I laugh softly and roll my eyes. “You’re impossible.”
“Am I?”
Turning in my seat, I face him fully and let my hand drift up his thigh in return. Slow and intentional, I watch his reaction closely.
His eyes widen just a fraction.
Oh, there it is.
The air shifts between us instantly. That charged awareness humming under the surface, the kind that makes the world narrow down to just two bodies and one dangerous thought.
I move closer, lowering my voice. “You know what’s sexy, Mercs?”
My tongue slides across my bottom lip as his gaze drops to my mouth. He shifts slightly, and my fingers brush against the firm outline beneath his jeans.
The party noise fades into a distant blur.
And suddenly, it’s just us.
Waiting to see who breaks first.
“What?” he asks, his voice breaking slightly with the tension rippling through the air.
“You… me… in a bathroom stall.”
He grins, looking around the room, then he glances back at me. “You wanna fuck in the bathroom?”
I laugh. “You really are the last of the romantics.” Grinning, I stand casually, my clit already throbbing with the thought of him taking me there while everyone’s oblivious. The hormone injections are working wonders for my libido, and since they have been taking effect, Mercs and I are back on track in the sex department. Normally, it’s confined to our hotel room, so changing it up and fucking in the VIP section is an unexpected allure.
After my little meltdown, when Dr. Wakefield gave me my diagnosis, we discussed birth control and what we were going to use since using the pill is not a possibility with my treatment. We both decided it was best to use nothing. Neither of us cares if I get pregnant right now because after this tour, it’s likely we will be back in the studio, and given the high chance I won’t conceive anyway, we are willing to take the risk.
I reach out, grabbing his hand as he stands, and we walk across the dance floor toward the back of the room. Not wanting to draw attention, we keep our pace casual as I lead the way, all the while my body is thrumming with the promise of what’s to come.
We enter the hall, and I smile, leading him to the door of the bathroom, but his hand in mine tightens, pulling me another way. I glance around as I’m drawn in another direction, and we enter a dark room through some swinging doors. I giggle as he grabs me, forcing my body up against a counter.
It’s dimly lit, but beside the counter is a wine rack, and opposite us are a bunch of barrels. From what I can tell, this must be where they store the alcohol. To my left is a big glass-doored refrigerator, with a faint glow emanating from behind it, providing the only light in the room. It’s almost romantic as Mercs leans in, his body pressing against mine completely while he steps in between my legs, hoisting me up on top of the granite counter. The coldness makes me shiver slightly, but the rest of my body is heating up before he runs his hands up the sides of my thighs, hoisting my leather dress up my legs.
I shuffle on the cool surface and wince at the coldness on my bare ass, letting the dress move up and over my ass. He moves in, grabbing the band of my G-string and yanking my panties off me. Then he grins, holding my legs and pulling me forward. I gasp at the sudden movement, my ass sliding on the counter, leaving me at the edge. I feel like I’m going to fall off when he suddenly drops to his knees and hoists my legs over his shoulders, giving me support.
I grin, my teeth clamping down on my bottom lip, watching him position his head between my legs. His lips press against my thigh, moving up torturously slow. Each kiss is feather light, a tease, and I can’t help but squirm, moving my hands into his hair, and when his teeth graze my skin, my head falls back in delight as I let out a small moan. The thought of someone walking in here at any moment is only heightening the experience for me.
His tongue flicks against my clit, and pleasure jolts through me, a sharp pulse that steals the air from my lungs. A heavybreath spills from my mouth as my fingers thread into his hair, holding him there, anchoring him exactly where I need him.
He doesn’t rush.
His tongue moves in slow, deliberate circles. Every flick is calculated, every glide designed to draw the tension tighter inside me. Heat coils low in my belly, tightening with each pass.
When the pressure starts to crest, I can’t stay still. My hips begin to rock against Mercs’ mouth, subtle at first, then more insistent, chasing the release building beneath his relentless attention.
And he lets me.
But only just.
He’s a magician with his tongue, and he knows it.
He doesn’t rush, he doesn’t scramble, he takes his time, like he owns every second of my unraveling. My nipples tighten into aching peaks as a helpless moan spills from my lips, and I feel his grip on my thighs tighten in response.
Another slow, deliberate circle.
