Chapter 11
SMITH
What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck?
Watching that scene would have been one thing, taking my cock out and jerking off in a room full of strangers was another entirely. Thankfully, they were probably all so wrapped up in what was happening they didn’t even notice me, but I noticed me. I’d remember what I’d done.
I ran into the bathroom and shoved my hand under the tap, watching as cum diluted itself around my fingers before running into the drain. Soap was next, scrubbing myself clean with more force than necessary and doing everything possible to ignore the still-erect cock standing between my legs.
Behind me, someone else came into the bathroom and I dropped my head, hoping they would go into a stall and not notice me.
But there were no footsteps, no movement, not even the sound of a zipper from someone in front of the urinal.
My breath trembled on every exhale, and slowly I forced myself to look up into the mirror.
The floor might as well have dropped out from under me as soon as I saw Riggs standing there.
Against the handicapped stall with his hood up and his hands shoved into his pockets, his stare unwavering and focused.
On me.
I cleared my throat, turned off the water. “Hi. This is awkward.”
He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing in the reflection. “Why is it awkward?”
“Just running into someone I know at a place like this.”
“A place like this?” he asked.
“A sex club.”
“Is there something awkward about having sex?”
“No,” I answered quickly, yanking brown paper towels off the roll mounted on the wall and drying my hands. “I just meant…did you…”
I didn’t even have it in me to ask if Riggs had seen me come all over myself in the loft. Not that I needed to. The darkness of his eyes was answer enough, the bulge behind his zipper, the twitching in his muscles.
“I did,” he answered.
A heavy silence settled between us, punctuated only by the rapid slam of my heartbeat and the staggered punch of my breaths.
“Smith,” Riggs croaked my name. “Was it enough?”
“What?” I rasped.
His stare flickered to below my waist. “Was it enough?”
I blinked hard, shaking my head.
He dropped his shoulders, sniffed and rubbed his nostrils with the knuckle of his pointer finger.
Even in the shadows of the hoodie and the bathroom lighting, his tattoos were visible, swirling shapes and colors on the tops of his hands, the long column of his throat.
Like he’d made a decision for himself, Riggs moved enough to open the door to the stall and stepped inside.
The door swung, and I tried to not think too hard about it as I followed him in.
Once in the small space, he closed in on me immediately, reaching down by my hip to latch the lock into place.
His breath against my cheek smelled of hops.
“You touched yourself like you hated it,” he said. “Upstairs, I watched you the whole time.”
Embarrassment burned my cheeks, but there was nowhere else for me to look, nowhere else for me to go.
“I didn’t hate it,” I whispered.
“Is that how you like to get off? Do you like it rough?”
I sucked in a breath, chin quivering. Something about Riggs reduced me to the core parts of myself, parts I wasn’t even aware of. Beneath his scrutiny, I was faced with a version of myself I’d slowly been running after for years, but now I wasn’t sure if I wanted to meet it.
He bit his tongue between his teeth and drew in a wet breath. “Smith, if you don’t—”
“I do!” I blurted, grabbing the front of his hoodie before he could back away from me. “I do, I just…I don’t know.”
“Do you want me to give you a choice?” he asked, voice low.
Generally, no, I didn’t want a choice. Part of what had been so appealing about everything I’d seen at Rapture was the distinct lack of decision making required for people to enjoy themselves, but in this instance…
“I don’t know,” I said again.
“Maybe this time?”
I swallowed hard at the implication there could be another time. “Maybe.”
“The first option, the one that always exists, is you can tell me to fuck off and I’ll leave you alone. The next one is I turn you around, press you against the door, and I touch you the way you touch yourself.” Riggs paused, exhaling against my ear before clarifying, “Until you come.”
“Is there a third option?” I asked, voice barely more than a whimper.
His mouth pulled into a dangerous-looking smile. “You still get to come, but I do it my way.”
Of all the thoughts that entered my mind at that proposition, the only one that made it out of my mouth was, “Here?”
“Not ideal, but yes.”
There was a part of me, a very large part, that wanted Riggs to touch me the way I touched myself.
There was something about being made aware of how much he’d seen and how closely he’d watched me that had enough blood rushing back between my legs to make me dizzy.
