This is a promising start. With every brush of his fingers, I’m cranked higher and higher and am becoming more convinced that life with George was a punishment of some kind. Every sweep of my toilet tryst’s hand between my thighs reminds me of the neglect I’ve endured, and an unhinged desperation to come consumes me more with each breath.
He skims his lips along my jaw, down the column of my neck, and across the top of my bare shoulder as though he has all the time in the world to explore my body. Sagging against the door, I’m suddenly glad there’s something solid behind me. The way he’s fingering my clit, I could easily slide down the panel of wood and onto the gross bathroom floor in a puddle. Every brush of his lips feels like an apology I didn’t know I needed. Every flick of his fingers says he means it. Every tickle of his breath lights my body up like I’m a firework, lit and hurtling toward an explosion of color.
This manknows. The way his mouth maps my skin feels like worship disguised as sin. Each kiss burns hotter than the last, the scrape of his stubble catching on my tattooed collarbone as his breath ghosts the wordbeautifulinto my neck.
His fingers curl in my hair, firm enough to anchor me, gentle enough to undo me.
He mutters something about George being a stupid fuckerwho didn’t deserve me, but the words melt under the low growl in his throat.
When his fingers slide deeper between my thighs, they find me slick and trembling. The slow circles over my clit steals my breath; the plunging of his fingers between my folds drags a moan straight from somewhere deep and involuntary. For such big hands, he touches like he’s afraid I’ll break—and somehow that makes me splinter faster.
Is my body so desperate for a release that it’s making it so easy for him? No idea.
Do I care? Not really. It’s a hookup in a bathroom, not the start of some timeless love story. He’s most definitely pleased I’m a soaking wet mess; the “why” doesn’t seem to matter to him, so it doesn’t to me.
My hips buck against his hand as his fingers pick up speed, riding in earnest as I chase the release building up in my core.
“I’m going to make you come on my hand, Rhiannon. Then I’m going to make you hold onto the sink while I fuck you senseless from behind. Is that what you want, pretty girl?”
I think I nod and say yes, but I’m too busy chasing the orgasm that’s so close I can almost taste it in the back of my mouth. The world blurs. My body tightens, tightens, until I can’t hold it anymore. It rips out of me, a low, broken sound I don’t recognize as my own. My thighs shake. My pulse stutters. Every nerve ending lights up like a fuse, burning bright.
When it hits, the world stops turning on its axis, my head snaps back, and not even the sting of pain from the sharp contact against the door stops me from riding his hand through the best orgasm of my entire life.
My muscles tense, like they want to stay in this moment forever, not wanting the release to end. The pleasure crashes into me in waves, cascading, melodic surges of bone-deep pleasure that I feel in every single cell of my body. Is this what it’s supposed to feel like?
Fuck. For a few seconds, the world is just breath. Heartbeats. The faint drip of the tap and the tremble in my knees. My whole body relaxes, hands shaking. Before I can fully come down from the high, he grabs my chin with his free hand. “You still want to be fucked, Rhiannon?”
I like his dirty mouth. And part of me wants him to fuck me face-to-face so I can keep kissing it, but my body lit up when he mentioned fucking me from behind.
George was a lazy man—not that we had sex too often—but he was boring, dull. A man set in his ways and as long as he nutted his load, he didn’t care about much else.
Why the fuck did I stay with him for as long as I did?
Who knows. Maybe I was comfortable with the familiarity of it all. Or maybe I hate myself on some level and figured I deserved the punishment of being with a bland and wholly uninteresting man. That’s definitely something I’ll need to unpack, but for right now, it’s going to wait because the striking man with my chin in his hand gives my face a squeeze.
“Rhiannon?”
I blink.
“Do you still want bent over and fucked?”
My mouth is dry at how forward he is. “Y-yes. Fuck me.”
Wildfire flares in his blue eyes, and the only warning he gives me before shoving me toward the sink is a sharp nod. It’s rough, it’s demanding, and it’s everything George isn’t: proactive, dominant, and urgent. I fucking love it.
I bite my lip as I plant my hands on the robust porcelain of the Belfast sink. There’s a tear of plastic behind me, and as I cast a glance back over my shoulder, relief floods my veins that one of us is switched on enough to think about protection.
I’m on the pill, but of course that doesn’t guarantee against STDs, STIs, and whatever else one may pick up in the bathroom of a bar with a stranger. Fuck. I’m so bad at this.Blinded by straight up lust and a dripping, needy ache between my thighs.
He grins at me before caressing my face with the back of his knuckles, his touch pulling a quiet gasp from my lungs. “Breathe. It’s okay. You can have both safe sexanda quickie in a grotty bathroom.”
I can’t help the giggle that wells up inside me. I’ve never done anything like this before in my life, but this stranger’s making me feel like it was the best decision I’ve ever made with his easy smile, pretty eyes, and forethought to making it safe, at least sexually.
There’s a tiny part of me now aware that he could be a serial killer, so I’m glad I have my family on the other side of the door. He’d never make it out onto Fleet Street before someone ripped him limb from limb. And if he plans on killing me, at least I’ve gotten off first. This warm, fuzzy feeling encompassing my entire being feels kind of like the way I’d love to go.
The tall, dark, and handsome stranger slides my dress up over my ass. The rustle of my dress sounds obscene in the silence. Cool air hits my thighs as he lifts it. And he makes a strangled sound in his throat as he squeezes my cheeks with both hands. “What I wouldn’t give to spend a few hours getting to know this body of yours, Rhiannon Morrigan.”
He said it again. That low, sexy voice dragging out my name like it’s his favorite word to say. He skims his thumb between my cheeks, my body freezing, cheeks clenching and another wave of goosebumps breaking out on my skin when he grazes my arsehole. He chuckles. “Easy, pretty girl. I’m not going to fuck you in the arse. I don’t have any lube on me.”
