Chapter Eleven

Jake is quick to lead medown a short hallway where the restrooms are located. But instead of picking one of those, he pushes open a door with a baby on it.

As soon as we're in the room, he locks the door and plasters me to it, his lips falling on mine again. I barely have time to notice the large mirror on a wall and a counter that must serve as a baby changing station.

I can't believe I'm doing this. His influence on me goes beyond anything I've ever known, and with every minute I spend with him, it only grows stronger. Before we started that game of pool, I was certain I'd rebuke him and leave him high and dry. But as we caress and grope each other in the isolated space he picked, I realize how stupid of me that was. I'm not equipped to refuse him. He's too intense, too irresistible.

His hands fist the skirt of my dress and I feel him pull it up, the fabric resisting around my hips before bending to his will and rising to my waist.

Never breaking our kiss, he grabs me by the back of my thighs and lifts me. When he pushes me against the door with my legs wrapped around his waist, I let out a wanton moan, overwhelmed by the sensation of his shaft pressing onto my sensitive core. He is hard against me, as eager as I am to get it started.

"Aah, Jake," I whimper when he starts grinding into me.

"You want this? You want me inside you? You want me to make you come around my cock again?"

"You know I do."

"Then say it, sweet red. Say you want me to fuck you."

I'm torn between glaring at him and complying so we can move on. He knows exactly how to push my buttons, and it annoys me that I have no idea how to push his. But I'm here to experiment after all, so I might as well do just that.

I run my manicured nails through the short hair at the back of his head, bringing my lips closer to his ear. "You have no idea how much I've thought about this, Jake. About you filling my tight little pussy, about you ravaging me with your huge cock, about you leaving me spent, and used, and sore for days." I take a break, shocked by my own crassness. I never use such words, but this is all a game, isn't it? We're only having fun. And it's working, given the way he grunts and gives me a hard shove, his hips bucking of their own will.

Hiding my smile, I nip the lobe of his ear, sucking on it, gently nibbling. "You did, you know?" I whisper.

"What?"

"Leave me sore. I could feel you inside me every time I sat. I could feel the pumping, the stretching, the orgasms… You ruined me, Jake. And I think it's about time you do it again."

That conquers him, and he rips me away from the door and spins me around. When he sits me on the counter, my hands fly to his belt, desperate to get it undone.

I don't have time to do that though, because he easily slides me closer to the edge and kneels before me, lifting my thighs over his shoulders so he can bring his head between my parted legs. I'm still wearing my underwear, but it doesn't get in the way of his enthusiasm. His tongue runs over the drenched La Perla thong and goes straight to my clit, which he immediately finds despite the thin barrier.

"Ah, yes!" I moan, arching against the mirror.

He does everything right, sucking, licking, and teasing, but the fabric alters his touch, muffling the sensations. Since he isn't making an effort to remove it, I'm the one who does, shoving the lace to the side, baring my folds to him. His tongue ignites sparks that make me bite my lower lip, worried someone might hear if I'm too loud. We can distinguish the faint music of the band on the other side of the bar, which means this room isn't soundproof.

"No, let me hear it," he commands, pulling away just enough to utter the order.

"What if someone—"

"Let them. Let them hear how much you like when I lick your cunt, and then how much you love when my cock's crammed into you. But most of all, let them hear how hard I make you come."

He returns to his sweet torture before I can reply, and I internally debate his lewd request. Those people out there are nothing to me. Why should I care so much about what they hear? I'll never see them again, anyway.

I don't exactly have a choice in the matter because when Jake shoves his tongue inside me, I lose the ability to hold anything back. A girl could sell her soul for a tongue like his. While he pumps it in and out, his hand reaches around so he can roll the flesh of his thumb onto my clit with precise circles.

With my hand gripping his thick, dark strands, I let out a loud, trembling cry. When I look down, the green of his eyes is on me, looking up with mischievousness as if he knows exactly what he's doing to me. He's too good at this.

He's my only option, isn't he? No other man will be as competent for that stupid list. It's him or no one. Ladder Guy.

Just when I think it couldn't get any better, he switches things around, licking my clit and shoving two thick and long fingers inside me, curling them to graze that part that feels so fucking good.

