Chapter 17
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
HUDSON
O f the two lightbulbs hanging from the bathroom ceiling, only one of them works.
The broken one pulses and dies every few seconds, and I personally think this place looks better when you can’t see it at all.
The dark gray stalls suck the light from the room and remind me of an office block, the mirrors have tarnished in the corners, and the tiles above the sink have come away in places.
Then the whole room is graffitied so heavily it could almost pass as street art.
If it weren’t for the word fuck repeated more times than I can count.
I let myself into the last stall and lock it behind me. It’s going to be a tight fit once Wilde joins me, and my heart is racing over the thought. I’m shamefully hard over him, and it’s this weird mix of horny and hatred as I wonder how many men he’s been in here with.
My pants are uncomfortably tight over my cock, and I press down on it, warning it to behave. It doesn’t matter how many transactional fucks he’s had here because I’m determined to be the one he doesn’t forget. I want to rot his brain.
The main door opens with a slight scrape and a temporary burst of music before it’s cut off again. It’s followed by footsteps that have heady anticipation twisting my gut so hard I’m lightheaded.
A firm rap on the door and then a reluctant, “Open it, Hudson.”
I stare at the lock for a moment before I reach for it, and almost the second I have it open, Wilde pushes through the door, then slams and locks it again.
My cock is unprepared to have his focus on me.
“You don’t look ready.”
I hold up my injured hand between us. “There was a problem with your plan.” And even if there wasn’t, I would have come up with some excuse. He wants to use me? He’s going to have to work for it.
Wilde eyes my broken fingers with disgust. “Use your other hand.”
“It’s just not the same.”
He turns, like he’s about to leave, so I shift until I’m leaning against the door.
Then I open my pants. Wilde watches as I fumble with my button, then slowly tug down my fly.
Having his eyes on me is heating me from the inside out, and while I told myself I was coming here to get answers, the fact that I didn’t put on underwear makes it hard to deny my real plan.
As soon as my fly is down far enough, my cock pushes through the gap.
“Still want to leave?” I ask, voice deeper than it normally is.
“Never said I did.”
“Then get to work. ”
He’s fighting himself, but his gaze is hungry, and it only turns me on more. “Turn around.”
He should know me better than that. “No.”
“No?”
I kick my left leg out of my jeans and set my knee on the stall wall. “No.”
The same anger that usually fills me crosses his face, but I don’t wait for it to take hold. I grab his hand and lift it to my mouth, then suck two fingers inside.
Wilde’s silent as he watches me suck on them, getting them nice and wet before I release him, tongue dragging from his knuckles to the tip of his index finger.
He doesn’t make a move, and this time, I keep my mouth shut too.
As much as I love playing with him, I’m not forcing him into anything, and with the way Wilde is looking at me, I doubt he needs any more convincing.
So I give him all the time he needs to debate over doing it my way or forcing me to turn around.
I’m caught by surprise when he settles a heavy hand above my head, gripping the top of the door, and steps in.
My nerves rush in my ears as his glare meets mine and his wet fingers brush my hole.
I’m expecting him to be rough, maybe painful, but even with a look that clearly says he wants to hurt me, his touch is soft.
He massages the area around my hole until I’m relaxed enough for him to press one finger slowly inside.
“How many times have you had sex in here?” I ask.
He grunts, and his thick finger fills me completely. “Plenty.”
“That’s not a number.”
“I don’t have a number. Keeping count is ridiculous.” His tone tells me to back off, so of course, I do the math.
“Every month. That’s twelve times a year. For … how many years?”
“Too many. ”
“Ten?”
“ Too many .”
“Let’s say at least ten. So a hundred and twenty times. One hundred and twenty times you’ve been in this same spot with who knows how many men.”
Wilde’s glare deepens, but he doesn’t stop fucking me with his finger.
“And it will be this time that’s burned into your memory for the rest of your life.”
He actually chuckles. Dark and smooth, the confidence of it takes up space in my chest. “That’s a bold claim.”
“Doesn’t make it any less true.”
He’s only a few inches away, and when he adds a second finger, a relieved huh puffs from my lips. The gleam that fills his eyes is delighted to pull that sound from me, but it’s all I’m planning to give him. Just enough so he knows how into this I am, but not enough to satisfy. Not yet.
“Me though?” I continue. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more bored. Strange way to make it memorable for me.”
He shoves both fingers into my hole, hard, choking a second’s breath from me as I adjust to the burn. He stretches me open, brushing my prostate without giving it any real attention, and I’m vibrating at how good it feels.
