Chapter 11 #2
"You can dance!" I shouted at him.
He looked down at me, the first real smile of the night appearing on his face—wide, deep, softening all those hard lines, making me unable to look away for a moment.
Then he raised his hand, caught my wrist, and spun me into his arms.
Not a ballroom spin—just a wild, slightly accidental spin-in. My back hit his chest, his arm wrapped around my waist, swaying with the bass.
My heart skipped.
Music pounding, people everywhere, but in that moment, I only felt the warmth at my back, and his voice dropping low near my ear, having to lean close because the music was too loud.
"Satisfied now?"
I turned my head, met his gaze looking down, so close our noses nearly touched his chin.
"Not bad," I said. "You could relax more."
"I'm very relaxed."
"You call this relaxed?"
"For me, yes."
I laughed. He laughed too, body swaying with the beat, pulling me tighter.
I leaned my head on his shoulder, closed my eyes, listening to the music, feeling his heartbeat through his chest.
Faster than I expected.
Lights spinning overhead, turning the whole floor red, blue, purple.
I turned around and looked at him.
His eyes gleamed in the dim light, sweat sliding from his temple, silver hair slightly messy, the whole man looking—
Alive.
Like a real person. Not that untouchable CEO, not that cold businessman—just an ordinary man dancing in a bar, sweating and smiling.
"How does it feel?" I leaned to his ear, shouted.
"Stupid!" he shouted back.
"But does it work?"
He looked at me, then smiled.
"It works!"
We kept dancing. Music changed song after song, rhythm fast then slow.
More and more people on the floor, someone shoving past us.
Suddenly, a drunk guy slammed into me from the side and hit my shoulder hard.
I lost balance and fell backward.
Sergei's reaction was faster than my scream.
His arm instantly wrapped my waist, yanked hard, pulled me into his arms.
I crashed into his chest, hands instinctively grabbing his shirt.
Our faces were close.
Close enough I could see the lights reflected in his pupils.
Close enough I could feel his breath hitting my face.
Close enough I could count the sweat beads on his lashes.
Time seemed to stop.
Music still playing, crowd still jumping, but everything around us blurred, leaving only his face, his eyes, and that barely-there curve at his lips.
"You okay?" he asked, voice so low it was almost drowned by music.
I nodded.
His gaze dropped to my lips.
I held my breath.
Then he lowered his head and kissed me.
This kiss wasn't fierce like in the office, not urgent like that day at the warehouse.
This kiss was slow, gentle, like savoring something precious.
His lips pressed against mine, tongue tip lightly licking my lower lip, then slipping inside, tangling with my tongue.
My fingers tightened, gripping his shirt, my whole body going soft like I'd melt.
People around us cheering, screaming, jumping, but I heard nothing.
I could only hear my own heartbeat and his low sigh against my lips.
The kiss lasted forever, until I could barely breathe.
He finally released me, forehead pressed to mine, both of us panting.
"Ella." He said my name, voice hoarse.
"Yeah?"
"I need you."
The words hit like lightning, striking all my reason.
"Now?"
"Now."
He gripped my hand and pulled me through the dance floor.
I followed, heart pounding like it'd burst from my chest.
He led me to a corner, pushed open a door marked "Restroom."
Two stalls inside. Both empty.
He pressed me against the door and locked it behind us.
"Sergei—"
His kiss cut off my words.
This kiss was hungry, like he'd devour me. His tongue pried open my teeth, invaded my mouth, wrestling with my tongue.
I responded, fingers clutching his collar, feeling like I'd burn to ash from this kiss.
His hand slid under my sweater hem, palm against my skin, so hot I trembled.
His palm traced up my waistline, thumb brushing my ribs, every touch carrying an electric current.
I gasped, hands gripping his shoulders, fingertips digging into that expensive coat fabric.
"Sergei, what if—"
"No one." His voice dropped, lips against my earlobe. "Just us."
His fingers undid the bottom button of my sweater, palm pressed to my lower back, pushing me against him.
I could feel his body's change, hard against my lower belly.
"Fuck," he cursed low, forehead against mine. "You know what you do to me?"
I couldn't answer because his other hand had reached the button of my jeans.
Click.
Button open.
The zipper's sound was especially clear in this small space.
"Sergei," my voice trembled. "Hurry!"
Knock, knock, knock.
Pounding on the door.
We both froze.
"Anyone in there? Hurry up!" An impatient woman's voice from outside.
Sergei looked up at me, a mischievous glint in those gray eyes.
Then his fingers slid into my jeans.
"Ser—mmph!"
He covered my mouth with his other hand.
"Shh," he whispered in my ear, voice so deep it seemed to roll from his chest. "Don't make a sound."
His fingers found my panties, pressing the soaked fabric against my swollen clit and rubbing slow, firm circles that made my knees buckle instantly.
A rush of heat flooded my core, my slick arousal coating his fingertips through the thin material.
I sagged against the flimsy bathroom door, my whole body trembling as pleasure shot up my spine like electricity.
I tried to push his hand away, my fingers wrapping weakly around his thick wrist, but there was no real force behind it. My body betrayed me completely, hips twitching forward to chase the pressure instead of escaping it.
"Come on! I really need to go!" The woman outside banged on the door again, louder this time, her voice sharp with irritation.
I was shaking uncontrollably now. I tried to whisper his name, but only a desperate, muffled whimper escaped against his large palm clamped over my mouth.
His other hand never stopped its torment between my thighs, rubbing my clit faster, pressing the drenched cotton right against my aching bundle of nerves.
