"Hope you're ready," he said, voice hoarse. "Because I don't think I can hold back."

I nodded, unable to speak.

He pulled me up, and we slipped into one of the empty bathrooms. He locked the door behind us.

"Let me see you better," he ordered.

I unbuttoned my jeans with trembling hands, let them fall with my boxers. Turned, hands against the wall, ass out.

I felt his gaze burning my skin.

His hand squeezed one cheek. "Fuck." He rubbed his covered cock between my cheeks.

I moaned uncontrollably. My cock was wet, dripping on the floor.

He pressed against my hole. Slow at first, then pushed in.

A delicious burn overwhelmed me. "Fuck!" I gasped, clenching my teeth.

"You're tight," he whispered, hands gripping my hips.

"Now you're worried about that," I managed between moans. "And not about someone walking in?"

He laughed softly against my neck. Then he started moving.

Slow at first, to let me adjust. Then harder, deeper. Every thrust tore a moan from me, made me see stars. The sound of our bodies slapping, my gasps, his low grunts—it was pure sex, raw and perfect.

I couldn't hold back. I came without hands, shooting on the floor, endless waves.

He didn't stop. Kept fucking me, harder, harder, until one last deep thrust.

"Fuck!" he moaned, burying himself to the hilt. I felt his cock pulse inside me, swell, shoot into the condom.

We stayed like that for a second, panting, sweaty.

Then he kissed my neck, a surprisingly tender gesture.

I was a mess: pants down, cock still semi-hard out, body trembling.

He pulled out. Threw away the condom. Fixed himself.

When I turned, he was already opening the door.

Not a word. Not a look.

Gone.

I laughed to myself, a bitter, incredulous laugh. Cleaned up, dressed, looked in the mirror: eyes alive for the first time in months.

That sudden, brutal, perfect fuck had lit something inside me. If I could throw myself like that with a stranger... why not throw myself at that crazy idea?

I'd do that interview.

As Madison.