Page 84 of Secret Obsession
My heartispounding out of my chest.
I take the shot and stand suddenly. My chair scrapes back.
Miles watches me. I know he does, even when I walk away from him. He watches the sway of my hips and my light-as-air footsteps across the bar, into the darker hallway that hides the bathrooms. Women first, then men. I push into the women’s restroom and duck down, scanning the stalls.
Empty.
For now.
My breathing is uneven, and I catch a glimpse of myself in the row of mirrors. My hair is in place, but it doesn’t do much to hide my burning cheeks or the half-lidded eyes. The way my lips quirk up at myself.
I don’t try to smile, because my nerves are all tangled together with my sensibilities.
Handicap stall. I drag it shut, although I don’t latch it. I undo the button of my jeans and drag them, and the briefs I stole from Miles’ drawer this morning, down my hips. My thighs. All the way to my ankles.
I crane around and eye my bare ass. At the handprint still visible as a wicked version of a bruise. And then I face forward again, exhaling carefully. I don’t know what he’s going to do, and I can barely suppress my moan when my hands touch the cold tile.
My body bends forward automatically, and my head hangs down.
And then I wait.
And wait.
The door bangs open, and my whole body tenses. I practically hold my breath when another stall door shuts, and then the sound of another woman pulling her pants down and pissing fills the restroom.
I stay still until she flushes. There’s a quick rush of water, and the grind of the paper towel dispenser. And then she’s gone.
While I wait, I drift. My stomach cramps, and my feet ache. My one foot, in particular, is throbbing. The urgent care doctor said it would be healed soon—but soon can’t come fast enough.
The door opens again.
Then the stall door opens, and fingers trail down the side of my hip.
“Good,” he breathes. He locks the stall behind him. The latch scrapes across the metal, the noise unmistakable. “What a good little slut you are.”
His fingers are back, this time parting my ass cheeks. I bite my lip to hold back my groan.
“Oh, my slut is dripping.” His breath hits my skin. And then his finger is pushing through my wetness, straight into me.
My knees nearly give out.
“Ah, ah,” he admonishes. He continues to pump his finger in and out, pressing on my G-spot with every stroke.
Before I can come—before I can get close—he withdraws. His wet finger trails higher, over my asshole. He pushes in slightly, and I squeal.
The sound echoes around me.
SMACK!
My body lurches forward, my weight shifting to my toes. Toes that curl in my shoes as fire spreads through my body, emanating from my ass.
“Your reactions drive me insane,” Miles groans behind me.
He slips his finger into my ass. In and out, like he’s fucking it. My brain stutters to a halt. I don’t know what I’m doing, or what he’s doing. All I can focus on is the sensation he’s giving me.
SMACK!
I keep my mouth shut this time, swallowing the noise before it can escape. He struck a different spot. Lower on my ass, on the other cheek. My muscles tense, and he pulls his finger from my asshole. He grips my cheeks with both hands, massaging. Rubbing. Kneading.
