The bathroom is small, a single room with a lock, and I shove through the door and brace both hands on the edge of the sink, dropping my head between my arms. My reflection in the mirror is flushed, my pupils blown wide, my lips bitten red. I turn the cold tap on and splash water over my face, once, twice, pressing my wet palms against my burning cheeks, but it doesn’t help. Hongjoong’s scent is all over me, soaked into my skin and my clothes, thick and possessive, and my own arousal is layered on top of it and making my head swim. My cock is still achingly hard and my hole clenches, the sudden emptiness after his fingers almost worse.
The door opens behind me. I look up into the mirror and see Hongjoong step inside, his expression focused and intent, I watch his hand reach back and flip the lock with a quiet click.
He crosses the bathroom in two strides and before I can turn around his hand closes over the back of my neck and shovesme forward, pinning me face-first against the tiled wall beside the sink. The tile is cool against my flushed cheek and I gasp at the contact, my hands coming up flat against the wall on either side of my head. His other hand yanks my pants and underwear down to my thighs in one rough motion, the cool air hitting my exposed skin and making me shiver, and then he grips the back of my left knee and hikes my leg up, opening me wide, my foot leaving the floor as he holds me spread against the wall.
I hear the clink of his belt, the rasp of his zipper, and then the blunt hot head of his cock pressing against my hole.
“Not here,” I hiss, turning my head as far as I can with my cheek still pressed to the tile. “Hongjoong, we’re in a public bathroom, Wonjoon is sitting right out there, he’s going to—”
Hongjoong’s palm claps over my mouth, sealing the words in, his lips brush the shell of my ear as he says in a low rough voice, “Be quiet. I can smell how badly you need this, Jae. Your slick is soaking through your pants and if we go back out there like this, Wonjoon is going to know exactly what’s going on.” His hips press forward and his cock sinks into me in one long brutal thrust that forces a moan out of my chest, the sound trapped and muffled behind his hand as he fills me completely, the stretch making my eyes water and my fingers curl uselessly against the tile.
He doesn’t give me time to adjust. His hips snap back and drive forward again, hard, the force of it shoving me against the wall, he sets a punishing pace that has the paper towel dispenser mounted beside my head rattling with every thrust. I moan against his palm, the sounds coming out broken and desperate, my free hand scrabbling at the smooth tile for something to hold onto and finding nothing. My cock bounces untouched between my belly and the wall with each impact, leaking steadily, and Hongjoong adjusts his angle, tilting his hips up so the head ofhis cock drags across my prostate on every stroke, and my knees nearly buckle.
“That’s it,” he breathes against my ear, his hand tightening over my mouth as my moans get louder. “Take it.”
I come with a strangled cry that his palm barely contains, my cock jerking and spattering the wall in front of me, my hole clamping down around him in constricting pulses that make him groan through his teeth. He thrusts through it, once, twice, and then pulls out abruptly, his cock sliding free of me with a wet sound that makes my face burn. I hear the slick sound of his hand on himself and then feel the hot splash of his cum hitting my lower back and the curve of my ass, stripe after stripe of it painting my skin as he comes with a low helpless sound, his forehead dropping against the back of my shoulder.
For a few seconds neither of us moves. My legs are shaking badly enough that I’m not sure they’ll hold me if I step away from the wall, and I can feel his cum cooling on my skin, dripping down toward my thighs, mixing with the slick that’s still leaking out of my stretched hole.
Hongjoong presses his mouth to the back of my neck, lingering there, his breath hot and uneven against my skin. Then he pulls back and says, his voice still rough, “We should wrap it up out there. Your scent is going to make it pretty obvious what we were doing, and from the way you’re still dripping it seems like you need more than a quick fuck in a bathroom can give you.”
I groan and press my forehead against the cool tile, my face on fire, cum sliding down the backs of my thighs. This man is going to be the death of me.
Chapter Eight
Ifollow the signs toward the private lot with the laminated pass Hongjoong gave me hanging from a lanyard around my neck, feeling distinctly out of place as I weave between clusters of people who all seem to know exactly where they’re going. The racetrack is massive, far bigger than I pictured when Hongjoong told me to come watch him race this weekend, and louder too, the roar of engines already audible from the parking area even though the race hasn’t started yet, a deep vibrating drone that I can feel in my teeth. Crews in matching uniforms haul equipment between trailers on wheeled carts, shouting to each other over the noise, the air thick with the sharp bite of fuel and hot rubber mixing with the mild spring breeze.
I find Hongjoong’s trailer among the row of team vehicles, his name and number printed on the side in bold lettering alongside sponsor logos I vaguely recognize from the ads I’ve seen plastered on buses and billboards around the city. I knock twice and the door swings open almost immediately, Hongjoongfilling the narrow doorway with his racing suit pulled on only to the waist, the top half hanging loose and tied off at his hips, a fitted black undershirt clinging to his chest and shoulders, outlining every line of muscle underneath. He grabs the front of my jacket and pulls me inside without a word of greeting, the door swinging shut behind me.