"Ah, yes! Right there," I cry out, oblivious to the people outside, to the music, to everything that isn't him.

With uncanny precision, he makes me climb and climb. My core tightens, the pressure rises, my legs tremble over his broad shoulders… I'm going to come hard, to shatter under his tongue and around his fingers. How is he so good at this?

Just as I'm about to tip over, he pulls away. Distraught and confused, frustrated by the receding climax he was about to grant me, I stare as he rises from his kneeling position, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Bastard.

"You have to stop doing this," I mutter, glaring at him while he fumbles with his belt.

"I want to be balls deep inside you when you come, red. I want to feel you squeezing me."

Within seconds, he's freed himself, and my mouth waters at the sight of his magnificent erection. Since when are penises beautiful? I never saw them as more than a somewhat sentient appendage, but Jake's is perfect—straight, long, and thick. For the first time, I look past the piercings and admire him. The plump head is pink and swollen, glistening with precum, and below it, the sinuous veins that lead to it are bulging, dancing under thin skin. I watch as he rolls a condom down his bejeweled length, almost regretting that there needs to be latex between us.

The thought is quickly dismissed when I welcome him into the cradle of my thighs as he steps forward, and I shiver when his fingers slip close to my folds to push the thong further out of the way.

"Do I need to sign something before I enter you?" he asks, pressing the head of his latex-sheathed shaft onto me.

"No, the contract is still valid."

"Brilliant."

He goes slowly but unstoppably, his girthy length sinking into me. I can feel the piercings as he does, remembering how good they felt when he rammed in and out of me with intensity. We don't kiss, staring into each other's eyes as he enters me, which makes the moment strangely intimate. It's like I feel him in my body and in my soul.

When his advance is restricted by my recalcitrant flesh, he slowly pulls out and then dips back inside further. Unable to stop myself, I look down, proud to see I'm almost taking him whole despite his impressive size. The way my thong is bunched to the side is a novelty for me, as I never had sex entirely dressed before. His gaze drops to where we join too, and when he retreats to the tip, we both see just how drenched I am, the latex coated with my arousal. It takes three more careful thrusts, and then he's fully buried in me, the trimmed dark hair at his base meeting my dampened red curls.

"Fuck, you feel fucking amazing," he groans.

"And I don't even need piercings for that."

I'm the one who initiates the following kiss, swallowing his chuckle, and while I'm absorbed by the way our tongues tangle and mingle, he slowly starts pumping in and out of me. God, it feels incredible.

The stretch comes with a slight amount of discomfort, but I don't mind. It makes it all feel more real, and it makes the round ends of his numerous piercings drag on my walls deliciously. I'm full of him, and I miss the feeling every time he retreats, only to be satisfied again.

"You're so fucking warm," he rasps into my ear. "And so fucking tight."

His pace changes, as well as his angle and amplitude. A mewl flies out of my lips as the head of him drags onto my front wall. Once more, I'm amazed by how well he knows female anatomy. That truth becomes even more glaring when one of his hands leaves my hip to dip between us and tease my sensitive crest.

"Jake," I whimper, my nails digging into his shoulders through his thick hoodie.

Desperate to get more of him, I pull on the fabric, silently asking him to take it off. He quickly understands and removes it, along with what's underneath, before discarding it on the counter next to us. His momentum never wavers, and my eyes glide down the perfection of his torso, the muscles, the tattoos, and land on the piercing in his nipple.

When his thumb returns to my clitoris, it all becomes too much. Sparks shoot up my spine, spawning from my core. My legs begin to tremble again, hooked around his narrow hips. "I'm gonna come," I moan.

"I know, I can feel your pussy throb. Come, red. Come for me."

And I do. I'm not sure if it's because he ordered it or because of the baritone pitch, but I explode around him, my hands gripping his solid shoulders, nails clawing at the tattooed skin.

Jake shows no mercy, plowing into me as I come, his strong hands keeping me in place despite the bucking of my hips. And when I press my mouth onto his shoulder to muffle my moans, he grabs a handful of my hair and harshly tugs on it, forcing my soft cries to echo in the small room. The jolt of pain it triggers in my scalp travels down my spine to end in my core, making my walls clamp harder.

