Chapter 128| Sex In A Bathroom R18+

Chapter 128: Chapter 128| Sex In A Bathroom R18+

The bathroom door clicked shut behind them. A deadbolt slid home with a sound like a full stop.

Zane’s palm stayed flat against the painted metal, his breath in utter slow sync with Maren. The girls’ bathroom in the academic block smelled like lemon cleaner and old grout. A single fluorescent tube buzzed overhead, flickering at the edges.

Maren leaned against the sink counter, her blue-flowered sundress riding up her thighs. Her face was still flushed red, her cheeks pink with embarrassment. The sharpness in her voice when she’d spoken that statement had faded, leaving her looking flustered and unusually warm. Her chest rose and fell beneath the thin cotton of her dress as she caught her breath.

"You locked it," she said. Not a question.

"Unless you want someone walking in on us."

She laughed, a short exhale through her nose. "You’re definitely right."

"Yeah at making good decisions."

Her teeth caught her bottom lip. The flickering light made her eyes look darker than they were, pupils wide, greedy. Zane had spent the entire day just figuring about his so-called father. This...this would be the release valve. He drew closer to maren and his fingers found the hem of her dress.

The fabric was warm from her skin. He pushed it up inch by inch, knuckles grazing her stomach, and she didn’t stop him. Didn’t look away. Her breath hitched when the cotton cleared her hips, revealing the matching blue panties—same flower pattern, smaller, stretched taut across her mound.

"Those are cute," he murmured.

"Shut up."

He kissed her before she could say anything else. Her mouth opened under his, wet and willing, and his hand slid down and pushed her panties aside abit. She was already slick. Already hot. His middle finger found her clit and pressed, slow, a lazy circle that made her whole body jerk against the sink.

"Fuck..," she whispered against his teeth.

He kept the pace slow. Deliberate. A stroke, a pause, then another stroke. Her hips started moving with him, a tiny rhythm, and her arms came up around his neck. Her legs lifted, one then the other, and he caught her under the thighs, hooking her knees over his forearms. The angle changed everything. Her pussy was right there, barely covered, the damp cotton clinging to her lips.

He stroked faster. Maren sucked on his bottom lip, hard enough to sting. A moan crawled out of her throat.

"Yes," she breathed. "With that speed...don’t stop."

The fluorescent light buzzed. Somewhere down the hall, a door opened and closed. Neither of them cared.

Zane dropped her legs. The sudden movement made her gasp, but before she could ask, he was peeling the panties down her thighs, past her knees, over her ankles. He balled them up and tossed them onto the hand dryer mounted beside the sink. They landed with a soft thump, blue flowers against stainless steel.

Maren stared at him. Then her gaze dropped.

Lower.

Her eyes met his crotch.

She stepped forward, her feet silent on the tile, and pressed her palm flat against the front of his jeans. He was already hard—had been since the deadbolt. Since before the deadbolt, if he was honest. Her fingers traced the outline, the ridge of him straining against denim.

"Let me take care of it," she said.

Zane nodded. He couldn’t have spoken if he tried. His throat had closed around something tight and hot.

She worked his jeans open with both hands, the button popping free, the zipper a low rasp. Then his boxers, one motion, both layers shoved down past his hips. His cock sprang free—thick, flushed, bobbing with the frantic beat of his heart. A bead of pre-cum caught the fluorescent light, glossy and bright.

Maren smiled. It was a different smile than the one she’d worn in the seminar room—sharper, more dangerous.

"Are all heroes this naughty?" she asked.

Zane almost laughed. Almost said I could say the same about you. But her hand was already wrapping around his shaft, her thumb swiping through the slick at the tip, and every coherent thought evaporated.

She dropped to her knees.

The tile was cold. He registered that dimly, as if from another room. Her mouth opened and she took him in, slow, her tongue flat and wet along the underside. Zane’s head tipped back. The ceiling tiles blurred.

"Maren..." Her name came out broken.

She sucked him with a steady rhythm, cheeks hollowing, one hand braced on his thigh and the other cupping his balls. Spit gathered at the corners of her mouth, slid down her chin. The sound—wet, rhythmic, filled the small room like the only music there was.

He pressed his hips forward, a shallow thrust, and she took it. Took all of it. Her eyes watered but she didn’t pull back. Just kept going, her nose buried in the dark hair at his base.

"Like that," he groaned. "Keep the same pace..yes, yes.."

The knot in his shoulder loosened. The stress of the day, all of it unraveled into a single white-hot point behind his eyes. Pressure built at the base of his spine, urgent, inevitable.

"Maren, I’m cumming..."

She didn’t stop. Her mouth stayed sealed around him.

"Fuck."

He came with a shout, hips jerking, filling her mouth. She swallowed once, twice, then pulled off with a wet pop, cheeks bulging. A quick turn toward the sink—she spat, a thick white string of it landing in the basin, and rinsed her mouth with cupped water. Her back was to him, her shoulders rising and falling fast.

Zane watched her. His cock was still hard, still throbbing, slick with her spit. The sight of her—bare-assed under that sundress, bent over the sink, rinsing his cum from her mouth, did something to him. Something animal and simple.

He stepped up behind her. His hands found her waist, spread wide over the blue flowers. His cock slid between her thighs, not inside her, just dragging along the wet crease of her pussy lips, bumping against her ass through the thin fabric. She stiffened. Then she pushed back against him.

"Zane," she said, still facing the mirror.

Her eyes found his in the glass.

"What are you waiting for?"