Fitting Room

We hadn't spoken in three days. Three endless days while I flipped through blouses on racks, feeling his eyes on the back of my neck. The mall was sweltering, but in this cramped fitting room, with the two of us trapped inside, the air was practically molten.

"So why'd we come in here?" he asked quietly, leaning back against the partition.

I didn't answer. I just yanked the curtain shut, cutting us off from the buzzing fluorescent lights. There was only him now—tall, with that tight set to his mouth, and his hands, which I knew by heart.

"Wanna play?" I breathed, kicking off my sandals. "Truth or dare."

He smirked, but his eyes went dark.

"Dare."

I stepped closer. His cologne, mixed with sweat, hit me like a shot, and I unbuttoned the top button of my blouse. My fingers were shaking.

"Take it all off me."

He didn't move. Just watched as I slowly, button by button, revealed the pale skin of my neck, my collarbones, the swell of my tits. The fabric slid off my shoulders, and I was left in a thin lace bra, my nipples already rock hard underneath.

"You mad at me?" he asked, his gaze locked on my chest.

"I want you to fuck me," I said, my voice going hoarse. "Right here."

He stepped toward me, and I pressed my back against the cold wall of the fitting room. His mouth found my neck—greedy, hungry, biting me until I trembled while he fumbled with the clasp of my bra. It dropped to the floor, and he grabbed my tits, sucking a nipple into his mouth. I moaned, digging my fingers into his hair, feeling his tongue trace wet circles while his teeth clamped down just enough to make me arch my back.

"You're driving me crazy," he whispered against my skin, his hand sliding down, under the elastic of my skirt, straight to my panties.

The fabric there was already soaked. He ran a finger along my slippery slit, and I jerked, biting my lip to keep from screaming.

"Quiet," he breathed, triumph flickering in his eyes. "Someone'll hear."

I undid his belt myself. The fly, the zipper, and then I had his cock in my hand—heavy, hot, the head slick with pre-cum. I pushed my panties down myself, stepped out of them, and he hoisted me up by my thighs, pressing my back against the wall.

"Do it," I gasped, wrapping my legs around his waist.

He slammed into me in one hard thrust, and I cried out, digging my nails into his shoulders. Inside, I was tight and burning, and every stroke sent a hot flash through my belly. He fucked me with short, deep pumps, the wall cold against my spine while his mouth swallowed my moans in hungry kisses.

"Say you forgive me," he growled against my lips, speeding up.

"I forgive you..." I breathed, feeling a tight coil winding inside me. "More..."

He moved faster, almost rough, and I gasped for air, seeing only his dark pupils and hearing the wet slap of our bodies. The orgasm hit me out of nowhere—a hot release that made my knees buckle, and I thrashed in his arms, biting his shoulder to keep from screaming.

He came right after, buried deep inside me, with a hoarse groan, his face pressed into my neck. We stood there, catching our breath, sticky with sweat, in a cramped booth that reeked of sex and perfume.

In the morning, I woke up to the smell of coffee. He was standing in the kitchen in just his jeans, hair a mess, holding out a mug to me. I took it, feeling my cheeks flush under his gaze, and snuck a look at the scratches on his back—the ones I'd left the night before.

"Good," I said, taking a sip.

He smiled, and that warm, forbidden tension coiled between us again.