancé.

Kristoff grimaced, "Ugh, do we have to?"

"Kristoooooff," Anna pouted.

"I thought the plan was to sneak out early and enjoy the apartment to ourselves." His gaze raked over her body, sending fire coursing through her veins once more.

She bit her lip and let her own eyes wander. "We'd have to ditch Sven."

"Wouldn't be the first time."

Anna grabbed his burly forearm in both hands and dragged him out of the party.