"Let them hear," he demands, ravishing me with deeper thrusts. "Let them hear how much you enjoy my cock."

His crude words propel me to even greater heights, and I can't hold back the strangled cry that escapes me as my walls pulse tightly around him. This is why sex in a public place is on the list. The possibility of being caught or heard makes everything that much more thrilling. I'm lost in Jake's embrace, and anyone outside might hear us.

I should hate it and be embarrassed, but I'm neither of those things. I'm invigorated, shaken by an unrelenting orgasm.

But it eventually relents, and Jake slows down just enough to let me catch my breath. My head falls back with a long sigh when he comes to a full stop, and my hooded eyes meet his green ones.

"You didn't come," I breathe out, realizing it just now.

"Not yet."

"You're like a machine."

He chuckles, which makes his length shift inside my spent center. "You're the one who comes too easily, love."

"That was never an issue before."

His cocky smile reminds me that I shouldn't stroke his ego. It's potent enough as is.

"Are you really complaining about my abilities, Miss Kensington?"

I don't answer, pushing against his torso instead, my pale hand a stark contrast with the dark design inked there—a flaming heart with two hands that seem to cup it among an intricate nest of thorns and roses spread across the width of his pecs. He follows my silent order and slips out of me to take a couple of steps back. Before he can worry that I consider this done, I slide down the counter on wobbly legs and spin around.

Our eyes meet in the mirror I'm now facing, and when I bend over, I notice how his pupils dilate. "Not finding it so degrading now, are we?" he asks with unmasked cockiness.

Never breaking the link of our gazes, I pull my dress higher on my waist, arching my back in a manner I hope is seductive. It seems to be because he comes back against me, his index and middle finger fishing out my thong from my behind to stretch it all the way to the side.

When he fists himself and drags the round head of his erection on my dampened folds, my eyelids flutter. "How many items are on your list?" he asks.

"Fifty. But I'm not doing some of them because they are too much."

My eyes widen when his shaft slides right over the taut hole too far back. This is an item, but if Jake's the one I'm doing everything with, it will likely go in the "nope" pile. I'm not letting his enormous penis ruin that part of me.

All my doubts fall into nothingness when he aligns himself with my drenched opening and slides in with ease. In this position, the sensation of the ladder is incredible.

"Aah, yes," I moan, bracing myself with a hand on the mirror.

He wastes no time mounting me, and I watch him doing it, reveling in the sight. He looks mighty and dangerous, especially with that rough expression. It seems I'm as enjoyable as he is, and it's a great compliment.

He rams into me with maddening intensity, his hips slapping against my ass and the back of my thighs every time he does, the metallic sound of his belt echoing in rhythm.

When his heavy breaths slowly turn into groans, I know he's nearing his climax. But he doesn't want to come alone because he straightens me up, one of his inked hands wrapping around my throat while the other palms my heaving breasts.

"Can you come for me again, red?"

"I don't know," I whimper.

"Do you need help?"

His shaft is still hammering into me with precision, my insides aching for one more release. I look at us in the mirror, barely recognizing myself. My face is flushed, my eyes glassy, and my lips parted with never-ending moans and pants. His big bad hand on my throat is like a looming threat, like a glorious promise. I've thought of this these past two weeks, of him choking me, of trying out that item from the quiz with him. But it's such a taboo act that I don't know if I'll ever have the courage to ask for it.

"Choke me," I impulsively beg. I don't give my brain time to think about this. I don't question whether I should allow a near-stranger to perform such a violent act on me in the back room of a shady bar. I just ask for it, hoping he'll comply because I might never have the absence of mind to do it again.

"Fuck, Gen," he curses, his hips bucking hard. "We didn't sign on this."

"I don't care. Please, Jake…"

Maybe it's something in the look I give him, maybe my plea works, but he releases another curse and adjusts his hand around my neck. "I will go slow. If you need me to stop, tap on my arm," he instructs. Just like that, I understand he's the right man for this. Despite being lost in the throes of passion, he knows what he's doing and makes it safe.