But there was that other part of me, a much smaller one, and much more scared one, that wanted to know what he’d do if he had his way.
He’d implied there could be more than one time, but I wasn’t sure that wasn’t a heat-of-the-moment kind of concession or something real, and if I only had one chance with this man, I didn’t want to ruin it.
“Both,” I murmured, dropping my head against the door and staring up at Riggs. “I want both.”
He moved quickly after that, like if he took too long I would change my mind.
Riggs pressed my chest against the door, my cheek smashed against the wood and his forearm like a bar across the top of my back.
His own cock burned against the small of my back, but I had no time to even process the size of him because his other hand reached around the front of me and made quick work of my zipper.
I hadn’t even rebuttoned my pants, and Riggs’s hand was in my underwear and wrapped around my dick before I could even draw my next breath.
“Option one always stands,” he reminded me, baring his teeth against the shell of my ear. “Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.”
Even in the haze of my arousal, I knew myself too well.
“Different word,” I whispered.
Riggs went still behind me, a low breathy growl leaking out of his mouth at my plea.
“Red,” he said simply, and I answered that with a nod, relaxing against the bathroom door.
Riggs picked up like we’d never stopped, his fingers around my dick squeezing hard enough to hurt.
I hadn’t bothered to clean that part of myself up after fleeing the loft, and my shaft was stick with the spit I’d used for lube and the cum that had already started to dry against my skin.
Riggs ignored all of it, stroking up and down my full length until enough precum had leaked from my tip he was able to use it to moisten the slide.
Screwing my eyes closed, I exhaled a breath that had my bones feeling weak as jelly, and Riggs’s hand never stopped.
His grip never faltered, his pace never slowed.
He treated my cock with the same careless abandon I’d just done, and he did it like this was the hundredth time he’d taken me in hand, not the first. With a series of low grunts in my ear, the subtle push of his hips against mine, he worked me to the edge of another orgasm with the casual detachment of a man who couldn’t care less whether I got there or not.
He touched me the way I’d touched myself, and he did it exceedingly well, but it fell short from what I wanted from him… from what he wanted to give me.
I was nearly there, though, and one stroke short of the end, he released his hold.
Like he expected the outcome, he was there to catch me before I fell to the floor.
Riggs hooked both arms under my armpits and hauled me back up to standing.
He shushed me in the ear and spun me so my back pressed against the closed bathroom door and we were as face to face as our height difference allowed.
“You were so close,” he whispered, spitting into his palm and returning his hand to my dick. He held me softer the second time, worked my length slower.
I whimpered, nodding because there were no words in me.
Riggs’s touch was featherlight, not much more than a tease but certainly enough to cause gooseflesh to ripple down the length of my arms. He danced his fingers up and down my shaft, pressing the edge of his thumb into my slit; harder and harder until I gasped.
He closed the space between our faces, foreheads aligned and his mouth a hairsbreadth away from mine.
I could feel the smile in the air between us, the pleasure and the want.
“A cock like this deserves to be treated with far more care than you gave it,” he said softly. “Don’t you agree?”
I hadn’t thought much of it before, but now…
His pace slowed, and when he returned to it, he held me a little tighter than before, more certain.
He slid his free hand over my throat, not doing a single thing to stifle my air but instead using the hold to balance me against the door.
I tilted my head up, giving him more room.
There was something worshipful about the position, and my lashes fluttered closed as I gave into enjoying it.
“Do you always touch yourself so callously?” he asked.
“Yes, mostly. I…” A groan tore out of me when he moved his fist all the way down to the base of my shaft, reaching down instead of up. He grabbed my balls and teased them in his spit-soaked palm, and then the hand around my throat was tight, the only thing keeping me upright.
“Wasteful,” he murmured, trailing his nose along the curve of my jaw until his breath burned hot against my ear. Riggs pressed his lips against my ear lobe, bared his teeth.
“Riggs.”
He hummed, taking my hand and guiding it to my cock. He took my fingers in his and wrapped mine around my erection, and stroked upward toward the tip.
“I’ll show you how to do it,” he whispered. “I’ll teach you how to touch yourself the right ways.”