My knees actually weaken. I grab his shoulders to steady myself, my fingers digging into solid muscle, and he makes a low sound of approval.
We're barely moving now, just swaying in place, our bodies pressed together from chest to thigh. I can feel every inch of him, including the impressive length of his cock against my stomach. I can feel his heart beating fast. Can hear his breathing getting heavier.
And I know, I absolutely know, where this is heading.
"Bathroom," he breathes against my ear, and the single word sends a shiver down my spine. "Come to the bathroom with me."
I should say no.
I'm completely sober. Stone-cold sober, actually, since I barely finished my drink. I have zero excuse. No liquid courage to blame. No impaired judgment to hide behind. This would be a conscious choice, made by a woman who's supposed to be heartbroken and traumatized and definitely not grinding against a stranger on a dance floor.
But Derek's face flashes through my mind. His look of shock when I walked in and found him buried inside Jessica. Her legs wrapped around him. His hands on her tiny waist.
And then Jessica's voice, breathy and satisfied: *"She never has to know."*
Except I did know. I do know. And nothing I do tonight will change that.
But maybe, just maybe, I can feel something other than worthless for a few minutes. Maybe I can let this handsome stranger make me feel desired instead of discarded. Wanted instead of replaced.
Maybe I can take something for myself instead of waiting for someone to give me scraps.
His lips brush my ear again, questioning, waiting for my answer. His hand is still on my ass, possessive and warm. His cock is still hard against me, proof that at least one man in this world finds me attractive. I pull back just enough to meet his eyes. They're dark with desire, intense and focused entirely on me like I'm the only woman in the room. Like I'm worth looking at. Worth wanting.
"Yes," I whisper.
Chapter 2 - Colt
*Yes.*
She said yes.
This gorgeous, curvy woman with her amber eyes and her fucking incredible body just said yes to me, and I'm already mentally mapping out every way I'm going to make her scream.
I take her hand and lead her off the dance floor. My cock is throbbing so hard it's almost painful, straining against my jeans with every step. I've been with plenty of women, but something about her has me wound tight as a spring. Maybe it's the way she fits against me, all those soft curves pressed to my body. Maybe it's that ass—Christ, that ass—round and perfect, the kind I can already imagine gripping while I pound into her from behind.
The image makes my dick pulse, and I have to adjust myself as discreetly as possible while we navigate through the crowd.
The bathroom is at the back of the bar, down a narrow hallway that smells like old beer and Pine-Sol. It's not romantic, not even close, but I don't give a fuck and clearly neither does she because she's still holding my hand, still following me, still looking at me with those eyes that are equal parts hurt and hungry.
I push open the door, and yeah, it's a mess. Cracked tiles, flickering fluorescent light, graffiti scrawled across the stalls. But it's empty, and that's all that matters.
The main stall at the end is bigger, probably meant to be handicap accessible but mostly used by people doing exactly what we're about to do. I pull her inside, slide the lock home with a metallic click that sounds obscenely loud in the small space.
Then I turn to her, and fuck, she's beautiful. Her cheeks are flushed, her breathing fast, and those dimples, the ones I wasn't lying about, are visible even now when she's not quite smiling.
I cup her face, thumbs stroking her cheekbones, giving her one last chance to change her mind. But she doesn't. Instead, she rises up on her toes and kisses me.
Holy shit.
Her lips are soft and urgent, opening immediately when I deepen the kiss. She tastes like whiskey, and when her tongue meets mine, I groan into her mouth. My hands slide down to grab her hips, pulling her flush against me so she can feel exactly what she does to me.
She whimpers and rolls her hips against my cock. Fuck the slow build. Fuck taking our time. I break the kiss long enough to spin her around, pressing her front against the stall wall. She gasps, hands splaying against the graffiti-covered metal, and I'm already reaching for the hem of her dress.
"Tell me to stop if you want me to stop," I growl against her ear, even as I'm bunching the fabric up around her waist.
"Don't stop," she breathes, and that's all the permission I need.
I expose her ass, even better than I imagined, round and perfect in simple white panties, and run my hand over the curve of it. She pushes back into my touch, and I squeeze, hard enough to make her gasp.