The slapping of his hips on my ass never stops as the pressure of his palm and fingers increases on that delicate part of me. He doesn't push against the front of my throat but on the sides, which I guess is to restrict the arteries' oxygen flow.

There's something about the gesture that hits some kink deeply hidden within me. The dominating aspect of it is overwhelming, even more than the sense of helplessness that slowly seeps into me as survival instinct kicks in. I'm at his mercy, my entire life literally in his hand. He could kill me or leave me unconscious. I'm in more danger than I've ever been, but I somehow feel safe.

I've also never felt so alive. It's exhilarating.

The hand teasing my nipple, pinching and twisting it over my dress and bra, travels south. I watch in the mirror as his tattooed fingers reach between my legs, past the triangle of red curls, and begin to roll around my clit in tight circles. I can't believe how greedy he makes me, but I press harder onto him with each thrust to take everything and more. My hand covers his between my legs, so pale and delicate against his tattoos.

I mewl his name, the sound coming out as a strangled mess, and his eyes darken in the reflection. His grip tightens until I can't breathe anymore, not even shallow gasps. Adrenaline bursts through me, triggered by the heightened sense of danger, and that sets off my orgasm. The instant I tilt, the moment my insides clench around him, he releases my throat and wraps a solid arm around my middle instead.

Suddenly, I can breathe. And it all becomes overwhelming. Between the orgasm that ravages me and the oxygen that returns to my brain, I'm feeling everything at once. My mind goes blank, consumed by pleasure, and shivers, and jolts of pure, untamable bliss. As far gone as I am, I still hear the groan that rumbles out of his throat as his hammering shaft stops to pull out of me, leaving nothing but pulsing and empty soreness behind.

I hear the snap of the latex when he tugs at the condom, and then I see his reflection grab himself to jack off. In seconds, he roars as the first splash of his orgasm lands on my bare behind. More of it comes, hot and thick against my skin, and it somehow triggers more quivers and jolts within me.

When Jake lets out one last whimper and drags the head of his shaft on me as if to wipe off the last drop of his cum, I know he's done. His forehead comes to rest against my shoulder, and I feel the warmth of his breath fanning on the flimsy fabric of my dress. The moment stretches until I'm done shivering, satiated beyond words, with nothing but our hectic breaths to fill the void. Jesus. That was amazing.

"That's one more off your list," he says, his voice low and raspy.

"There was more than one."

"Oh?"

"Give my brain a second."

He's close enough for me to feel his penis gradually soften against my lower back. While I try to regain my senses, he pushes away my messy hair and drops a series of soft kisses along the slope of my neck. When he licks the soft spot right behind my ear, I let out one last trembling whimper and feel myself clench an ultimate time.

He approvingly hums in my ear, gives my throat one last kiss, and retreats.

I watch his reflection as he throws the condom in the trash can under the counter. There's a bag of wet wipes by the mirror, but when he reaches for one, it's empty. After a mumbled curse, he looks around to find an alternative. I'm too dickmatized to help him out, so I watch, still dazed by my orgasm, as he pulls his T-shirt out of his hoodie and uses it to clean me up. He's thorough, wiping every last drop of his cum off my skin, and I silently enjoy the softness of the moment. Eddie was never into aftercare, and I appreciate that Jake doesn't mind cleaning up his own mess. Once he's done with me, he dries himself before staring down at the soiled garment for a second, wondering what to do with it.

"Fuck it," he mumbles, throwing it in the trash. While he shoves himself back into his pants, I realign my underwear before pulling down my dress.

"Why do you guys have a baby changing station in your bar?" I ask, only realizing now that it's an odd perk in such an establishment.

"Well, it's officially a changing station, but unofficially, it's the baby-making room," he says with amusement.

"Really?"

"Yeah. The counter can withstand up to three hundred pounds, and the mirror is for added fun," he explains with a wink.

I look around the small room with a new eye. Knowing I'm just one more woman he dragged in here for sex makes me feel dirty somehow. He's so good at making me feel unique during those moments of passion that I forget that for him, I'm just one more face in a sea of conquests. A twinge of resentment starts building up inside me, but I quickly squash it. It doesn't matter how many women have been in here before me and how many he'll pleasure on this counter after me. Jake is helping me with my list and doing it splendidly.