The trailer interior is cramped but well-organized, a narrow galley with a counter and mini fridge on one side, equipment bags and gear stacked neatly against the opposite wall, monitors showing camera feeds from the track mounted above a small desk. Two seconds after I step in Hongjoong nods toward the back of the trailer where a fold-down bed is tucked into an alcove, a thin mattress covered in a dark fitted sheet, and says, “Go over there, pull your pants down, and spread.”
I eye him for a second, searching his face for context, but his expression is matter-of-fact, not particularly heated, more like he’s giving instructions than making a sexual demand. I’m past the point of arguing about every command at this stage, and I figure maybe he needs a quick pre-race fuck to settle his nerves or burn off some of the restless energy that’s clearly buzzing through him, his fingers tapping against his thigh, his weight shifting from foot to foot. So I walk to the bed without protest, undo my belt, push my pants and underwear down to my thighs, and bend forward, planting both hands flat on the thin mattress and spreading my legs as wide as the fabric bunched around my knees will allow, presenting my ass without ceremony.
It’s not the most dignified position in the world, but dignity stopped being a luxury I could afford a long time ago, and it’s routine enough by now that my body settles into it automatically, my back dipping, my hips tilting. I wait for the familiar sound of Hongjoong undoing his own pants, for the press of his cock against my hole, but what I feel instead is something hard and smooth and decidedly not flesh nudgingagainst my rim. I look back over my shoulder and make a sharp sound of protest when I see the large silicone butt plug in Hongjoong’s hand, already glistening with a generous coat of lube, the bulbous end so thick that my stomach does an involuntary flip at the sight of it.
“What the hell is that for?” I ask, my tone pitched flat.
Hongjoong doesn’t look up from what he’s doing, just squeezes more lube onto the plug’s tapered tip. “After a race I’ve got excess adrenaline to burn off,” he says in an infuriatingly reasonable tone. “I don’t want to waste time on prep when I get back, so I need you open and ready for me the second I’m off the track.”
“You’re a deranged pervert,” I tell him.
Hongjoong laughs, unbothered, then his free hand reaches between my legs from behind and squeezes my balls firmly enough that I yelp and jolt forward, my hips jerking away from his grip as a zing of sensation shoots up through my groin. Before I can recover he presses the rounded tip of the plug against my hole and says, “Hold still.”
I grit my teeth and try to relax as the plug pushes against my rim, my body resisting the cold firm intrusion, the silicone unyielding in a way that flesh isn’t. Hongjoong pushes steadily, not fast but not gentle either, and I grunt as the bulbous end starts to force my hole open, stretching me wider, the pressure building as my rim strains around the increasing girth. I let out a small involuntary whimper as the widest part of the plug spreads me to the point of a sharp burn, my fingers curling into the mattress, and then the thickest section passes the ring of muscle and the whole thing glides in with a wet sound, my hole swallowing it greedily as the flared base settles snug against my rim. The fullness is instant and overwhelming, a deep persistent pressure that spreads outward from my core and makes my cock twitch where it hangs between my thighs.
“There,” Hongjoong says with open satisfaction, and then the bastard pats the base of the plug with his open palm, a firm tap that reverberates through the silicone and makes me jump and swear, spinning around on the mattress and swinging at his head. Hongjoong dances backward out of reach, grinning like the devil himself, watching as my face goes scarlet and I yank my pants up over the plug with shaking hands, shifting uncomfortably as the fullness settles inside me and every tiny movement makes the plug shift against my walls.
“Happy now?” I ask through gritted teeth, adjusting my belt with fingers that won’t cooperate.
Hongjoong nods, his eyes bright with a mischief that I want to slap off his face. “Oh, very much. I’m going to enjoy knowing that’s nestled inside your sweet ass, keeping you stretched and wet and ready for me while I go out there and school these wannabes.”
I cringe at the pressure of the plug shifting with every micro-movement as I straighten up, a dull maddening friction against my insides that sends little sparks up my spine whenever I move my hips. “Doesn’t that seem a little overconfident?” I manage, trying to keep my voice level.
“Not at all.” He’s pulling the top half of his racing suit up over his shoulders now, zipping it to his sternum. “There’s a reason they say I’m the best in the country.”
I roll my eyes so hard it hurts. “Whatever. Let’s just get out of here.”
Hongjoong leads the way out of the trailer and I follow, stepping carefully down the metal stairs and immediately regretting every life choice that brought me to this moment, because walking with this thing inside me is its own special kind of torture. Every step makes the plug shift and press against my walls, rubbing against my prostate with a dull friction that sends sparks up my spine and pools heat low in my belly, and mybody responds the way it always does to sustained stimulation, producing slick around the plug in a steady leak that I can feel gathering between my cheeks, warm and wet and mortifying. I clench my jaw and pray to every god in existence that my dark pants are thick enough that nothing shows through.
