I pull off just long enough to say, "Then do it."
I take him back in and he comes with a muffled shout, his whole body jerking. I swallow everything, working him through it until he's oversensitive.
When I pull back, he's slumped against the door, eyes glazed.
"Holy shit," he whispers.
I stand up, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. My knees ache from the tile.
Sam looks at me. Then down.
"Your turn," he says, and his voice has that dangerous edge.
"You don't have to—"
He's already spinning us, shoving me against the door, dropping to his knees.
"You just called my life's work a beautiful painting with no foundation," he says, fingers working my zipper. "And then you got on your knees for me in a public bathroom. The least I can do is return the favor."
His mouth is on me before I can respond.
It doesn't take long. Sam knows exactly what I like, exactly how to take me deep, exactly when to tease.
But he doesn't tease today. Today he's as desperate as I am, and I last maybe two minutes before I'm coming with a groan I have to muffle against my own arm.
He swallows and grins up at me like the chaos gremlin he is.
"We're definitely going to hell," he says.
"Worth it," I manage.
We clean up. Straighten our clothes. Sam catches my eye in the mirror. His hair is wrecked.
"We should go," he says. "Before someone calls security."
I nod.
"Sam."
"Yeah?"
"What Sterling said. About one winner, one loser."
Sam's expression sobers. "I know."
"He's going to try to use this against us. Whatever we are. He sees it as a weakness."
"I know," Sam says again. He turns to face me. "But he's wrong. Right? We just proved he's wrong. We went in there, and we fought, and we're still..."
He gestures between us.
"Still us," I finish.
"Still us," he agrees.
I want to believe it. I want to believe that Sterling is just another obstacle, that our bond is stronger than whatever game he's playing.
But I saw the calculation in his eyes. He's not done with us.
