She backed me against the graffiti-covered sink, the cracked mirror reflecting a red-and-black smear of us. My hands found her hips, felt the heat through denim. She fumbled at my jeans, fingers desperate, then cursed and yanked at the fly until the button popped off and ricocheted into the urinal.
She laughed, breathless and wild. “Nice pants.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Vintage.”
She grabbed the back of my neck and dragged me down into her. There was nothing soft about it. She bit at my throat, pulled my hair, left scratch marks that burned in the best way. I peeled her out of the jacket, yanked her shirt overhead, and saw the bruises—old, new, all of them stories I didn’t want to hear.
I kissed every one anyway, knowing damn well I was making the worst fucking mistake of my life. But I wasn’t about to look like some scared pussy.
She went for my cock, rough and hungry, and I let her, leaning into the edge of the sink until the porcelain dug into my ass. She stroked me with one hand and tore at her own jeans with the other, and when she couldn’t get them off fast enough, she just hiked up and hooked her knees around my hips.
I lifted her like she weighed nothing. Slammed her against the stall, the cheap aluminum rattling with each thrust. She moaned, low and savage, then bit down on my shoulder, breaking skin. She used her heels to spur me on, and I answered with everything I had, fucking her until her eyes rolled and her nails carved bloody crescent moons into my back.
She came first, loud and raw, echoing off the tile. I followed, barely holding her up as my knees went soft.
We slid to the floor together, her back against the door, our breaths ragged and uneven. I waited for her to say something cruel, but she just put her head on my shoulder and closed her eyes.
“I hate you,” she whispered.
“I know.”
She laughed again, softer now. “You ever gonna let me go?”
“Nope.”
She poked a finger into my ribs. “Not even if I ask nicely?”
“Especially not if you ask nicely.”
She was quiet a long time, just listening to the thud of the bass and the yells from the bar outside. I held her, felt her heartbeat settle, and realized mine was already matching.
“You’re gonna get yourself killed,” she said, not quite sad.
“It’s a talent.”
She opened her eyes. “You want to know why I ran?”
“Yeah,” I said, surprising myself.
She chewed her lip. “You’re not the one they want, Augustine. It’s me. But if you get in the way, Cutler will gut you in front of his crew and make me clean up after.”
“Let him try,” I said.
She snorted. “You’re so fucking dumb.”
“You like dumb.”
She pulled me in, kissed me one more time, then stood and started putting herself back together. I watched the bruises disappear under denim and leather. Watched her become a fortress again.
She ran a hand through her hair, met my eyes in the mirror. “We should go.”
I nodded.
She stopped me before opening the door. “I’ve never fucked in a bathroom,” she said.
I shrugged, not wanting to admit it wasn’t my first time. Or second, or third. Fuck, it was actually a habit.
She smiled. “Don’t worry about it. Every girl wants to be fucked in a shitty bar bathroom at least once in her life.”
