"Why not?"
"Because we're adults."
"We're twenty-one and twenty-five. That's barely adults. That's adults with an asterisk." His lips brush my ear. "I'm so hard right now. Been hard since you let Benji roast you and justtook it. Something about watching you sit there and take it for me is really doing it."
"Jude."
"There's a single-stall bathroom. It locks. I've checked."
"You've checked."
"I'm a planner."
His hand slides higher on my thigh and his fingers brush against my cock through my jeans, casual and deliberate and hidden by the table. I'm half hard already because his scent has been wrapping around me all night and his mouth has been inches from my neck.
"Two minutes," he says. "I'll go first. You follow."
He slides out of the booth, says something to Benji about getting another round, and disappears toward the back hallway. I sit there for about ninety seconds, trying to look like a person who isn't about to do something ill-advised, and then I excuse myself and follow him.
The bathroom is a single stall with a lock. Jude is leaning against the sink, arms crossed, grinning. "Took you long enough."
"I was trying to look casual."
"You looked constipated. Come here."
I lock the door behind me and he's on me. Hands in my hair, mouth on mine, his body pressed against me. He tastes like beer and lime and underneath that he tastes like mine, always mine. I lift him onto the edge of the sink and he wraps his legs around my waist and grinds against me. We're both laughing into the kiss because this is absurd. This is a bar bathroom. There's graffiti on the wall behind his head and the lighting is terrible and someone has written "KnotMe ruined my life" in sharpie on the mirror. This is the least romantic place we've ever been.
It's perfect.
"Fast," he says, undoing my belt. "We don't have time for the full experience."
"You're the one who chose a bathroom."
"And I'd choose it again. Pants down, alpha."
I shove my jeans down. He's already pulled his to his thighs and he's soaking, slick dripping down the inside of his legs, a wet patch spreading on the front of his briefs where his cock is straining. The sight of it in a fluorescent-lit bar bathroom is somehow the hottest thing I've ever seen.
"You weren't kidding," I say. "You're drenched."
"Been like this for an hour. Every time you laughed at something Benji said I got wetter. It's humiliating. Are you going to do something about it or just stare?"
I pull his briefs down and wrap my hand around his cock and he hisses, his hips bucking into my fist. He's hard and leaking and I stroke him slow just to watch his face twist.
"Don't tease," he says. "We're on a clock."
"You're the one who wanted the bathroom."
"And I want your cock in me, not your hand. Move."
I slide two fingers into him and he moans, loud enough that I clap my other hand over his mouth. He bites my palm and grins behind my fingers and clenches around me, hot and slick and so wet my fingers make an obscene sound when I thrust them.
"You're so fucking wet," I say, and my voice has gone low and rough in a way that makes his eyes glaze. "You sat in that booth for an hour dripping like this?"
He pulls my hand off his mouth. "Every time you put your arm around me I could smell you and my omega was losing it. Now stop talking and fuck me before someone knocks."
I pull him to the edge of the sink. Line my cock up against him and push in and his mouth drops open, his head thudding back against the mirror, his legs tightening around my waist. He's sowet I slide in to the hilt in one stroke and the clench of his body around my cock makes my hands shake on the porcelain.
"Oh god," he says into my neck. "Okay yes. This was a great idea. I'm a genius."
