First steps

"I have to say, I'm quite impressed," you commented, glancing at Christian, who nodded in agreement. "He definitely has potential."

"Thank you," the young actor replied with a small smile, clearly pleased.

"But we need to see if he has chemistry with our other potential cast members," Christian added.

"Of course," you said, mentally noting to arrange chemistry reads.

As lunch wound down, Christian handed you a flash drive loaded with more footage. "Take a look when you have time," he said. "It'll seal the deal on his talent."

"Will do," you replied, pocketing it.

You rose, excusing yourself with a nod and a quiet thanks. Heading to the bathroom, you caught Christian murmuring to the kid, glancing your way with a subtle nod toward the door before resuming their chat.

Inside, you ducked into the handicap stall, the fluorescent hum and faint ocean breeze from a vent filling the space. You unzipped at the urinal, the rush of water masking the world outside. Then the door creaked open—footsteps echoed, deliberate. You glanced back: the actor, slipping in behind you. You tucked yourself away and turned.

He dropped to his knees without a word, blue eyes locked on yours, knees hitting the cold tile with a soft thud.

"Christian said to show you my oral skills—and other talents," he said confidently, voice low and steady.

Your pulse thundered in your ears. This wasn't the plan for a casual lunch meet, but staring down at him—eager, kneeling—anticipation coiled hot in your gut.

"Does this interest you?" he asked, husky desire threading his words.

Before you could answer, he leaned in, pressing soft, teasing kisses along the fabric over your bulge. His hands slid up your thighs, warm palms gripping muscle as he nuzzled higher, breath hot through the cloth.

"Take it out," you rasped, fingers fumbling at your zipper.

He freed you eagerly, your hardening cock springing into the cool air. His lips enveloped the head—wet, gentle suction—while his hand pumped slow and firm, calluses rough against sensitive skin.

A deep groan tore from your throat; you braced against the stall wall, the chill metal grounding you. This detour felt illicit, electric—better than any script.

His tongue swirled the tip, salty and slick, before he took you deeper, throat relaxing. His hand sped up, head bobbing in rhythm, coating every inch in scorching heat and saliva that dripped messily.

You built fast, his expert rhythm fraying your control. But curiosity burned: how far would he go? As the coil tightened low in your belly, you fisted his hair—soft strands tangling—and thrust deeper.

His eyes widened, a flash of surprise, but he didn't retreat. He swallowed around you, throat convulsing in tight, rippling waves that shattered you. Your body jerked, release flooding hot and thick down his throat. He milked you gently through the aftershocks, pulling back only when you were spent, a smug smirk on his glistening lips.

"Damn," he murmured, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, voice rough. "That was hot."

You nodded, breath ragged, silently agreeing as the haze cleared.