Chapter 83: Bathroom Shenanigans pt 2 r18

Noah snapped his eyes open, glaring at me through a haze of overstimulation.

“Now,” I said, my hand moving to the buckle of my belt. “Continue what you were doing.”

Noah’s jaw dropped. “What?”

“You heard me.” I reached down, palming myself through the heavy fabric of my trousers. I was already painfully hard, the visual of him sprawled on that toilet seat doing more for me than any club performance ever could. “Show me, Noah.”

“I’m not… you can’t be serious,” he stammered, his face turning a shade of red that rivaled the Spanish sunset. “Cassian, someone could walk in!”

“You heard me.” I reached down, palming the thick bulge straining against my trousers, giving it a slow, deliberate squeeze.

My cock was already rock-hard, throbbing angrily behind the zipper, the sight of him sprawled on that toilet lid, pants around his ankles, thighs spread wide, plug half-out and glistening with lube doing more for me than any high-end strip club ever could.

“Show me, Noah.”

“I’m not, you can’t be serious,” he stammered, his face turning a shade of red that rivaled the Spanish sunset. “Cassian, someone could walk in!”

“I took care of that,” I said, unbuckling my belt with slow, clipped movements. “No one is coming. And if you won’t do it, I can help you. But I don’t think you’ll like my pace as much as your own.”

Noah looked at my hands, then at my face. He shook his head frantically. “No. No way.”

I shrugged, a cold smile touching my lips. “Have it your way.”

I didn’t wait for his permission. I unzipped and pulled my cock out into the cool air. It sprang free, heavy and flushed, the head already slick with pre-cum, veins pulsing along the shaft as I wrapped my fist around it and gave one slow, filthy pump. My eyes remained locked on his.

Noah’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. He watched my hand move, his throat working as he swallowed hard. The silence of the bathroom was broken only by the wet, rhythmic sound of my friction.

“Don’t stop, Noah,” I commanded. “I want to watch you.”

He hesitated for a second, then his hand moved back to his own cock. He started to stroke, his movements jerky and embarrassed at first, before the internal vibration of the plug took over his rhythm.

I watched him. Really watched him. I ignored the luxury of the room and focused on the way his chest rose and fell in jagged gasps. The flush was spreading now, a beautiful pink tide moving down his neck and across his collarbones. His thighs were trembling, the muscles taut as he tried to keep his balance on the toilet lid.

He looked wrecked. He looked used. He looked like he belonged exactly where he was: under my gaze. The faint bruises on his wrists from the night before were like a brand, a reminder of who he belonged to.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” I rasped, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

I moved closer, stepping between his open legs. Noah looked up, his eyes glassy and desperate. “What are you—”

I didn’t let him finish. I cupped his jaw, my thumb pressing into the soft skin of his cheek, and tilted his face up. I kissed him.

The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was a claim. I tasted the salt of his skin and the sweetness of the fruit he’d eaten earlier. My tongue slid against his, demanding entrance, demanding he acknowledge exactly who was in control. Noah moaned into my mouth, a sound of pure, unadulterated surrender.

Neither of us stopped stroking. My hand worked my own length while his hand continued its frantic pace on himself. The rhythms began to sync, the wet sounds of our combined efforts echoing off the marble walls.

I pulled back just enough to see his face, our lips still ghosting over each other. “Don’t stop,” I breathed.

We kept going. I kissed him again, harder this time, our breathing coming in synchronized, ragged pants. I could feel the tension in him building, his hips beginning to jerk up into his hand, his breath stuttering.

“Noah,” I groaned against his lips. “Come for me.”

That was all it took. He let out a broken, high-pitched moan, his entire body shuddering. He came hard, the white heat of it spilling over his hand and onto his stomach, his eyes squeezed shut as he rode the wave.

I followed him seconds later. I gritted my teeth, a few more heavy strokes sending me over the edge. I came over his thigh and his hand, our fluids mixing on his skin in a messy, visceral display of the morning’s chaos.

I stayed there for a moment, my forehead resting against his, both of us trying to reclaim our breath. Then, I stepped back. I was a man of business, and the business of the day was still waiting.

I tucked myself away and zipped up, the metal click of the zipper sounding loud in the quiet room. I looked down at him. Noah was slumped against the toilet tank, his eyes dazed, his skin glowing and covered in the evidence of what we’d just done.

He looked like a masterpiece that had been defaced in the best possible way.

I smirked, adjusting my shirt. “You’re a mess, Noah.”

He looked up at me, a flicker of his usual snark returning to his dazed eyes. “Whose fault… whose fault is that?” he panted.

I leaned down and kissed him one last time—a softer, lingering touch on his forehead. “Clean yourself up. Meet me outside in five minutes.”

I straightened my blazer, checked my reflection in the gold-rimmed mirror to ensure not a hair was out of place, and walked toward the door.

“The game is about to begin,” I said over my shoulder.

I walked out, the heavy oak door clicking shut behind me. I had a meeting to attend, a “cockroach” to humiliate, and an assistant who was finally, truly, beginning to understand his place.

I checked the remote in my pocket. I turned the vibration down to a low him just a reminder. Enough to keep him focused.

I walked back toward the paddock, the Spanish sun feeling a lot more tolerable than it had ten minutes ago.

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