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“You want to come?”

“Yeah.” I breathe.

“Then listen.” He tightens his grip.

Oh, I am listening. Just keep talking me through it.

“You’re going to come on my cock when I tell you to.” He whispers it. Just for us. “And when you come, you’re going to scream loud enough that Enzo and Leif hear every second of it.” His jaw works against my temple. “They should know who’s got you.”

The footsteps from before, the ones I told myself I didn’t care about. It was them, it had to be Enzo and Leif.

“They’re still listening.” It isn’t a question. I knew. I’ve known since I dropped on his cock and didn’t stop.

“Right outside.” He lifts me, carries me a few steps, I don’t track where, I can’t track anything, and sets my back against something solid. Cooler than the door. Steadier. It doesn’t give the way a wall gives. His cock never stops. Not once. “A wall away,” he says. “Screaming distance.”

I groan. My orgasm builds, the coils tight and hot before he’s moving me again.

This time the surface at my back is warm where a wall would be cold. It breathes where a wall would be still. I am too far gone to ask the question my body already knows the answer to.

“You ready to come for me, Hadley?” he demands, and he’s all I can think of, all I see. “Feel how hard you’ve got me. Feel how open you are around my cock, like you were built to take it. All of it.” His voice drops. “Eyes on me.”

My nails draw blood.

Hunger rips through me.

“Come. Now.”

I shatter on his cock. As his cry bounces off the walls of the locker room, his release splashes inside me. My mind whites out as he drops.

But I don’t move.

Then his tongue is on me.

And I don’t care, because I’m coming all over again, just as he said I would. My thighs grip his head, holding him between them, and I don’t even care if he can’t breathe as long as his tongue keeps flicking the way it is.

And when I come again, he drinks every single drop I have to give him.

Including his own.

Chapter Seven

I wait for it.The slow burn of regret, the one that will arrive right on schedule. My body’s one reliable subscription service.

It’s a flaw, really. To hold the ability to so thoroughly enjoy myself and then to… well and truly believe I didn’t deserve it.

Maybe that’s why I’ve always steered clear of moments like this. Not that I’ve had many encounters where I did anything like this in public.

The back of a car, sure. A bathroom that locked, once, that I don’t talk about. But somewhere anyone could walk in?Never. I have standards. Had. Past tense, apparently.

My head falls back against the wall. Except walls don’t breathe. Walls don’t get warmer when I lean on them. Cool. Great. Love that for me.

I keep my eyes tightly shut. Squeezing them so hard I see white spots.

I don’t dare open them. Not when my mystery lover drops my legs. Not when he flips my dress back over my hips. And not when I can feel his gaze on me.

Because mind you, my eyes are still well and truly squeezed shut. If I can’t see it, it doesn’t exist. Object permanence, solved. I’m basically a toddler, and the toddler is winning.

Sure. Tell that to the mess on my two-thousand-dollar dress. The dress I saved a year for. The one that was supposed to walk me through tonight. The speech, the Ellenburgs, Angela’s room upstairs. The one that was supposed to make me look like someone who belonged in that room. Like Angela’s successor. Like a woman who had her whole life figured out.