A Life in Marvel
Chapter 9 - Part 2
They kept moving in slow circles, bodies pressed tight. Morgan's hand stayed low, thumb stroking the top of her ass through the silk while he kept feeding her the room's filth. "See the couple slow-dancing near the corner? He's thinking about how tight her pussy felt last weekend. She's wondering if his buddy would join next time. That freshman girl by the snacks? She's never been touched but she's soaked imagining Flash's hands on her. Kid's got no clue how many people want him tonight. Over by the drinks, that quiet girl is fantasizing about getting fucked by two guys at once. Her best friend is right next to her thinking the same thing."
Gwen's breath was coming faster now. She rolled her hips into his more deliberately, grinding her soaked heat against his thigh. The silk bunched slightly between them, the friction making her sigh softly. Morgan pulled her tighter, letting her feel how hard he was against her stomach.
Morgan's hand flexed on Gwen's waist. He caught the faint echo of heavy, ugly intent near the doors—Toomes himself, lurking just outside in the parking lot, watching. The man wasn't here to chaperone.
Peter tried anyway. He forced a smile when he and Liz reached the group, waved awkwardly, and let her tug him toward the dance floor. But his eyes kept flicking to his phone every few seconds. The alert hit right as a slow song started—grainy security-cam footage of a familiar salvage truck near a private airstrip, Toomes' crew loading crates marked with Stark Industries logos. Peter's face went pale under the spinning lights.
He lasted maybe ten minutes.
Morgan watched from the dance floor as Peter pulled Liz aside near the bleachers. They stepped into the shadows by the folded chairs, low voices barely carrying over the music. Peter's hands gestured apologetically, shoulders hunched.
"I'm sorry, Liz. I have to go. There's… something happening with that salvage crew again. The one from D.C. They're loading Stark tech onto a plane tonight. If I don't stop it—" His voice cracked. "People could get hurt. I can't just dance and pretend it's fine."
Liz touched his arm, her expression a mix of worry and something like relief. "I get it, Peter. Really. Go. Just… be careful, okay? Text me when it's done so I know you're not bleeding in an alley somewhere."
Peter nodded, already half-turned toward the exit. "I will. I'm really sorry about tonight. You look amazing. I wanted—" He stopped, swallowed hard. "I wanted this to be normal for once."
Liz gave him a quick, tight hug, her full tits pressing against his chest for a second. "It's okay. Family stuff comes first. Save me a story for later." She pulled back and forced a smile.
Peter slipped out the side door, suit jacket already half off like he couldn't wait to change. The relief in Liz's posture was immediate—shoulders dropping, a small exhale as she smoothed her blue dress down over her hips. She had plans later that didn't involve babysitting guilt or pretending everything was fine while her dad's boss plotted another score. Still, real concern lingered. Peter was a good guy. She didn't want him hurt.
Ned looked around the group, confused. "Where'd he go?"
"Family thing," Liz said, forcing a bright smile as she rejoined them. She stepped right up beside Morgan, close enough that her arm brushed his. "He'll be fine. Said to save him a slice of cake or whatever."
MJ raised an eyebrow but didn't push. Flash opened his mouth—probably something about Parker bailing again—but caught the collective death glare from everyone and wisely stayed quiet, slinking back against the wall.
Morgan leaned down to Gwen, voice low. "Peter just chose the plane over the dance. Kid's growing up. Toomes is still outside, watching. We'll handle it quiet if it spills in here."
Gwen nodded once, eyes sharp, spider-sense clearly prickling.
Liz turned toward Morgan then, her expression shifting. The forced brightness faded into something hotter, more direct. Her eyes lingered on his mouth, then dropped slowly down his body before coming back up. She stepped a little closer, voice soft enough that only he and Gwen could hear.
"He tried," she said, a small shrug. "But we both knew how this night was gonna go. Dad's been… intense since D.C. Peter's got that whole hero thing pulling at him. I told him to be safe." Her gaze flicked to Morgan again, hotter this time. "Doesn't mean the rest of my night has to be ruined, though."
Morgan felt the want rolling off her—warm, eager, a little guilty but mostly relieved. Liz's body language screamed it: the way she shifted her weight so her hip brushed his, the subtle arch in her back that pushed her full tits forward under the blue dress. She was already thinking about later, about the review room, about his hands on her again.
"You good?" Morgan asked quietly, letting his fingers brush the small of her back.
Liz nodded, biting her lower lip for a second. "Better now. He's doing what he has to do. And I've got… other plans." Her eyes met his again, dark and promising. "You still owe me that dance you teased about last week. The one where you said you'd tell me every filthy thing you're thinking while we're out here in front of everyone."
Gwen smirked beside them, clearly enjoying the shift. "He's been giving me the play-by-play already. Room's filthy tonight."
Liz laughed softly, but her cheeks flushed darker. She leaned in a little more, voice dropping. "Good. Because I've been wet since I saw you two walk in. That dress on Gwen… and you looking at me like that. Peter's sweet, but he's not—" She stopped, glanced around, then finished anyway. "He's not you. Not right now."
