Page 2 of Surviving the Break
“I don’t take anyone back to my place,” I said, cutting to the chase. My cock decided to get what it came here for. He’d been fucking me with those pale gray eyes since he sat, and I was now drunk enough to ignore the tiny niggle that said this was different because he looked at me differently. I didn’t want to care or think, and my dick high-fived me.
He dragged that long pink tongue over his top teeth. “Neither do I.”
“Hotel?” I asked, already waving for the check.
“The closest one is across town. I can’t wait that long.” He reached into his back pocket for his wallet.
I threw a wad of bills on the bar top without counting them. “Let’s go.”
We stumbled into the bathroom, and thankfully, he still had enough brainpower to lock the door. We were on each other in the blink of an eye, tearing at the layers of clothes that separated my skin from his. His jacket hit the floor, the buttons of his shirt next, and my black t-shirt ended up in strips of four. I bit along his jaw as he worked the buttons of my fly open. I cursed myself for not wearing jeans with a zipper. His skull tapped the wall when I shoved him back, ripping at his belt, wishing my hands were claws of steel. He propelled me backward into the toilet stall door. It rebounded off the wooden siding and closed us into the small space. “Fuck!” He tore the remaining buttons on my pants open and hauled the fabric down to my knees while he took me in hand and sucked noisily at my lips.
I peeled open his trousers’ front panel, and his huge cock fell heavy into the palm of my hand. No underwear. My head spun from lust and alcohol; I could hardly stand on my own two feet. The assault on my mouth, my cock, and my hand as he fucked it without mercy nearly caused me to black out.
“Wait,” I struggled to get out. I didn’t want to peak so soon, but I was right there. “Shit.”
He didn’t hear me, or he ignored me. Either way, he snapped his hips and his wrist at lightning speed. “I can’t stop,” he said between licking my lips and then running his tongue along my teeth. “Don’t make me.” We were wet everywhere. Sweat pouring down my temple. His cock was soaked with it, and I wanted nothing more than to taste it. “Stand on the toilet seat,” he breathed.
“Huh?” I couldn’t make sense of why we were no longer kissing and why his hand had stopped moving.
“Up. Now,” he repeated in a hoarse voice, assisting me with his hands under my arms.
I bucked forward in surprise when, not a second later, my cock brushed against his tonsils, driving myself down his throat. My hands white-knuckled the top edges of the stall. “Shit…” I went to apologize, but he moaned and pulled me in deeper with a hand on my clenched bare ass. He swallowed around my cockhead. “I’m...fuuuuuuck,” I groaned as cum pumped out of me in long spurts and down his throat. I shivered, legs buckling. He held me up by the waist, and my soft cock fell from his swollen, berry-hued lips. My legs once again on solid ground, I plopped onto the seat and caught my breath, then remembered he hadn’t gotten off. He leaned against the stall door, his own dick flaccid, his pants sticky.
He followed my stare, and when his bashful eyes flicked to mine, we laughed.
Sated but a degree sober now, I gestured for him to let me out, and I made my way to the sink. A hand on my bicep brought me around. He tenderly stroked my damp hair off my forehead, then abruptly fisted it tightly. My eyes rolled back, and I barely managed to suppress a whimper. Just the right amount of rough.
“Beautiful,” he whispered, and my heart kicked up speed at the same time that my eyes snapped open and met his. Hypnotizing. Tilting his head, he asked, “What’s that look in your eyes?”
I faced the sink abruptly, twisting the faucet handle. “Nothing.” Time to get out of there.
Behind me, he situated himself. I heard his belt finding its way home. “Your shirt is irreparable, and the buttons on mine are gone. You can wear my jacket out of here. I’ll make it to my car with my shirt flaps open.”
“No,” I snapped, then cleared my throat. “I won’t be able to get it back to you.” No way would I be seeing him again.
Silence descended for a minute. “It’s okay. Donate it or toss it.”
I dried my hands and looped the few remaining buttons on my jeans through the holes. Still not regarding him.
He slid a card onto the sink. “If you ever change your mind.” And then he was gone.
I picked up the square of ivory cotton, reading the front aloud, “Dr. Ashton Jackson.” With a shaking hand, I dropped it back to the marbled surface and stared at the scared-shitless man in the mirror. I picked up his blazer, brought it to my nose, and inhaled before dropping it to the floor and backing away. I took my chances and walked through the bar half-naked. No way would I be leaving with that temptation around my shoulders.
1
MAX
Summer camp had let out for the day, and I stood dejected on the pavement waiting for Granddad to pull up. I held the picture of my future family that Mrs. Huckabee had assigned all the kids to create. Everyone made fun of mine. Everyone except—
“How can two boys make a baby?”
I looked up and into the hazel eyes of the new kid who’d defended me. “No one asked for your help,” I said, instead of admitting I didn’t know the answer. I hid my sheet of construction paper behind my back. Protecting my future husband and child.
The boy shrugged, his blond hair jostled across his forehead. “Well, even Batman needs Robin.”
I thawed a bit. He was taller and broader but had kind eyes. “What’s your name?”
“Hayden,” he responded cheerfully, and we struck up a conversation about superheroes.
