Stall Romance

Rhys Van Acker

Peach’s face is pale, and I can’t tell what she’s thinking until she shoves me backward and rushes into one of the restroom stalls. She crouches to her knees and starts to throw up.

The image, instead of turning me off, turns me on. I imagine her gagging on my dick and on her knees like she is now. I snap out of it and move closer to hold her hair up and stroke her back.

After a few seconds, she rises to her feet and steps out. Then she washes her face in the sink. I watch her the whole time. Maybe she’s sick? Or she ate something that’s gone bad?

“Are you okay?” I finally ask her.

She takes a deep breath, her head turns like she’s just heard a funny noise. I can’t seem to fathom what she’s thinking. She’s suddenly so fucking hard to read.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” she grabs a towel from the hanger behind her and dries her face with it.

Well, the mood is ruined and all that’s left is the realization that I just blurted out how I’ve been feeling about her for the past few days. After hooking up with Steph, I tried hooking up with other women too. But it’s hard for me to get pushed off the edge without imagining Peach’s face.

It’s like she’s cast a spell on me or something. A spell that allows my body to want only her even though my mind says otherwise. It’s like a constant battle between the latter and the former. The former wins every damn time.

“So, what do you say?” I finally say, leaning against the vanity.

Peach feigns innocence, like her ears were on break when I confessed earlier. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Oh, really?” my voice is low, the words ragged.

Peach’s mouth trembles, then firms. “I…”

I take a step closer to her, trapping her against the wall and silently praying this didn’t go wrong again.

“Yes?”I dip my head. “You what?”

She draws in a shaky breath. She’s mentally warring herself. She’s refusing to succumb to the feeling. It’s only a matter of time before her resolve crashes.

She closes her eyes. “Rhys...”

It’s almost like a moan escaping her lips and all the blood in my body goes to my dick. The things she does to me. How’s she able to?

“You what?” I repeat, the words mere tatters in the tiny space between us.

The uneven rhythm of her breaths matches mine. She doesn’t respond, but she also doesn’t try to move, which I interpret as tacit agreement.

My mouth hovers over hers, giving her one last chance to pull away. When she doesn’t, I close the remaining distance and brush her lips with the lightest of kisses. It’s so soft, it counts more as a graze than a kiss, but it detonates every emotion I’ve tried so hard to bury.

Any control I might’ve had left snaps at her nearly inaudible sigh of pleasure. I deepen the kiss, my mouth molding to hers with an ease. Desire ramps up with every passing second.

My mind is only focused on Peach—her flushed cheeks, her parted lips, the way she shivers when I set her on the counter and ruck her skirt up around her waist. Neither of us speak lest we shatter the delicate spell.

I kiss her again. Harder this time, desperate to drink in as much of her as possible. I curl one hand around the back of her neck while the other traces the lacy edge of her underwear. When I stop at the sensitive juncture between her thigh and heat, she lets out a noise of protest.

“Shh.” I kiss my way down her neck.

She lets out a full-blown cry when I finally slide her underwear aside and rub my thumb over her clit.

I bite back a groan. She’s already so damn wet for me.

Heat races down my spine as I work her with leisurely strokes, circling and teasing until she’s dripping all over my hand. She bucks against me, her face etches with frustration and lust.

“Rhys.” A breathless plea falls from her lips. “Please.”

I harden to the point of pain. God, nothing in the world has ever sounded as sweet as the sound of my name on her lips.

A knocking sound on the door cuts through the layer of renewed need. I feel torn as sanity tries to wriggle way its way back into my mind.

I pull my mouth from hers a fraction, then mumble, “Ignore that,” and then resume the kiss. The knock goes again and then the jangle of keys follow.

Oh, fuck.

Only the faintest shred of common sense has me lifting her off the counter and yanking open a restroom stall. She’s panting and so am I. I shut the door and it’s only in that moment that I’m grateful to Acker Investments for making the stalls sound proof.

I spin Peach toward the closed door and place my palms against it. She gasps and then my palm is on her thigh, moving upward, and his fingers slide the elastic of her thong and pull it down.

“Condom,” she demands.

Naturally, I carry one with me wherever I go.

“How do you..?” The words are cut off as I push inside her.

She braces against the door, and I can’t describe how complete it makes me feel when I’m buried inside of her tight pussy. I thrust into her again, harder, my hands sliding up beneath her shirt, palming her breasts.

“You,” I say, the words timed with my thrusts, “are so fucking tight.”

“Cover my mouth,” she begs, and I do as I sink my teeth into her shoulder to muffle my groan and we both fall apart.

This is a start. She’s never going to be able to resist me now.