Page 29 of Filled

The question stops me for half a second. Then I grin, slow.

“Look at my dick, Fisher. Is that telling you I’m only into guys?”

“I just… You said?—”

“I’m bi. Have been since I figured out the word for it.” I let go of her wrist, slide my fingers up her forearm, watch goosebumps chase the trail. “Told Coach a little fantasy when I first saw you. Him, balls deep in you. Me, balls deep in him. Made him real quiet.”

Her mouth falls open.

“Youdidn’t.”

“Did.”

“Holy shit.”

“He hasn’t been able to look you in the eye properly since. Man’s losing his mind.”

She’s breathing hard now. Her thighs pressed together.

“You want a taste?” I tip my head toward my cock, which hasn’t gotten the memo about this being a complicated situation. “Right now. Mouth on me. Bet it’d take the edge off whatever Coach kicked up.”

“Cruz,” she murmurs

“Yes or no, Fisher.”

She nods.

Just like that. One nod. Quick, like if she does it slow she’ll change her mind.

I grab her hand and pull her toward the row of changing stalls at the back, kick open the third door, drag her inside. Latch it. The space is barely big enough for both of us but it’ll do.

“On your knees.”

She goes down without a word.

The sight of her there with her blonde hair tumbling forward, hazel eyes blown black, and lips parted nearly does me in before she’s even touched me. I fist my hand in her hair, not hard, just enough to anchor.

“Open.”

Her mouth opens. I push in slow, let her get used to the size of me, and her tongue flattens against the underside in this clever little way that tells me she’s good at sucking dick. “Fuck, sweetheart.”

Her hand drops between her legs. I watch her shorts shift as she palms herself through the fabric, then shoves her hand under the waistband, and the sound she makes around my cock. It’s a half-whimper, half-groan that has my knees considering retirement.

“That’s it. Play with that pretty cunt for me while you suck.”

She hollows her cheeks and takes me deeper. I hit the back of her throat and she doesn’t gag, shehums, and my head tips back against the stall wall.

“Christ, Fisher. You felt that good in my fucking fantasies and now you’re—” Her tongue does something filthy. “—fuck, you keep doing that and I’m gonna come down your throat.”

She whimpers, takes me deeper.

Three more strokes and I’m right there. Right at the edge. I pull her off me by the hair, slow and gentle despite the static in my brain, and she looks up at me with shining wet eyes and a swollen mouth and I almost change my mind, almost shove back in.

“Up. On the bench.”

“Cruz,” she protests.

“Up, sweetheart.”