“I expected better,” I have to force through my teeth because if I separate them, I might do something as stupid as moan.
“Tell that to your cock.”
“Why? It’s not picky.”
Somehow, the distance between us has tightened, and Wilde’s gray eyes are the only things I can see.
They’re darker than I’m used to, and his black eyelashes are enough to shield most of what he’s thinking from me.
Except the very clear message he’s projecting: I’m the last person he wants to fuck and he can’t help doing it anyway.
I pick up on that thought easily because it’s the exact same one I’m having.
Being able to admit that my attraction to him is surface-deep is something I can thank Sutton for.
He never tried to be anything other than an asshole, and I still remember the day I distinctly realized that I didn’t like him.
At all. There was nothing about him as a person that appealed to me, but he was hot, and that’s apparently all my dick cared about.
I can’t even claim that Wilde’s hot. His beard hides too much of his face.
But that huge body, steady glare, and refusal to take things easy on me is a new low for my cock to sink to, and I’m letting it get away with the shitty standards anyway.
A tiny twitch meets the corner of his lips. “You’re riding my fingers hard for someone who’s bored.”
Fuck. I didn’t even notice the way my hips were grinding back into him. “Just getting impatient for you to give me more.”
“You’ll get more when you shut that fucking mouth of yours.”
“Guess your cock is going to be disappointed because I don’t plan on that happening.”
He yanks his fingers from me, spits on them, and then places them back at my entrance. This time when he pushes inside, he uses all three, and my balls tighten as I force myself to relax into the stretch.
“Look at that. Quiet.”
“You try talking while someone shoves three fingers up your ass.”
“Maybe I will one day.” His nose almost brushes mine. “I’ll be sure to let you know how I go.”
I manage a husky laugh. “Try not to think of me when you do. The poor other guy will never live up to this. ”
“This?” The word sounds amused. “Me fully dressed while I finger you up against a door? I don’t think I’ve done this since high school.”
“You’re the one too scared to stick your dick in me.”
“You really think a lot of yourself.”
“Well, I’m ready. You know I’m ready. What other reason would you have for still playing with my ass?”
“Maybe the fact you haven’t stopped riding my hand since I started.”
God fucking damn him. He has a point, but can he blame me?
This tiny cubicle has me feverish, and with next to no room between our bodies, I’m close to begging him for more.
The fingers aren’t enough, and every time I tilt my hips forward, the material from his shirt brushes over the tip of my cock, leaving it too needy for me to see straight.
I’d be jerking off by now if I didn’t need my good hand to keep balance.
“You know what?” Wilde says. “I think it’s going to be the other way around. You’re the one who won’t be able to forget me.”
I open my mouth, but he cuts me off before I can talk.
“And don’t give me that bored bullshit. You’re fucking my fingers like you’ve been sex starved for years.”
“Only weeks. Weeks is enough.”
He strokes in again before slowly withdrawing all the way and leaving me empty.
I grunt. “Now will you fuck me?”
Wilde lets go of the door and steps back, then pulls a condom from his pocket. “Since you made me prep you, it’s your turn to work for it. Pull me out, put that on, then lube up my dick.”
“I have broken fingers, you jerk.”
“Only three. The other seven have no issues.”
I’m torn between arguing the point and wanting to be fucked, but I already know which one will win.
I carefully lower my leg back to the ground and test putting weight on it before I snatch the condom he’s holding out to me.
If I could get my dick out, his shouldn’t be a problem, and it’s lucky that my thumb and forefinger were the two that escaped injury.
Wilde’s jeans are older than mine, which means the buttons along the front loosen easier than the one on my pants.
I get them undone, shove his jeans down to his thighs, and then work on getting his briefs to follow.
His dick springs forward, heavy and eager enough to make mine throb.
It’s big—not huge—but big enough that I’ll feel him for a day or two after this.
There’s nothing I want more. The hunger I have for him has unseated anything rational that might have been lurking in my mind, and no part of me wants to back out of this now.
I tear the condom wrapper open with my teeth and pull it out.
I’m ready to feel him, to wrap my hand around his cock and stroke him until he forgets he hates me, but I’m not going to give in to that urge.
Instead, I roll the condom down his shaft, lingering for that bit longer than I should.
He hands over the lube next. I squeeze the packet out into my hand, then finally get the chance I’ve been waiting for and take him in my palm. Fuck, I hate how sexy his cock is, and my only hope now for him being a terrible fuck is that he has no idea how to get a man off with this thing.
Because if he’s as good at using his dick as I think he might be, I’m in a world of trouble.
Forget Sutton. I think I’ve found a new bad habit.