A slow smile spread across his face. “I see.”
The door rattled, then shook violently as someone banged on it. Shouting came from the other side, too muffled to understand through the steel door and the roar of the club.
“Gee,” I said. “Do you think he wants to come in here?”
“Occupied,” Luke called over his shoulder.
I started toward the door. “I think we’re done here.”
“Oh no.” He stopped me. “We need to snort a few lines. Then I’ll probably make you pay me back. On your knees. All that takes a while, so he’s just going to have to wait.”
The picture he painted was so accurate it chilled me. “It creeps me out how well you fall into this role.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Would you rather I open every conversation with the Miranda rights?”
The banging on the door grew louder, stronger. I wondered if the rusty metal pole of the mop could bend. More likely the door handle would break off first.
Luke prowled over to the door and rattled the mop in the door handle. “Hold your fucking horses.” He turned to me. “We should give them a show.”
“Oh my God, you’re so long,” I said in a loud voice. “And thin. And with all those bristles on the end.”
“You’re complimenting the mop here?” He strolled back.
I smirked. “He’s the only hard rod in the room, I believe.”
He reached me, standing close, then ducked his head to my neck. With his hands on my hips, he pushed me onto the ledge of the sink.
“He can’t please you like I can, baby.”
“I don’t know about that.” My legs parted as he closed the space between us. I stared at the fuzzy exposed pipes above us, wondering exactly how far this little show would go. “I like a man who cleans up nice.”
His fingers walked up my thigh. “It’s all show. He’s limp where it counts.”
“And you?” I matched his wandering fingers with my own, traveling down his lean belly. “How are you?”
“Thorough,” he whispered, and my legs fell open a little more.
He found the damp string of my thong and slipped past it. The touch of his fingers on my slick skin was electric, sending waterlogged sparks through my body. The thought alone was almost enough to bring me to orgasm. He was touching me. Luke had his hand on my cunt, and what’s more—I liked it. I was wet for him, not freaking out for him. As his fingers slipped deeper, I began to rock against him. This was real, the most real sex I’d ever had, in a dirty bathroom, with the door rattling angrily, while we both pretended to be different people.
He stilled.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, breathless.
“Be louder,” he whispered.
His words poured cold water over my body. The tender skin around his fingers ached; the dampness chilled. All this was a show.
I moaned loudly. “Is this right?” I muttered. “Am I doing it right?”
His hands began to work their magic again, and to my frustration, I slipped under their spell. My moans grew louder, fake and gaudy, but beneath the wild cries resonated true pleasure. Underneath the facade of a prostitute was a woman in heat. My long moans and heated encouragements gave way to breathy pants.
“Why are you doing this?” Why taint the act with something real? Why show me what I couldn’t have?
Without answering, he ducked down, matching his mouth to his fingers. I let out a shout of surprise—one that would surely satisfy a curious audience. I held myself suspended on shaking arms, a picture of wanton depravity, spread open on the bathroom sink. He licked my clit while his fingers fucked me, winding me tighter, dragging me higher, until the air was too thin to breathe and the drop too high to look down. My hips rocked into his mouth and waiting fingers, wanting more, seeking his generous tongue and the sweet friction.
“Let go,” he muttered against me, and the vibrations, right there, almost pushed me over. Almost, but not quite. I didn’t like to come with a man. It had happened before, and each time, I had felt dirty.
“Stop thinking.”
“I can’t.” My lips formed the words silently.
“You can do this,” he insisted.
A desperate laugh escaped me. “The magic cock again?”
“My cock isn’t a part of this.”
He paused with his fingers inside me and looked at me, his green eyes pure and bright and pained.
“This is just about you. Giving you pleasure. Making you come.”
I had to ask. “Why?”
Not breaking his stare, he pushed his fingers deeper inside me, searching, searching for a certain spot. I knew where—a little left—but I wouldn’t help him. I didn’t want this, did I?