My brain short-circuited.

"Quiet night," he said suddenly, voice low, velvety, with that upper-class New York accent that gave me goosebumps, a timbre vibrating straight to my lower belly.

I swallowed dryly, throat parched.

"Yeah. Fridays are usually like that."

Inside I was a mess, a whirlwind of thoughts.

Talk to him, Matthias. Try. He's just a guy in a bathroom. Another rejection won't kill you—you've had enough lately.

But I was paralyzed.

Almost a year of abstinence had turned me into a nun, like Samy said. And after a shitty week cooped up in the office and that discriminatory ad, my body craved attention.

He spoke again. "Everyone out there's chill. But he doesn't seem to agree."

I followed his gaze.

My cock was hard, throbbing in the air, impossible to hide, dripping with anticipation.

My cheeks burned, a blush spreading everywhere.

"Shit... it's not... I mean..."

He laughed, a deep, dangerous sound that vibrated in my stomach.

"It's not polite to leave your friend hanging."

He turned toward me.

His erection was now full: big, veiny, throbbing in his large hand, the skin taut and inviting.

My brain shut off.

What the fuck is happening? Just like that?

Desire crashed over me like a wave.

His free hand grabbed my exposed cock. Hot, possessive, fingers closing around my length with a perfect grip. I gasped hard, a moan escaping my lips.

"You'd better stop," I said with a trembling voice, but my body arched toward him. "Someone might come in."

He arched an eyebrow, green eyes gleaming mischievously.

"And if I don't want to stop? Is that what you really want?"

I sized him up close while our mouths were a breath apart: perfect cheekbones, full and inviting lips, and there, on his left earlobe, a small dark mole, almost hidden by the blond hair, a detail that made me want to lick it. I thought of Samy calling me a nun, Amanda urging me to live. His warm breath on my face, his scent intoxicating me.

That night, after all that mess, something was finally happening. Something alive, real, carnal.

A fantasy I'd written a thousand times in my most perverse chapters, where bodies intertwined in a whirlwind of pleasure.

Fuck it all.

I dove onto his lips, savoring their soft taste.

He kissed back like he'd been waiting forever: voracious, hungry, his tongue invading my mouth without asking, exploring every corner with urgency. His hands slid from my hips to my back, pressing me against him, our bodies rubbing, erections touching through the fabric. I grabbed his face, fingers in his silky hair, then down to his chest, hard muscles contracting under the shirt at my touch, and lower, until I closed my fingers around his cock, feeling the pulsing heat.

I dropped to my knees on the cold floor, an exciting contrast with the heat of my desire. My tongue ran the full length of his shaft, from base to head, licking every vein, every drop of salty precum that tasted like sin. He moaned, a guttural sound that vibrated inside me, an echo spreading to my neglected cock.

I took the head in my mouth, sucked gently, then deeper, my mouth full of his taste, his size. His hand ended up in my hair, gripping with possessive force. My cock, still out of my jeans, dripped on the floor, throbbing with every thrust, every plunge that made me gasp.

"Fuck, you're good!" Pushing deeper, his head rubbing against my throat.

Then he thrust.

Hard.

His head hit the back of my throat, making my eyes water, but I didn't stop, the pleasure of the pain exciting me. Saliva dripped everywhere, wetting his balls, my chin, a wet, sensual mess. He fucked my mouth without mercy, a perfect, demanding rhythm, like I was his, every plunge sending jolts of pleasure straight to my cock, making me moan around him.

He pulled out, shiny and throbbing, wet with my saliva. He took a condom from his jacket—thank god someone was thinking—and rolled it on his cock with fluid motions, the latex stretching over his impressive length.

"Hope you're ready," he said, voice thick with desire. "Because I don't think I'll hold back. I want to feel you clench around me."

I nodded, unable to speak, my throat still sensitive, my body shaking with excitement.

He made me stand, and we slipped into one of the free stalls with a door.

He locked it, isolating us in a private world of desire.

"Let me get a better look at you," he ordered.

I unbuttoned my jeans with trembling hands, let them drop with my boxers, exposing myself completely. I turned, hands against the cold wall, ass out, goosebumps from excitement.

The stall was small, the air thick with steam and his scent.

Then his hand descended.

His fingers closed on my right glute, squeezing with firm, controlled pressure, like he was testing how much I could yield.

