Page 47 of Wilde's End
“Who knows?” Hudson breathes, sounding half a second away from coming himself. I’m so tuned in to his every breath, every movement, every little twitch of his face. Like he’s the only one who exists. “Maybe I’ll be the one to standyouup.”
Then he takes a sudden step away. The sounds and colors of the bar come rushing back to me, and I’m panting as I look around.
Hudson backs up again, that raw want and taunting smirk plastered on his face. “Better drink fast,” he says, and then the crowd swallows him up, and I’m left to work through what the fuck I’m doing.
And even though I can’t answer that question, I know I’m doing it anyway.
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
HUDSON
Of 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 wordfuckrepeated 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 manytransactional 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.
