The stretch is good, but not enough—fuck, I want him, want to feel his thick cock filling me, stretching me wide. I curl my fingers, hitting that spot that makes my toes curl in my heels, and rub my clit harder with my thumb.
The stall spins a little, the world narrowing to the slick sounds of my fingers pumping in and out, the wet squelch echoing off the walls.
In my mind, it's Hale pinning me against this wall, his dark eyes locked on mine as he fucks me hard and deep. "You need this, don't you, Lila?" he'd growl, his voice like thunder, his hips slamming into mine.
I'd wrap my legs around him, digging my nails into his broad shoulders, begging for more. The fantasy pushes me higher,my free hand sliding up to pinch my nipple through the dress, twisting just hard enough to send a jolt straight to my core.
I'm close, so fucking close. My pussy clenches around my fingers, fluttering as I thrust faster, chasing that edge.
Heat coils tight in my belly, spreading out like wildfire. One more curl, one more firm stroke over my clit, and I shatter—my orgasm crashes over me in waves, my walls pulsing, hot slickness coating my hand.
I gasp sharply, inhaling through gritted teeth to stifle the moan that wants to rip free, my body shuddering against the wall.
As the aftershocks fade, I slump there, fingers still buried inside me, panting. What the hell am I doing? Masturbating in a bathroom stall like a horny teenager, all because of a man I barely know—a man who's my client, my project.
I pull my hand free, wiping it on a tissue with shaky movements, and straighten my dress. My cheeks are flushed in the mirror when I step out to wash up, but the tension's eased, at least for now.
I take one steadying breath like I didn’t just lose my damn mind in a Midtown bathroom.
Chapter five
Chapter Five: Lila
Ican go back out there, smile for the cameras, and pretend this never happened.
I pull out my phone. We’ve been posting fresh content every day, including what I managed to catch during my first night in the firehouse, but today we posted the teaser for what we’re doing tonight. I’m desperate to know if people are actually excited to see it all.
Only, when I unlock my screen, I see I already have a text from Lou, sent ten minutes ago. I haven’t seen her in a while, but she’s already one step ahead of me.
U might not want to read those comments yet, she’s written.
Which obviously means that I immediately open TikTok and pull up the official Save A Hero teaser video.
At first, I don’t know what she could possibly be talking about. A lot of the comments are nice. Someone has even said,firefighters really are the unsung heroes of public service, it’s great that people finally get to see how hard they work…
Unfortunately, someone then replied to that comment with,the only reason we’re seeing it is because they’re trying to distract us from the fact that half of 47’s crew are incompetent himbos wasting taxpayer money.
“Well, that’s not fair,” I mutter to myself in the general privacy of my toilet stall. “Noah isn’t a himbo.”
He’s hot, yes, but I haven’t seen any evidence so far that he’s actually stupid.
I scroll a little bit further, and then come across one comment in particular that snares my attention.
What a cringe PR stunt. It figures they’d hire the cheapest people in the biz. This is going to be a shit show.
The username is bpela94. Which is ambiguous enough, I guess, except that I only know one guy who would specifically come formythroat instead of Station 47’s, and who would use a phrase as ridiculous as “the biz” to do it.
Barry Pelavin. It has to be him.
He’s been a pain in my ass for almost five years now, ever since he lost that entrepreneurial grant and had to fall back on his daddy’s money to open his own PR firm. Over the years, he’s poached several of our clients, blatantly copied a handful of our marketing materials, and generally made it even more difficult than it already is to make it in this city.
Which is crazy, honestly, because his father is some kind of advertising executive who basically pisses cash. Unlike me, Barry has a wealth of resources at his fingertips, and yet he still chooses to come after me.
Lou thinks it’s classic misogyny. I think that’s likely, but it’s probably also true that Barry has a few screws loose inside that rich boy head of his. Like, if you shook his skull, it might actually rattle.
“Whatever,” I say out loud. “He’s a dickwad and he’s not important.”
“So true, queen,” someone murmurs from the stall next to mine.