"Six," I breathe out, stunned. "We did six things from my list. Sex in a public place, sex in front of a mirror, sex entirely dressed, choking, music in the background… Also, there was hair-pulling at some point."

Jake raises an eyebrow, sending me a disapproving look through our reflections. "I removed my hoodie, so not entirely dressed. And there was barely any hair-pulling, so it didn't count. The music doesn't either because that isn't sex music."

"And what would sex music be?" I ask.

His hands come to my hips, and he spins me around to face him. Watching him through the mirror and like this are two very different things, and the desire I can read in his eyes makes me weak in the knees. Especially when he pins me against the counter. "Let's go to my place, and I'll show you."

How can he want more right now? I'm already over-sexed, and I worry that things might be even more intense if I accept his offer.

Anyhow, it feels too intimate. A hotel room and this was easy, impartial, neutral. But his place?

"Maybe another time," I say, hoping he'll take my rebuttal gracefully.

When he tilts his head down to claim my lips, I don't fight it, even though I suspect he'll try to sway my mind with it. The way he kisses me is deeply sexual, lascivious, and hungry. My core aches from it, desire respawning from its ashes. Maybe it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world if I went to his place.

My hand is firmly clasped around the back of his neck when he pulls away.

"You have my number. Let me know when you want to cross another item off your list," he says with something devilish in his eyes.

I'm still trying to understand what's happening when he grabs his discarded Iron Maiden hoodie from the counter and exits the small room, putting it on as he does. Did he just leave me wanting more? And why do I even want more right now? What we did should be plenty enough. I came twice in under ten minutes, and impossibly hard each time.

I stay there for a moment, struggling to collect my wits. His offer is tempting, and when I get back out there, I know he'll be waiting for me to take him up on it. Clearly, he wants more of me, and I can't help but want more of him.

We nearly checked off six items tonight, which means going through everything might be faster than I anticipated. If I go to his place right now, I could be done with ten of them before tomorrow starts. But as much as I want to go through that stupid list, I have things to do this weekend. I can't spend it recovering from Jake's ridiculous stamina.

Finding this a good enough excuse not to cave in, I face the mirror to adjust my dress, wipe off my smudged mascara, and quickly brush my hair with my fingers.

As soon as I exit the "baby-making room," I'm thrown back into reality, and my eyes widen at the few women waiting in line to enter the ladies' restroom. Heaven's sake… Were there people here the whole time? Did they hear everything?

The two women closest to the front inspect me thoroughly, their eyes knowing. I sense my face heat up. Gosh, they most certainly heard something, or at least saw Jake leave before me.

Steadfastly, I return to the back room, where we carelessly left everything, too absorbed by lust and desire to be rational. Jake's back at the high table where my bag and our drinks are, and the two men from earlier have returned to their pool game. The whole time I approach, I sense Jake's jade gaze on me, and with each step I take, my resolve to go home alone wavers.

I'm parched after all that intense activity, but I can't drink from my unsupervised glass. So, I pick up Jake's glass instead, hoping no one would be mad enough to try to roofie him, and down what's left of his tepid beer.

"Thirsty, are we?" Jake teases.

"And tired." Once the glass is back on the table, I grab my blazer and step closer to him to get my bag. My chest is pressed onto his side, his warmth seeping through our clothes, and when I look up at his dashing face, I'm tempted once more to spend the night with him. "I'll text you," I say, my voice just as conflicted as my mind.

He knows I'm torn. And I know that he knows because my torment seems entertaining for him, amusement veiling his handsome features. But he doesn't insist or give me the slight push I need to stay. Instead, he presses a soft kiss right on the corner of my lips.

"I'll see you around, red."

I swallow, failing to chase away the lump in my throat, and then rip myself from his bewitching proximity. As I walk out of the room, it takes everything in me not to turn around and glance at him one last time. Especially since I can still feel his presence between my legs—a pleasurable ache accentuated by every step.

There was a reason why I wasn't supposed to see the same person twice. I don't want to want someone.

But it's too late for that, isn't it?