2. Grady

Igripped the top of the bathroom stall, wondering for the fiftieth time within a span of two minutes what the fuck had possessed me to thrust my cock through a random goddamn glory hole in a club I'd normally avoid and into the beckoning hands of a total stranger.

Never in my life had I done anything so impulsive, so uncalculated, so hedonistically unhinged. For all I knew, the guy on the other side might bite me, or deny me, tease me, demand money.

I'd entered the stall for a moment of peace, to breathe and ask myself why the fuck I'd continued what had so far been the worst date I'd been on in at least a decade—not that there'd been many in the first place—and what that said about me. I'd lingered in that temporary respite, checking emails and devising an exit plan while trying to gauge whether leaving drunken Campbell Tramwell on a dance floor forty-five minutes from Silver Ridge was justified by the fact that when I'd last checked, he was sucking face with another man. To be fair, I wasn't sure if he even knew that the man he'd started grinding against wasn't the man (aka me) he'd come in with.

I nearly fumbled the damn phone into the toilet in the process and had determined I'd walk out and end the date when a flash of movement in my periphery had caught my attention.

I'd heard someone in the stall next to me when I'd entered, noted the hole in the wall between us at about the same time, and the guy had been kind enough to nudge my phone back in my direction when it'd skittered across the floor. But I hadn't thought much of the hole, aside from a humorous "what is my life?" perspective. Truly, who used glory holes in the age of hookup apps? Although, given that I'd left my latest hookup app acquisition on the dance floor, tangling tongues with some random while I'd gone to the bar for drinks, I wasn't sure I had any room to judge. A glory hole, at least, was straightforward. It didn't require an overpriced dinner, cocktails, or stilted conversation that you realized an hour into the date was never going to amount to anything other than a headache the next morning.

My heart hammered in my chest as I swiveled to look just as the fingers peeking through the hole beckoned me. Long, tapered fingers, the nails neatly trimmed, were all I glimpsed before they disappeared. Shock and confusion iced my bloodstream, followed by a flood of heat as the invitation registered.

I steeled my nerves for something to go awry. A public indecency charge, perhaps? That'd be one way to cap a shitty night. I'd never once in my life had to consider the legal repercussions or ramifications of glory hole sex. Though, given some of the things I'd seen on the dance floor earlier, this might be considered a minor indiscretion.

A thrill zipped up my spine, stiffening my cock and making me question everything I thought I knew about myself. I was intrigued, horny, and irritated at yet another bad date, but I was not a man who would stick his cock through a glory hole for a stranger to suck. I was not a man who threw caution to the wind or who succumbed to blind impulse.

Until I was.

After a span of time during which my heart continued to pound and my cock hardened further, I found myself lowering the zipper on my trousers, fisting my cock. Taking one more beat to question what the fuck I was doing, I pushed it through the hole, primal desire consuming my last rational thought and creating the perfect cocktail for further stupid decisions.

I would've had a good laugh at the whole damn situation if sharp and sudden pleasure, the kind that left me gasping for a breath, hadn't assaulted me as the stranger in the other stall gripped me.

Those elegant fingers wrapped around my cock, the stranger's palm warm and silky on my shaft, his grip fucking perfect, just the right amount of tight, with a little tease of his thumb just beneath my cockhead.

I flattened myself against the wall that separated us with a lusty groan. "That's it." The encouragement slipped out of me before I could help myself. Christ, the stranger's touch was so much better than expected and suddenly seemed like exactly what I needed.

A rumble of sound came from the other side. A murmur? An agreement? I wasn't sure, but it made my balls ache as he continued to stroke me. I hadn't had a good handjob in…I couldn't remember, but this guy seemed to know what he was doing, and I loved that I didn't know what was going to happen next, that the wall between us took away any ability for me to predict how he'd touch me. Every shift, every change in pace or grip was heightened, and I was close to the edge in seconds. When he stopped, a tremor of fear mixed with ecstasy surged through me. Maybe he would leave me like this, on edge and unsatisfied.

The condom rolling over me was another surprise that left me groaning with the possibilities as I gave myself over to the experience. Would he give me his ass or his mouth? I got my answer a second later as heat enveloped the crown of my cock and he gripped my base. I felt the pulse and stroke of his tongue hot against the barrier over my shaft. My eyes rolled back in my head, and I gripped the top of the stall so my knees wouldn't buckle because it felt so fucking good, so fucking forbidden, so fucking different.

When the stranger swallowed around me for the first time, I let out a moan so loud that anyone who heard would know exactly what we were up to. I no longer cared. I was lost to the long, firm strokes of my stranger's mouth shuttling up and down the length of my cock, the increasing tension of his fist around my base, and the way he swirled his tongue around my head on the upstroke.

My balls tingled, pressure mingling with the heat simmering low in my gut and building. If it hadn't been for the condom, I was all but certain I would've already come from the explicit pleasure surging through me. It was almost too intense.

"Close," I warned him gruffly, unsure if he'd be able to hear me.

I'd meant it as a courtesy warning, but the guy didn't back away, instead responding with a hum that vibrated around my shaft and sent a tidal wave of pleasure crashing over me. He shifted the condom up so that his bare hand was once more on my length, a raw contrast that increased the sensitivity instantly. Too fucking much. My eyelids fluttered, and I ground out a shuddery curse as I exploded in a rush of liquid fire that danced over my nerve endings and throbbed in my balls, filling the part of the condom still suctioned to my tip.

I caught a gasp from the other side of the wall, and then the stranger eased his grip on my cock, his strokes slowing to a gentler tempo that made my limbs heavy. I rested my cheek against the wall, hands still gripping the top of the stall as I caught my breath and waited for my pulse to slow. Relief and euphoria saturated me in uneven measures until reality rushed back in when the stranger released me and cool air rushed over my exposed length. Withdrawing my dick from the hole, I realized I had no fucking idea what was supposed to come next. Was I supposed to thank the guy? Pay him? Christ, that would be awkward, and I had to assume if payment was involved, there would have been some indication of that prior.

The snap of the condom as I pulled it off and tossed it into the toilet was another reality check. I didn't want to see the guy face-to-face, didn't want to have some painfully awkward conversation, so I operated on the basic assumption of this being a one-off encounter, no further engagement required or expected. I didn't want to know him at all; I just wanted him to exist as a thrilling moment in time.

In which case…I needed to get the fuck out of here.

Murmuring a thanks I wasn't sure he heard, I tucked myself away and swiftly exited the bathroom, immersing myself in the anonymity of the crowd.

At the bar, I requested two cups of water, drained mine in a single gulp, and took the other with me to the dance floor, where I'd spotted Campbell. He no longer had another man's tongue down his throat but was grinding with a cute twink. He spun toward me in a drunken whirl, eyes glazed. They sharpened with clarity as he registered my presence. He pouted when he saw the water in my hand.

"I wanted more sangria."

"I know. And I wanted a date capable of common courtesy." I tipped my chin, indicating the dance floor around us. "I'm leaving."

"Wait, we're leaving now?" he exclaimed, indignant. "But?—"

"No, I'm leaving. You're free to do whatever the fuck you want, but it won't be with me."

"But I rode with you," he protested, expression souring.

I offered him a grim smile. "You seem to be good at making friends. I'm sure you'll find someone else to ride. I mean, give you a ride."

"Is this about the guy earlier? It just happened. I wasn't thinking. I didn't mean to?—"

I put up a hand. "Good night, Campbell."

I was still smiling as he called out a slur when I spun on a heel and strode toward the exit.