Page 110 of Smut

There are only two private stalls and I have no idea which one Blake is in, and now I’m wondering if that look he gave me meant anything at all.

“Blake?” I whisper, looking between the doors.

Nothing.

I decide to try the women’s one.

It’s not locked.

But there is a woman on the toilet, pants around her ankles, doing her business.

“This is occupied!” she yells at me, and I quickly slam the door shut.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” I cry out, feeling all sorts of embarrassed even though it wasn’t my fault at all. Why do people do that? Just lock the fucking door.

I turn to go for the men’s but there’s already a man going for it, turning the handle.

He opens it wide and Blake is in there, just standing there in the middle of the washroom.

Luckily he’s fully dressed.

“I’m sorry,” the man says curtly.

“I was just leaving,” Blake explains quickly, coming out of the bathroom and standing beside me. “Hi,” he says, peering at me.

“Hi,” I reply, smiling like a goof.

The man eyes us suspiciously before closing the door and locking it. The door thumps on its hinges, the man making sure it really is locked.

Then the women’s washroom opens and the occupant comes out, glaring at me as she goes.

“You know her?” Blake asks as he ushers me into the washroom.

“Making all sorts of friends tonight,” I tell him.

He locks us in, and before I can say another word, he’s grabbing my face, lips devouring mine, tongue pushing into my mouth, stroking every pent up desire.

I grab him in kind, my hands in his hair, at the back of his neck while his hands grab my waist, my ass, pinching, groping. We grapple together in a frenzy of heat and lust and something unbelievably real.

I’m pushed back against the tile wall, pinned there, and I’m his, completely his. My body operates on pure instinct, throwing myself into him with no inhibitions, no caution. It craves him as much as my mind and soul do. As he presses against me, breathing hard and kissing me, messy and wet, I put my hands around his shoulders and relish the lean, taut muscles of his back as I pull him in.

One of his hands is lost in my hair, tugging on it the way I like, and I let out a breathless gasp from the sweet pain. The other is lifting up the hem of my dress, shrugging it up around my waist. He slides the satin of my underwear aside and lets out a deep moan that I feel vibrate through me as he explores me with his fingers.

“So wet,” he murmurs. “You get so fucking wet for me.” He sticks three of his large, long fingers inside me and I clench around them, begging for more.

“Hurry up and fuck me,” I tell him.

No, seriously. Someone’s going to knock on the door at any minute.

He laughs, low and rich, reaching down to lift me up so my legs are wrapped around his waist. I reach down between us and frantically try to undo his belt. He stares at my frenzied hand for a moment, clearly enjoying just how much I want him.

“Hold on, peach,” he says, pulling down his pants and boxer briefs until his cock bobs freely, so dark and rigid. I love him like this, so raw, thick, and all for me.

He holds himself at my opening and waits for a few beats. I can feel the heat coming between us, the way his eyes burn into me, until his gaze drops to his cock as he’s about to push its stiff length inside me. Before I can urge him in, my fingers tightening their hold on his back, he pushes with one large, powerful thrust.

I can’t help the cry that escapes from my lips, and then the soft, “Oh,” as he slowly, agonizingly, pulls himself out, his cock absolutely drenched.

He eases himself back in, a few inches at a time, his lips brushing over mine.

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