“Use me,” he grunts, shoving his cock deep.
I brace myself against the wall, biting my lip to contain my screams, when I hear it again.
Bang bang bang.
We freeze, Luke hard as a rock inside me. He laughs.
Thirty minutes earlier…
“Spare me the sexism,” I say, rolling my eyes.
Luke leans across the meticulously draped table. “Biology isn’t sexism. I’m just saying, she better start popping out babies like yesterday. We’re not getting any younger.” He smirks at me, then swivels his head, making double sure I can see him checking out the cater-waitress’ ass. Clearly, Luke hasn’t changed a bit since we were eighteen.
“Good god, keep it in your pants.” I raise my voice as the DJ fires up the SpongeBob Square Pants theme.
Luke turns back to me. “Your ass is way hotter, princess. I’m just afraid you’d sue me.”
“Damn right I would,” I growl. “I really don’t get why Matt and Lise keep you around.” While it’s been fabulous to reconnect with my college friends and celebrate their marriage, I’m now stuck at the deserted singles table with Fratty McDickbag.
“Matty and I make a living together. We do business,” Luke says, swigging from a bottle of water. He surveys the room, but the cater-waitress has disappeared, probably to report him to her supervisor for gratuitous eye-fucking. “We can’t all be artistes.”
“I’m a writer,” I snap. “I work as hard as you do, Corposhit. Harder.”
“That’s what she said,” Luke murmurs with a cocksure grin, and despite the utter stupidity of that retort, something... flutters inside me.
Must be the champagne.
He moves from across the table, scooting around empty cake plates and discarded confetti, and slides into the seat next to mine. Our eyes meet, and his gaze travels down my body in a way that’s unmistakable. I try to look away from his glowing green eyes, his broad shoulders, the way his curls tickle his collar...
“I’ll be right back,” I announce, popping out of my chair.
“That time of the month?” he yells way louder than necessary, laughing as I flip him the bird over my shoulder.
The lovely thing about being a woman is that getting yourself off in public is easy. Quick and dirty. I just wish Luke wasn't the reason.
I push open the bathroom door. Coast is clear. I shut myself in the stall furthest from the entrance and maneuver my hand up my dress, down my panties.
What’s different about tonight, I wonder? Since high school I’ve gravitated toward soulful artsy types. Guys like Luke, with their unironically popped collars and MBAs, do nothing for me.
Until the ceremony, when I saw him for the first time in years. When his eyes flickered over my tight, red dress. When I actually felt jealous as he checked out that server’s derriere.
As I begin to rub my clit, I remember that one drunken night sophomore year: his soft lips and sure tongue, the hint of tobacco that I thought would turn me off but tasted so foreign and old-school bad boy. Even years later, just thinking about that kiss –
“Whoa. How drunk are you?”
Oh god. Guess I forgot to lock the stall.
“Why the hell are you in the ladies’ room?” I hiss.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Luke says calmly, not a care in the world. Clearly he’s not going anywhere.
I sigh, leaning back and resting my head against the cool tile. “Not that it’s any of your business,” I retort, avoiding his eyes. Not because I’m embarrassed to be masturbating, but because I’m embarrassed to be masturbating to Luke. “But no, I’m not drunk. That champagne we toasted with is all I’ve had today.” I finally get the courage to look over, and the sight of him has my nipples hardening and my clit throbbing all over again.
“So you’re just horny.” He grins. “I had a hunch. You were looking at me like I was that second piece of wedding cake you demolished.”
Outside, I can hear the first beats of Celebration.
I can turn this around.
“How much did you see?” I’m surprised by the sultriness in my voice, the desire, the control. I don’t hate it.
“Enough.” Luke takes a step closer and says, “You know, you can shut this down anytime. Go dance. Forget it ever happened.”
My eyes deliberately travel down to the fly of his pants, growing tighter by the second. I tilt my chin toward the... situation. “Looks uncomfortable.”
His eyes follow mine. He shrugs, and grins. “It happens.”
“When does it happen?” I know very well, but I want to hear him answer.
“When I’m watching a woman touch herself, and imagine she’s fantasizing about me.” He makes his way into the stall, its door still swinging open. A seduction stand-off.
I just need to know one thing. “How drunk are you?”
He chuckles, blushes just a little bit. “Stone-cold sober. I quit last year, after my fourth DUI. Toasted with Pellegrino tonight.” He takes a step closer and I’m intoxicated. Not by champagne, but by possibility.
Luke leans in and whispers in my ear, “I locked the outside door.”
I turn the latch of the stall.
He lets me take the lead, be the aggressor. I’m generally submissive behind closed doors, but this switch excites me. I’m going to relish making him wait.
I go slow, brushing my lips against his, just barely pressing my breasts against his firm chest. I want to unzip his trousers, but this seduction is making me hot. Our tongues touch, then tangle, just like sophomore year. His technique’s improved considerably and I tell him as much, before I start to work on his neck, nipping his earlobe and pushing him against the salmon pink-painted stall wall.
“You’re gonna kill me,” Luke moans as I torture him, licking and biting.
I’m so absorbed that I don’t hear what he says next. “Come again?” I murmur, flicking his ear with my tongue and untucking his shirt.
