A water fountain, still wrapped in heavy plastic, is the only indication that I’ve found the restrooms. I slip inside, relieved that there are actually stalls and sinks, even though the walls are unfinished.
Heavy footsteps approach, and I dash into a stall. My fingers fumble with the lock.
It could be anyone outside that door. A stranger. A dangerous man.
It’s not only part of the game. What if Asher Cook didn’t like my little show back there? He could have turned around and continued working. He could have let one of his men follow me instead.
A low chuckle bounces off the tile, and I shiver with relief because I recognize him. Anticipation races up my spine. My breath comes quicker.
“I know you’re in here. You may as well come out and make it easy on yourself.”
More footsteps, and I lean against the door, too afraid to make a sound. The lock isn’t working right. I think the door isn’t aligned. There’s nothing stopping him from coming in except my weight.
“Or you can make it harder on yourself,” he says, stopping outside my stall. “Maybe you’d enjoy that. Maybe you like getting men all riled up, thinking about them touching you with their dirty hands.”
A knot in my throat. “No,” I say, my voice breaking. “That’s not true.”
There’s a shift in the metal, and I realize he’s touching the door on the opposite side. Only an inch separates us. “I suppose we’ll find out,” he says, soft enough I have to strain to hear. “When I touch your pussy, we’ll find out if this is getting you wet. Won’t we?”
There’s a clench between my legs, and I know exactly what he’s going to find. “Don’t.”
The stall door opens despite my weight, inexorably, inevitably, until I’m standing there in front of him. His white T-shirt has black smudges that weren’t there before. It looks somehow more obscene than even my silk camisole with no bra beneath it. In his gaze I find an unexpected tenderness.
“Don’t what?” he asks, his voice gentle.
How far do I want this game to go? “I don’t know.”
“It’s a little late to ask for mercy, beautiful.”
I’m doing more than asking. I’m begging, after he made me come three times last night. He looks hard as steel beneath those jeans, and he didn’t climax even once.
Slowly, slowly, I sink to my knees in the half-built bathroom.
Asher’s eyes flash. “What are you doing?”
“You’re right,” I whisper, my gaze on his. “I do enjoy getting the men all riled up. I like thinking about the dirty things they’d make me do if they trapped me in a room like this.”
He takes a step closer, his body inches from mine. “Show me.”
My hands are clumsy on his belt buckle, but he makes no move to help me. He stands there like a god passing judgment. The tile is hard and cold beneath my knees; it makes this sharper. Sweeter.
The denim strains against the length of him. My hands tremble as I tug the zipper down, half afraid I’ll hurt him, half afraid he’ll hurt me. That’s what this is—a form of battle. One of us is going to lose.
There’s another layer, a thin grey cotton. It stretches obscenely around the length of his cock. I can see the shape of him with the vein underneath. I can see the outline of the flared head.
And a drop of precum darkening the cotton to black.
It makes me bolder, seeing the power I have over him.
I hook my fingers into the band of his underwear and pull down. My knuckles brush the hot iron brand of his cock, and both of us suck in a breath. Then his cock juts away from his body, proud and hard. And far too big to fit into my mouth. Without thinking I lick my lips, as if readying myself.
His dark gaze tracks my tongue. It’s a little late to ask for mercy, beautiful.
His cock jerks when I touch it, as if it’s alive, and I make a high-pitched sound of surprise. I have to force myself to touch him again. The warm skin moves beneath my fingertips, almost like velvet encasing steel. A solid construction, this cock. The core of him built to withstand anything.
Built to withstand my tongue, when I reach out and touch the tip. Bitter-salt flavor bursts in my mouth.
“Jesus,” he mutters, almost restless. His hands are in the air, those hands made strong and callused with work, as if he doesn’t know where to put them. In my hair. That’s what he decides. He strokes my hair, gentle, gentle, and then hard—a sudden yank that makes me gasp.
Tears prick my eyes.
“You can take more,” he says, uncompromising.
I open my mouth wider and push myself forward, letting my body open to him in the most natural way, letting the feminine softness of me surrender to the masculine hardness of him. The flare of his cock rubs against my tongue, and I flick him in retaliation. He swears in a long, obscene string.
“Too much,” I say, the words too muffled to understand.
He understands anyway, shaking his head and rocking his hips forward. “This is what happens to little girls who tease big, strong construction workers. You walk around with that tight little body. What do you think is going to happen? This.”
A deep thrust makes me gag, and I sputter around his cock, inelegant, defiled. “Wait,” I say, pushing away, shaking my head. I didn’t know how far I wanted the game to go, but now I know. All the way. That’s how far. And for that to happen I have to fight him.
And he has to fight back.
A cruel smile curves his lips. He reaches down to yank at the silky fabric of my camisole. Cool air brushes over my hard nipples. “What are we going to wait for?” he asks, mocking. “I can tell you want this. Look at your tits. They’re begging for me to touch them.”
He does more than touch them. He pinches my nipple. Hard.
I gasp, and he uses the moment to shove his cock back inside my mouth. I could bite him, if I wanted him to stop. But I don’t want that. It’s hotter to pretend I can’t bite him because he’d only get angry. He’d only make this harder on me. The only safe thing to do is please him, and I suck harder.
A heavy pressure builds below my stomach, something more severe than pleasure. It feels like an earthquake is coming inside me, and I’m afraid of what happens if I break.
I look up at Asher, imploring him, hoping he understands.
He watches me suck him, working his cock in and out of my mouth. One hand reaches behind him to tug the white T-shirt off, revealing muscled abs that clench on every flick of my tongue.
I can’t deny that he likes my breasts, small as they are. He pinches and pinches me until I’m gasping around his cock, rocking my hips, mindless. I’m kneeling on the bathroom floor and I’ve never been so turned on in my life.
He pulls me to stand and drags the camisole over my head, dropping it to the bathroom floor.
My heels are next. My slacks. My lacy red panties.
And then I’m standing there naked in a half-built bathroom, a whole construction crew not twenty feet away from us. I shiver, but I can’t deny the excitement grows deeper.
A hand wraps around my neck.
He pushes me flush against the cold tile wall. Then his other hand works between my legs, two fingers pushing up inside me. A strangled sound escapes me, cut off by his mouth against mine. He eats up my protest, my pleasure. My pain.