His thumb traced a slow line along the curve, pressing at the most sensitive spot, where thigh meets ass, and I... I trembled.

A small, uncontrollable tremor, starting at my knees and rising to my throat.

It wasn't just touch.

It was possession.

It was demand.

It was "you're already mine and you know it."

My heart pounded so hard I felt it in my ears, my neck, even there where his fingers dug in.

His grip tightened, fingers sliding lower, closer to the center, brushing the crease with a slow caress, like he had all the time in the world to drive me crazy.

And I... I was already going crazy.

"Fuck..."

The word came out broken, like it cost him to say it, like an admission he couldn't hold back anymore.

Then he pushed again, rubbing his cock between my cheeks, the lubricated latex sliding slow against sensitive skin. Every pass was a caress, an obscene invitation, and I felt his breath quicken against my neck, like he was losing control too.

I moaned without restraint, low, desperate sounds escaping my throat unbidden, my body arching toward him, begging for more.

He pressed against my hole, slow, almost cruel in the slowness. The head pushed, stretching me with sweet torture that made my knees shake. I felt every inch of him, every throb, every vein pressing against the tight walls.

Then he thrust in.

A slow, inexorable, delicious invasion.

The burn exploded, perfect, alive, a mix of pain and pleasure crashing over me like a wave, making me gasp hard against the cold wall.

"God... yes," he panted against my ear, almost a muffled growl.

His hands gripped my hips, fingers digging into flesh, holding me steady against him, against the cold wall pressing my chest.

I gasped hard, teeth clenched, my body clenching around him in involuntary spasms, every muscle rebelling and surrendering at once.

"You're... so tight," he whispered, hot breath brushing my nape, the words vibrating against my skin like a forbidden caress.

I managed to laugh, a broken sound, choked between moans.

"You're worrying about that now?" I said with a trembling voice. "And not someone coming in?"

He chuckled softly against my neck, making me shudder from head to toe.

Then he bit.

A light but firm bite on the sensitive skin below my ear.

And he started moving.

Slow at first, every thrust a deep exploration, like he wanted to etch every inch of me into his memory.

The burn blended with pleasure in a continuous wave.

His hands held me steady, thumbs pressing sensitive spots on my hips, while his chest pressed my back, his heart beating against my spine like a second rhythm, faster, more desperate than mine.

Every plunge was a silent promise, a "you're mine" that needed no words.

I felt his cock drive into me, relentless.

Then the rhythm changed.

Harder.

Deeper.

His hips slammed against mine with primal force, the sound of flesh on flesh filling the stall.

Every hit tore a hoarse moan from me, made me arch my back, sent sparks behind my eyelids.

The pleasure built like an approaching storm, ready to overwhelm me.

Our breaths mingled, my gasps broken, his low, guttural grunts, almost animal.

I couldn't hold back anymore.

I came without anyone touching me, my body contracting in violent spasms, shooting onto the floor in hot waves.

I clenched around him, an involuntary, desperate grip, like I wanted to keep him there forever.

He didn't stop.

He kept thrusting, again, again, harder, deeper, chasing his pleasure in my body still shaking from orgasm.

His grunts grew hoarser, more urgent, the rhythm losing all control.

One last sharp thrust, all the way in.

"I'm coming"

He groaned, burying his cock deep, his body trembling against mine. I felt his cock pulse inside me, swell, spurt into the condom.

We stayed like that for a second, panting, sweaty, our bodies entwined in a post-orgasm embrace.

Then he kissed my neck, a surprisingly tender gesture, his tongue licking the salty sweat.

I was a mess: pants down, cock still half-hard, body trembling with aftershocks.

He pulled out slowly, a emptiness that made me moan.

He tossed the condom in a bin.

Adjusted himself, movements casual and controlled.

When I turned, he was already opening the door.

Not a word.

Not a glance.

He vanished, leaving only his scent and the memory of his touch.

I laughed to myself, a bitter laugh, but charged with new energy. I cleaned up, dressed, looked in the mirror: eyes alive for the first time in months, swollen lips, flushed skin.

That sudden fuck had ignited something inside me, burning out of control.

If I could throw myself like that with a stranger, abandon myself to pure pleasure without thinking, without shame, without tomorrow... why couldn't I throw myself at that crazy idea too?

I'd do that interview.

Not as Matthias.

As Madison.