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“You’re right,” I tell her.
My prison sentence has been lifted, essentially. I talked to an ecstatic Shawn earlier. Me playing well means Kluvberg has no incentive to cut ties with me. I earned some slack. I could get wasted tonight. Take home a random woman. How I’ve celebrated victories for years.
All I can focus on is Sophia.
I have no desire to talk to another woman, much less touch her. And celebrating with guys who have mostly ignored me before tonight doesn’t sound that great either.
“Great. I have more tables to dance on.” Sophia reaches down. There’s barely enough room between our bodies for her to bend over. I don’t realize what she’s doing until I glance down and see the lacy fabric balled in her fist. She steps forward, shoves her underwear into my back pocket, then smirks. “A gift for all your goals.”
She pats my chest, then slides to the left. I move with her. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
No fucking way is she going back out there to dance on tables, wearing nothing under her dress.
She’s tipsy, pink cheeks and messy hair. She’s also temptation and trouble and torment. I just got a taste of what playing well on FC Kluvberg is like. The roar of a seventy-thousand strong crowd cheering me on. The rare grin from Wagner, slapping my back as I stepped off the field. Teammates excited to party with me tonight, rather than acting like my presence in the locker room was an inconvenience.
None of that compares to standing in a restroom with her.
Sophia smirks. “What are you going to do about it? You just agreed I should make my own decisions?—”
I slam our bodies together, our mouths colliding just as resoundingly.
Sophia kisses me back, her moan vibrating against my lips and encouraging the reckless energy shredding my self-control.
I shove a thigh between her legs, groaning when she rubs against me. Growling when I remember her panties are in my pocket and she’s bare beneath this dress. My hands move to the short hem, playing with the edge of the fabric.
Her breathing is heavy now, her hips rocking against my thigh. Her hair is loose, falling in golden waves over her shoulders. My dick is throbbing against the zipper of my jeans, pounding to the point of pain. My balls are drawn up tight, eager to fill her.
It’s been two weeks since we fooled around on my couch. Two months since I had sex.
There’s no way I’m fucking her for the first time—for her first time—in a bar restroom.
But I can still make her come. Remind her how good it is between us, how electric and consuming.
I hoist her up onto the edge of the counter, admiring the sight of her swollen lips and hooded eyes as she stares at me. Her beauty, paired with evidence of how I affected her, makes me feel a little feral. My fingers trail up and down her arm, and she shivers, the texture of raised flesh obvious under the bathroom’s bright lights.
She arches her back, thrusting her tits forward. I tug the thin strap of her dress off her shoulder slowly, groaning when it slips low enough for me to realize she’s not wearing a bra either. I suck in a harsh breath before leaning down and biting the point of her nipple gently. She cries out, shifting so her body is even more exposed. Bent back like an offering.
“What do you want, Sophia?” I ask, exploring more of her skin with my teeth and tongue. I couldn’t give a shit if I leave marks. There’s this burning need to claim her, to know that this insanity I’m experiencing isn’t one-sided.
Her breathing is heavy as she slips her fingers into my hair, raking her nails across my scalp. “I want you.”
Not my fingers or my tongue or my cock. Me. This isn’t casual sex to her, chasing physical pleasure, and that should scare me. It shouldn’t make me want to fuck her even more.
I swear when my hand reaches the top of her thigh. She spreads her thighs, allowing me a glimpse of the shiny pink flesh. She’s fucking soaked. I work one finger into her tight heat, then add a second. Her lids flutter, half covering her eyes as she moans with pleasure. It’s an incredible high, watching her flushed, wet pussy stretch around my fingers. Slick and tight. I lean in and kiss her, simply because I want to, the swipe of her tongue against mine turning my blood into lava.
Someone knocks on the door, and I realize I’ve quickly lost track of how long we’ve been in here. Somewhere between seconds and hours. I kneel down, moving my hands to her hips so I can pull her center right against my mouth. She cries out—loudly—as soon as she feels my tongue trace her slit.
No one knocks again.
I want to savor this—her—but I’m no longer assuming this will be the only time I touch her like this. I’m focused on her pleasure, on making certain Sophia enjoys this. She’s as bold as she was dancing on the table, rocking her hips against my face as I fuck her with my tongue. Her hand returns to my hair, tugging on the strands as she lifts her cunt closer to my mouth.
She comes quickly, slumping back against the mirror while her pussy is still pulsing. I straighten and kiss her—hard—letting her taste herself on my lips. Then pull her underwear out of my pocket and slip them back up into place.
Her blue eyes drill into me as I dress her, assessing and still aroused. I’m so hard that I can hardly think straight. I need to get the hell out of here.
“Keep those on, Sophia. I don’t share.”
Then, I turn and leave the restroom.