“I want you to use me.” There’s no mistaking the raw urgency in Luke’s voice. I pull back, see the dark desire in his eyes. No grin this time – Luke is deadly serious as he leans in and whispers again, “Use me.”
I need to come more than I’ve ever needed anything in my life. I wiggle my dress up over my hips until the fabric bunches around my waist, and grind against his rock-hard cock. We haven’t even undressed but our desire is frantic now – his mouth on my neck, his hands sliding down me, brushing my breasts before settling on the curve of my bottom, his low grunts and my barely contained moans. I try to go slow, but my body demands I speed up. It’s only a matter of moments before I let go, shudders of pure pleasure running through me, around me, in me.
It takes a few seconds of standing there entwined, catching our breath, before I realize my legs are shaking.
“Here,” Luke says, maneuvering me backwards so the wall is supporting me. “Looks like you need this more than I do.”
“Thank you,” I murmur, surprised by his gentlemanly gesture. I inhale his scent, minty and sharp. I can’t take my eyes off his still-erect cock, which looks about ready to do his pants some serious damage. “What do you need?” I ask, reaching for his zipper.
“Wait,” Luke says, covering his hand with mine.
I fake-pout. “I thought you wanted me to use you.”
He unbuckles his belt with a devilish grin. “Let’s do it together.”
I can feel myself revving up again as I see his cock, outlined by black boxer briefs. I reach for his pants and underwear, easing them down to his knees as it springs forth, big and hard and…
“Wow,” I blurt. “Have you ever thought about dildo modeling?”
He laughs. “Not something they covered in B school.” I start to sink to my knees, ready to blow his mind, when his hands gently guide me back up. “Floor’s dirty, sweetheart.”
Normally, I’d hate the endearment, but here, in this locked bathroom, it just gets me hotter. “Besides,” Luke says, pulling me close again, “I want to be inside you when I come.” He kisses me, hot and fierce. “I have a condom –“
Bang bang bang.
“Are you done in there?” screeches Stephanie, Lise’s sister and maid of honor, who’s been slugging amaretto sours. “I’ve gotta goooooo!”
Luke and I freeze, back up until we’re on opposite sides of the stall. The condom dangles from his hand, but he’s still hard as a cannon.
“What do you want to do?” Luke whispers, eyes wide.
I stand there with my panties soaking wet, my dress in disarray, taking in the face and body and cock of my undergrad enemy. I could stop now, write it off as a not-really-drunk mistake. But my adrenaline’s coursing and my cheeks are flushed and “use me” is playing in a loop in my head.
Bang bang bang.
Without breaking eye contact, I slide my panties down, carefully maneuvering the delicate lace around my heels. I pull him in by his shirt collar and shove my panties into his pocket, before I issue my final demand:
“You better fuck me fast.”
In a flash the condom’s on and Luke’s glorious thickness fills me up, as his fingers make quick work of my clit.
“Use me,” he grunts.
“Deeper,” I order.
Now the banging and yelling have intensified – Stephanie’s roped in her sorority sister. My senses are heightened and I’m intensely aware of everything: the pounding of fist against metal, the tile against my back, the antiseptic aroma of hand soap. Luke’s baritone chuckle, his mouth, tasting like cigarettes and Coca Cola and wedding cake sugar; his cock, in and out of me. Fingers teasing, playing. My panties poke out of his pocket. Luke groans in my ear.
They could break down the door and we’d be caught.
With that thought I come in an explosion, over and over and over again, bucking my hips and moaning into Luke’s mouth, not caring about anything except how fucking incredible it feels.
Luke buries his face in my neck and groans, thrusts deeper, then slower, before stopping with a sigh. “Goddamn,” he whispers, sounding both awed and pleased.
“I’m gonna wet my pants, YOU BITCH!”
Luke pulls away from me and my feet hit the ground gently. My hands slide from his soft hair to around his neck and his hands go around my waist like we’re at a seventh-grade dance. For the first time since he shoved inside me, our eyes meet.
I savor these final seconds: our heavy breathing growing slow and quiet, the pink tinge to his cheeks as he pulls up his pants, buckles his belt, straightens his collar, all the while never taking his eyes away from mine.
“AAAAAARGH!” Stephanie and her sorority sister growl in tandem.
“Let me help you with that,” Luke says, smoothing my skirt around my legs, his gentleness a welcome contrast from the aggression of just seconds ago.
I bite my lip. “Thanks.”
“Sure.” He looks at me with hesitation and rubs the back of his neck, adorably sheepish. “Um, I’m staying at a hotel tonight and we could –“
“Pick up where we left off?” I finish.
“IsweartogodI’mgettingsecurity!” Stephanie slurs.
I know what Luke’s feeling - this new perspective, this almost-shyness, this surprise at the sudden turn of events. I wonder if he’s ever fucked anyone in a bathroom at a wedding. Judging by his expression, I’m guessing no.
I realize he’s still waiting for an answer, and I nod, hoping not to look too eager. “Sounds good.”
“Awesome,” he says, smiling.
Bang bang bang.
We roll our eyes and grin at each other, and make our way to the door.
As he unlocks it, Luke reaches for my hand.
Lauren Emily lives (and loves) in Chicago, and is the author of the novel SATELLITE.