Chapter 3: the toilet stall

Your body trembles as the waves of pleasure subside, leaving you breathless against the cool tile of the bathroom stall. Ryan’s hand lingers, fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles, savouring the way you’ve unraveled under his touch. His dark, hungry eyes lock onto yours, the air thick with unspoken desire.

“You’re mine tonight,” he murmurs, voice low and commanding, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of your neck. Your heart races, torn between guilt and the intoxicating pull of his presence. You know you should push him away, retreat to the safety of your life, but every nerve screams for more.

His grip tightens on your arm, pinning you firmly against the stall door. The faint hum of the bar’s music seeps through, a distant echo, but here, it’s just you and him. His free hand slides up your side, fingers teasing the edge of your dress, inching it higher.

“Ryan” you whisper, voice shaky, half a plea, half surrender. You’re not sure what you’re asking to stop or for him to keep going.

He doesn’t wait for you to decide. His lips crash against yours, hungrier now, and you melt into the kiss. The taste of whiskey on his tongue, blending with the heat of your desire. His hand slips beneath your dress, fingers finding you again, coaxing you toward that edge once more.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” he growls against your lips with need. “How long I’ve watched you, waiting for you to see me.”

The words spark something reckless in you. Your husband’s face flashes in your mind, but it’s distant, overshadowed by Ryan’s touch, the way he makes you feel alive in a way you haven’t in years. His hand shifts, threading gently through your hair, guiding you downward with firm but careful pressure. His eyes burn into yours, a silent command laced with desire. “I want to feel you, Eva, that loser Daniel doesn't deserve you.” he says, “Show me how much you want this.”

Your breath catches, a mix of nerves and anticipation flooding your senses. The stall feels smaller, the air heavier, as you sink to your knees, the cool floor a sharp contrast to the warmth radiating from him. His hand remains in your hair, steady but not forceful, giving you just enough control to feel the weight of your choice. You look up at him, his expression a mix of hunger and something softer, almost reverent.

Your hands move to his belt, fingers trembling as you undo it, the buckle’s clink echoing in the quiet stall. His breathing grows heavier, a low rumble in his chest, as you free him, heart pounding with the audacity of what you’re about to do. This isn’t you or at least, not the you bounded by routine and loyalty. But with Ryan’s gaze fixed on you, you become someone else, someone sluttier.

You lean forward, tentative at first, your lips brushing against him, testing the waters. His sharp intake of breath spurs you on, and you grow bolder as his penis does, taking him in slowly, savouring the way he responds, his fingers tightening in your hair, a soft groan escaping his lips.

The act feels intimate and forbidden, a dance of power and surrender. You find a rhythm, guided by his subtle cues, the way his body tenses, the low sounds that send shivers down your spine. It’s intoxicating, the way you can unravel him just as he did you.

His hand in your hair tightens just enough to guide, urging you to take him deeper, and you comply, lost in the intensity of pleasing him. The world outside fades no bar, no husband, no consequence, just the heat of his body and the taste of him, the way he murmurs your name like a prayer. “God, you’re perfect,” he breathes, voice rough, and the praise sends a fresh wave of heat through you, fueling your movements.

You lose yourself in the act, every sound he makes pushing you further, your own desire reigniting as you feel the power you hold over him. His breathing grows ragged, his grip more insistent, and you know he’s close. When he finally tenses, a low, guttural groan escapes him, you feel the warm release, the taste of him flooding your mouth so salty, intense, and raw.

You hesitate for a split second, but the heat of the moment overtakes you, and you swallow, embracing the act fully, the intimacy of it binding you to him in a way that feels both thrilling and dangerous.

His hands loosen in your hair, and he pulls you up gently, his eyes smoldering but softened with something like awe. “You’re incredible,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your lips, still tingling from the act. He cups your face, pulling you into a deep, possessive kiss, the taste of him lingering between you. “I’ve never felt anything like that.”

Your heart pounds, your body buzzing as he holds you close, his lips grazing your forehead. “Meet me again, Eva” he says quietly, “Tomorrow. I'll be at your house at 6pm, you'll love my loft”

You nod, dazed, knowing you’re stepping into something you can’t undo. But as his arms wrap around you, grounding you in the aftermath, you can’t bring yourself to care. The thrill, the danger, the way he makes you feel, it’s all too much to walk away from now, and you're definitely craving for more.