Gwen tugged Morgan onto the dance floor.
They moved together like they'd done it a hundred times. His hand settled low on her back, right where the silk met the curve of her ass. Every slow sway pressed her body against his. He could feel the heat between her thighs, the faint slickness already soaking through her panties from the alley earlier and the walk here. The emerald dress slid against him like liquid, thin enough that he could trace the outline of her firm tits and the hard points of her nipples.
"Half the room wants to fuck you right now," he whispered against her ear, voice low. "Girl in the silver dress keeps staring at your tits and wondering if they bounce the same way when you ride cock.
Gwen's breath caught. She rolled her hips into his, grinding slow and deliberate. The silk slid between them, teasing. Her powerful ass flexed under his palm as she pressed closer, letting him feel exactly how wet she was getting. "Keep talking," she murmured, lips brushing his jaw. "Makes me wetter."
His fingers flexed, palming the firm swell of her ass and pulling her tighter so she could feel exactly how hard he was. They danced like that for two full songs—her tits pressed flush to his chest, nipples hard through the thin fabric, his thigh occasionally slipping between hers so she could rock her soaked pussy against it. Every grind made the silk bunch and slide, the friction building. Gwen's breathing grew heavier, little sighs escaping each time her clit dragged along his leg.
Morgan kept feeding her the room. "Flash is hard as a rock watching that freshman. Imagining bending her over the bleachers. That quiet girl by the wall? She's soaked thinking about eating Liz out in the locker room later. Whole place is one bad decision away from someone getting fingered on the dance floor."
Gwen shivered hard, grinding down firmer on his thigh. Her hand slid up his chest, nails digging in just a little. The heat between her legs was obvious now—wet enough that it was starting to slick the front of his pants where she rubbed.
When the song changed again, Liz cut in with a shy but hungry smile. Morgan switched partners smoothly, Gwen stepping back with a knowing look and a wet spot visible on the silk if you knew where to look.
Liz's body was softer, curvier—full tits that swayed every time she moved, wide hips, thick thighs that filled out the blue dress perfectly. She pressed close right away, a little nervous but clearly turned on. Morgan's hand settled on her lower back, thumb stroking the top of her ass.
"You feel good," he said quietly. "Peter leave you all worked up?"
She laughed softly, cheeks pink. "A little. But I've got plans later." Her hips rolled against him, bolder than expected. It wasn't a polite sway—this was deliberate. Liz pushed her thick ass back into his hand, then rolled forward so her heavy tits dragged across his chest. The soft, heavy flesh molded against him with every slow grind, nipples stiff and obvious through the thin blue fabric. She worked her hips in a smooth, filthy circle, pressing her pussy right against the hard line of his cock through their clothes. The movement was slow and rhythmic, like she was already fucking him on the dance floor.
Morgan let his power brush her skin—feeling the quick spike of heat between her legs, the way her nipples tightened even more, the slick rush of wetness soaking her panties. "Good. Because I've been thinking about bending you over that review table since last week."
Liz shivered, pressing closer. She arched her back a little, pushing her ass out so his hand could grip more of the soft, heavy cheek. Then she rolled her hips again—slower this time, grinding the heat of her cunt along his trapped cock in long, deliberate strokes. Her thick thighs squeezed together around his leg for a second, trapping it there while she rocked. Her big tits swayed heavily between them, brushing and dragging over his chest with every movement. She looked up at him through her lashes, lips parted, breathing a little faster.
"Been thinking about it too," she whispered, voice husky. "How you stretch me. How wet I get when you talk dirty like this." She rolled her hips again, firmer, letting the ridge of his cock press right against her clit through the layers. A tiny, needy sound slipped out of her as she did it. Her ass filled his palm perfectly—soft and heavy, jiggling slightly when she ground down harder.
They danced like that through the whole song—Liz working her curvy body against him like they were the only two people in the gym. She'd roll her hips in tight circles, then slide up and down along his cock, her thick thighs flexing. Her tits kept brushing and bouncing against his chest, nipples dragging teasingly. Every few seconds she'd press her pussy down harder, grinding with purpose, like she was chasing friction right there in front of everyone. Morgan's hand stayed on her ass, squeezing and guiding her movements, feeling the soft flesh spill between his fingers.
"You're dripping," he murmured against her ear. "Can feel how soaked you are through the dress. Keep grinding like that and you're gonna cum right here on the dance floor."
Liz's breath hitched. She rolled her hips again, slower and filthier, dragging her clit along his length. "Maybe I want to," she breathed. Her cheeks were flushed dark, eyes glassy with want. She arched harder, pushing her tits more firmly into him, then dropped low for a second so her ass pressed fully back against his cock before sliding back up. The movement was pure heat—curvy, eager, and shameless in how she used her body.
The song ended too soon. Liz stayed pressed close for an extra beat, breathing against his neck, her hand sliding down his chest like she didn't want to let go yet. Her thighs were trembling just a little from the constant grinding.
Then MJ stepped up, eyes dark and promising.
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