Page 31 of Mayfair Madame (Mayfair Heights #1)

Guy

Bang. Bang. Bang.

“Yes, yes. Harder.” I braced my arms on the locker and stuck my arse out further. The noise from the ill-fitting door was loud in the silent changing rooms.

My fuck buddy did as I asked and rammed into me, almost breaking my spine.

“Shut the fuck up. Someone will hear us.” He continued, not missing a beat.

“I don’t care, just fuck me, Dylan.” I was sure he was rearranging my insides with his monster cock, but this was a quick, dirty fuck. Nothing more, nothing less.

He’d cornered me at a party and told me how much he wanted to fuck me before sauntering off and sticking his tongue down the throat of his current girlfriend.

Supposedly straight, he was the object of all my wet dreams, so who was I to turn him down?

And now, here we were, all alone with him doing as he promised. Did I worry he would out me? Yes.

Did I care? Of course I did, but if he outed me, he’d out himself.

But lust and the need to have his dick inside me overrode all sense.

“Fuck, you’re tight, Guy.” The pace quickened, punishing now, on the verge of being painful, but there was no way I was stopping him.

Preparation had been cursory. Spit and a prayer.

I grunted, desperate to touch myself, but that could wait. All I wanted was his warm cum inside me. Yes, I knew it was stupid using no protection, but I was sixteen and wouldn’t pass up this opportunity. I’d likely never get another chance.

“Yes, yes, fuck, yes.” He pumped in time with his words until finally he stilled and a hotness filled my arse.

God, that felt so fucking good, but before I could say a word, he’d pulled out and yanked up his shorts.

I winced at the sting. It’d hurt more later, but it was worth every damn second of pain.

“See you around,” and with a slap to the arse, he was gone. I slid to the floor, my shorts still around my ankles. My dick lay limp against my thigh. His spunk leaked onto the floor, but I didn’t have the energy to do anything about it.

I closed my eyes and banged my head on the locker door with a thunk.

What was I thinking? He’d never come out for me. Hell, I wasn’t out myself.

A noise sounded in the distance, and I scrambled to my feet, pulling my shorts up. I found a dirty towel in the laundry bin and mopped up the evidence of my shame.

Why did I feel this way? Being gay wasn’t anything to be ashamed of, so why did I feel an overwhelming sense of disgrace at my actions?

“Guy? Are you in here?”

“Shit. Dad?”