He leaned in and bit my neck hard, teeth sinking into the tender flesh just below my ear.
Sharp pain bloomed, mixing with the overwhelming pleasure until I jerked violently, a choked gasp trapped in my throat.
My pussy clenched hard around nothing, fresh slick gushing out and soaking my panties even more.
"Wait," he called out calmly, his voice completely steady and normal, as if he weren't two fingers away from making me come right there. "We'll be done soon."
"Seriously?!" The woman sounded furious now.
But I couldn't focus on her anymore. Sergei hooked two fingers into the waistband of my jeans and panties and yanked them down in one rough motion, the fabric scraping over my hips and thighs before pooling around my ankles. My folds were swollen, slick, and throbbing visibly with need.
Then he freed his cock.
I felt the thick, heavy length slap against my ass first—hot, veined, and rock-hard. The fat head nudged between my cheeks, then slid lower, parting my soaked lips. He didn't tease. He thrust into me in one brutal stroke, burying every thick inch to the hilt.
My mouth opened in a silent scream. The sudden stretch burned so good—his cock was so thick it forced my walls apart, filling me completely until I could feel the heavy throb of his shaft pulsing against my inner walls.
Tears sprang to my eyes instantly from the overwhelming fullness.
His hand clamped tighter over my mouth, fingers digging into my cheeks as he held me in place.
"Shh," he warned hotly against my ear, breath ragged.
Then his hips snapped forward, starting a merciless rhythm—fast, deep, punishing thrusts that made my entire body jolt upward with every impact.
The wet, obscene sound of his heavy balls slapping against my soaked pussy echoed in the small stall.
Each thrust dragged his thick cock along every sensitive ridge inside me, the flared head bullying my cervix before pulling back and slamming in again.
I couldn't make a sound. His iron grip over my mouth turned every moan and cry into pathetic, muffled vibrations against his palm. But fuck—the way he was pounding me, hips snapping with raw power—it was impossible to stay quiet inside. My eyes rolled back, tears streaming down my temples.
Outside, the angry woman muttered curses and stomped away. But the bar bathroom door was thin as paper. Two girls immediately started chatting right outside the stall, their voices crystal clear, giggling like they were standing next to us.
"Did you see that guy by the bar? The one with the leather jacket?"
"Oh my God, yes! So fucking hot! Did you get his number?"
Sergei kept fucking me without mercy. His thick cock stretched my tight pussy over and over, the slick sounds of my arousal loud enough that I was terrified they could hear.
He adjusted his angle and drove upward, nailing that perfect spot inside me with devastating accuracy.
White-hot pleasure exploded behind my eyes.
My walls fluttered and clenched around his invading shaft, milking him involuntarily.
"I think he was looking at you—"
His hand left my hip for a second. Rough fingers found my swollen clit and rubbed tight, fast circles while his cock continued its brutal assault—long, dragging strokes that made my juices coat his entire length and drip down my thighs.
"I bet he'll be there next Friday too—"
He hit that spot again. Harder. Deeper. Grinding his pelvis against my clit while his fingers pinched and rubbed the sensitive nub.
My orgasm crashed over me like a freight train.
I screamed into his palm, the sound completely smothered as my pussy spasmed violently around his thick cock.
My inner walls clamped down rhythmically, squeezing and fluttering, gushing fresh slick that ran down his balls.
My whole body convulsed, legs shaking, toes curling inside my shoes.
Sergei groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against my back.
He slammed in one final time, burying himself as deep as possible until I felt the fat head kiss my cervix.
His cock swelled even thicker inside me, pulsing powerfully as he came hard.
Thick, hot ropes of cum flooded my pussy, filling me until I could feel the warmth spreading deep inside.
He kept grinding through his release, pushing every drop into me while my walls continued to milk him greedily.
The girls outside were still chatting and laughing, completely unaware of what was happening just a door away.
I went limp, clinging to him.
His cock slowly pulled out of me. He murmured in my ear, "Good girl."
Then he soothed me by stroking my pussy, making me whimper, before bringing those fingers—slick with my wetness—to his own mouth and licking them clean.
I stared at him, face burning like it was on fire.
He smirked and leaned down to kiss my forehead.
"Feel better now?" he asked, voice back to its usual steady tone.
I was gasping, couldn't speak.
He grabbed paper towels, cleaned us both up with careful efficiency, helped me straighten my pants, pulled up the zipper, fastened the button—movements gentle like I was something fragile.
Then he took another tissue and wiped the tear tracks from my face.
"Sorry," he said, though his face showed zero remorse. "I couldn't help myself."
I finally found my voice. "You—you did that on purpose!"
"Yes," he admitted without a shred of guilt. "I did."
"You asshole!"
He laughed, lowered his head to kiss my lips—this time light as a feather.
"Your asshole," he corrected me. "Only yours."
My heart skipped a beat.
He unlocked the door, took my hand, led me out of the stall.
Three girls stood at the sinks. Seeing us emerge together from the same stall, their expressions became instantly priceless.
"Looks like someone had fun, hmm?"
My face went crimson. I ducked my head, rushed for the exit.
Sergei followed, face wearing a completely unbothered smile.
Out of the bathroom, music crashed back into my ears.
I turned around and punched his chest.
"Don't do that again!"
"Okay," he said, but his eyes clearly said "definitely doing it again."
I glared at him, but couldn't help it—I laughed.
He pulled me into his arms, chin resting on top of my head.
"I'll take you home," he said.
"Okay," I said.