The bathroom is empty, the hum of the dance floor muffled by the thick door. I slip off my pantiesand tuck them behind my back, settling against the sink. The anticipation crackles—every second is a dare.
Alejandro enters a moment later, eyes locked on mine, and shuts the door with a decisiveclick. His gaze drops, taking me in and the way I’m waiting for him, hands hidden.
He closes the distance, grabbing my jaw and kissing me hard—hungry, devouring, his tongue staking its claim. His hand drops to my thigh, fingers skimming up to my holster. He slides my knife free, and drags the flat of the blade along the curve of my hip, barely touching.
“Looking for these?” I murmur, and flash him my panties—taunting, challenging.
He growls, dark and low, and drives the knife into the metal stall wall beside us. The handle vibrates. “You’re a dirty girl, Saint James.”
He kisses me again, rougher, and grabs my hips, spinning me so my back’s pressed to the stall. “Hold on,” he commands.
I barely have time to reach up, grabbing the knife’s handle overhead, when he drops to his knees. He lifts my dress, spreads me open, and drags his tongue over me, slow and deliberate.
He hooks my leg over his shoulder, angle perfect for him to feast. The first stroke of his tongue has me gasping, hips stuttering, my hand gripping his hair as I tip my head back, mouth open for the sounds I don’t care who hears.
He pulls back just enough to speak, breath hot on my skin. “Tell me how good I make you feel.”
He wants praise—needs it, craves it—and I’m happy to give. “So fucking good, Alejandro. You know exactly how to ruin me—don’t stop,” I release a sigh, “just like that.”
He hums, tongue working deeper, lapping, sucking, his hands holding me steady when my legs threaten to give out. My hips roll, chasing every pulse of pleasure, every flicker of his tongue. I shudder, thighs trembling as the orgasm hits—sharp, consuming, white-hot.
I cry out, body arching against him, and he rides it out, mouth relentless until I have to push him away, spent and shaking.
He stands, face slick, eyes bright with triumph and hunger. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, leans in close, mouth grazing my ear.
“Now,” he whispers, voice rough, “ask me, Saint.”
He kisses me as his fingers fumble with his belt—one arm around my waist. I hear the rasp of the zipper, the heavy drag of denim.
“Ask what?” I manage, voice thick.
His mouth barely leaves mine as he frees his cock, pressing in close, like he’s starving for me. “Ask me who I’ve been with.”
I meet his eyes, lips brushing. “Who?”
He hooks my leg over his arm, balances me on one foot—my grip tight on the sink, the other on his shoulder. He holds my gaze, voice guttural: “No one.” The word cracks like a whip as he drives into me with one hard, deep stroke. He doesn’t give me a second to breathe, to answer, to do anything but gasp as he starts to fuck me like he’s got something to prove.
He’s pounding into me, hard enough my teeth rattle, sweat running down both our bodies.
I dig my nails into his back, locked onto hiswild eyes. “You could fuck half of Chicago and still come crawling back for my dick.”
“You wish.” I bite out before I take his mouth in a claiming kiss.
He grins, savage. “You’re a fucking liar—listen to you, soaking wet, dripping down my cock. That’s for me, Saint. Always has been.”
He picks me up, barely breaking rhythm, slamming me back against the stall, fucking me deeper. “Don’t pretend you haven’t thought about me these two years. I know you have. Every goddamn night.”
I try to sneer, defiant. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
He sets me on the sink, opens me wide, starts driving in harder—ruthless, demanding. “Admit it. You touch yourself thinking about me. Every fucking time. Say it.”
His hand finds my throat, squeezes just enough to make the world spin. His voice is a growl in my ear. “I think about you every time I make myself come, Saint. Every fucking time.”
“Oh my God.” I groan out, head falling back as my orgasm tightens.
“Admit it baby while you come on my fat cock.”
I fall apart around him, hips slamming up to meet every brutal thrust. “Yes—fuck—yes, I do. Harder, Alejandro—fuck me harder?—”
