Page 69 of The Worst Kind of Promise
“Commando? Seriously?”
She licks her lips like a vixen savoring her last meal. There’s no sign of the sweet, innocent Faye I’m used to. The sweet, innocent Faye who blushes every time I say something vaguely dirty or touch her in just the right place. No, I’m staring down a fucking temptress.
“Oops” is all she says.
Oops.
Desire slices through me like an unforgiving scythe, ripping me open and airing out all my bleeding parts. This girl is torture. Has been since the moment I met her. And right now, she’s going to be my undoing.
There’s a glacial iciness to my tone. “You’re lucky I’m not going to finger you right here, right under this goddamn table. Make you walk out of this restaurant with your legs covered in your own cum like the slut you are.”
I have no control anymore. None. And there’s no way I’m getting through lunch with a boner, so I do the most reasonable thing I can think of: I stand up and excuse myself to the restroom.
If we were at home right now, I’d bend her over my knee and spank her. Spank her until her ass is red and there’s an imprint of my hand tattooed on her cheek. But I can’t do that in public because that’s “breaking the law.”
It’s painful just making it to the bathroom. My bulge is so prominent that it’s laughable, and my legs are as stiff as hell for fear that more unnecessary movement will exacerbate the pain.
I finally get there though, by some miracle, and as soon as I see the safe haven of those tiled walls, I release the breath trapped in my chest. I do a quick perimeter check to make sure no dicks are swinging around, and then I readjust the major hindrance in my pants.
Am I proud about what I’m going to do next? No. Is it necessary? Absolutely. Jesus Christ, this has to be one of my lowest points. You know when you’ve hit rock bottom, and people say there’s nowhere to go except up? They’re wrong. You can most definitely keep going down, probably all the way to the earth’s core if you don’t burn alive from embarrassment beforehand.
I start to tweak the button on my jeans when I hear the door swing open, and my entire body clams up. Shit. I didn’t block the door. Oh my God. How could I have been so stupid? Now I’m just standing in the middle of the bathroom like a total weirdo with my fly all the way down.
Don’t turn around. Just act natural. Or do turn around…and hope whoever just walked in doesn’t see your massive hard-on.
I’m prepared for the humiliation. I’m prepared for the weird look. What I’m not prepared for is the feminine voice that sounds from behind me.
“I’m not done with you yet.”
I whip around fast enough to crick my neck, and I stare down at the menacing, five-foot-five package of power and beauty all rolled up into one. Faye moves the stainless-steel trash can in front of the door, corralling both of us in and hopefully acting as a sufficient blockade for anyone outside.
My brows cross. “What are you doing in here?” I ask, and I must be more nervous than I thought because my voice cracks.
Faye’s hooded eyes prowl over me, and slowly, her cheeks twitch with a sultry grin. Even her posture is different—she’s assertive, dominant. A furor of enthusiasm unleashes inside of me like the ground-shaking boom of a transformer blowing.
My dick responds instantly to her, staining the front of my pants with pre-cum, and I groan when she steps closer to me, trailing her fingernail up the length of my arm. My skin breaks out in goose bumps as my cock cries to be freed from its denim prison.
She makes a low noise of disapproval, looking down at the pathetic state of my crotch. “That seems pretty bad.”
“It’s…fine,” I huff out, feeling the pressure in my lower stomach begin to mount.
Faye edges closer to the point where her tits are flush against my chest, and if she wanted to, she could reach down and see what she does to me—could fondle the evidence of my desire for her.
“I could help you, you know,” she croons, her fingers descending even further until they rest over my sensitive bulge.
Even through the fabric, her touch seeps into my hot skin, and my hips shamefully buck into her palm. As much as I’d love nothing more than for Faye to help me, I’m not going to ask her unless she’s sure she wants to do it. A little blue balls never hurt anyone…right?
“Faye, you don’t—”
She cuts me off by pushing me up against one of the walls, and I’m so shocked by her strength that I don’t pay much attention to the tingling in my spine from the collision.
She then lowers to her knees, and they squeak against the tiles since her dress doesn’t offer enough length to cover them. “You told me that you would’ve had me walking out of here withmycum all over me,” she starts, popping the button on my offending pants and zipping them down. “But you’re wrong. I’m going to be walking out of here withyourcum all over me.”
“Oh, fuck,” I ground out, trying to keep a level head, feeling a thousand times better now that my jeans are pooled around my ankles and not suffocating my balls. My angry, red-hued dick springs out, whacking my stomach. It’s riddled with rivers of veins that are self-destruction pressure points, and there’s a pearl of pre-cum at the tip, already trickling down my twitching shaft.
“Wow, I’ve never looked this thing in the eye before,” Faye says humorously, using the soft pad of her finger to follow its slight curve, all the way to the bulbous head that’s slicked with lubrication.
Her touch is featherlight, but my God, I’m not going to last three minutes.
