Chapter 1: Dirty Dancing to Dirty Fucking
The bass from the pub’s speakers thumped through the floorboards, a dull, physical pulse that vibrated up through the soles of Dave’s boots. The air was thick with the smell of spilled beer and fried food. He was leaning against the sticky bar, nursing a pint, when a warm body pressed flush against his back.
“You’re blocking the view,” Lola murmured, her voice a hot tickle against his ear. Her hands slid around his waist, not to move him, but to settle low on his stomach. She ground her ass back into him in a slow, deliberate circle. He could feel the lace of her panties through his jeans, the firm swell of her. His pint glass hit the bar with a dull thud.
“What view?” he managed, his voice already gravel.
“Mine,” she said, and took his hand, guiding it under her short skirt to the bare skin of her thigh. Her skin was fever-hot. “I’ve been watching you for an hour. Just standing there, all tall and quiet. It’s fucking rude.”
She turned in his arms then, her blonde hair catching the dim light. Her eyes were wide, pupils blown. She looped her arms around his neck and started moving against him in time with the music, a filthy, rolling rhythm that had nothing to do with the song. The denim of his jeans was rough against her, but the pressure was perfect. He could feel himself hardening, trapped against the zipper, and from her sharp intake of breath, she felt it too.
“Fuck, Dave,” she breathed, her lips brushing his jaw. “I’m soaked just thinking about it.”
“About what?”
“About you bending me over in that disgusting bathroom and fucking me until I can’t remember my name.”
He didn’t hesitate. He grabbed her hand, his big builder’s fingers swallowing hers, and pulled her through the crowd. They weaved past clusters of people, the noise fading into a blur. A few heads turned, but he didn’t see them. All he saw was the dim hallway leading to the toilets, and the fire in Lola’s eyes when she looked back at him.
The bathroom door swung shut, muting the music to a distant throb. It was a single stall, cramped and reeking of industrial lemon cleaner and stale piss. A flickering fluorescent light buzzed overhead. Lola didn’t wait. She pushed him against the door, the lock engaging with a cheap, tinny click, and kissed him hard. Her tongue was in his mouth, tasting of vodka and Coke, and her hands were fumbling with his belt.
“Wait,” he growled, spinning her around. He hiked her skirt up around her waist. She was wearing a black lace thong, already dark with wetness. He hooked his fingers in the side and pulled, the flimsy material snapping with a sound that made her gasp. He kicked her feet wider apart, the toes of her boots scraping on the grimy tile.
“Don’t be gentle,” she panted, bracing her hands on the cracked porcelain of the sink. Her reflection was wild in the smeared mirror.
He unbuckled his belt, yanked his jeans and boxers down just enough, and spat into his palm. He slicked himself once, twice, his cock thick and heavy in his hand. He guided the head through her slick folds, teasing, circling her entrance. She was dripping, her heat radiating against him.
“Dave, please—”
He drove into her in one deep, brutal stroke, burying himself to the hilt. The sound she made was a choked scream, swallowed by the hum of the light. He held there for a second, feeling her clench and flutter around him, so tight and hot it made his vision blur.
Then he started to move.
He set a punishing pace from the start, his hips slamming into the soft flesh of her ass with each thrust. The sink rattled against the wall. His hands gripped her hips, fingers digging into her skin, holding her in place as he fucked her. Her moans were constant now, a ragged, desperate soundtrack to the slap of skin on skin.
“Yeah, take it,” he grunted, the sweat already beading on his forehead. “Take all of it. Fucking love this wet cunt.”
She was babbling, words dissolving into gasps. “Harder—yes, right there, god, don’t stop—”
The stall door banged open.
It happened so fast. One second they were locked in their own world, the next the cheap lock gave way with a splintering crack and the door swung inward, smacking into Dave’s back.
A man stood in the doorway, blocking the light from the hall. He was big, as tall as Dave, with broad shoulders stretching a worn t-shirt and eyes a startling, pale blue. Shane. Dave knew him vaguely—a sparky who sometimes worked sites near his.
Shane’s eyes didn’t go wide with surprise. They darkened. His gaze travelled from Dave’s face, down his back, to where he was still buried deep inside Lola. A slow, hungry grin spread across his face. He stepped fully into the stall and kicked the broken door shut behind him. The space was suddenly, impossibly smaller, filled with the smell of sex and the heat of three bodies.
“Well, fuck me,” Shane said, his voice low and easy. His hands went to his own belt buckle. The leather slithered free with a soft hiss. “Don’t let me interrupt. Just thought I’d join the queue.”
Lola twisted her head to look, her cheek pressed against the cold sink. Her eyes were glazed, but a new, sharp interest flashed in them. She didn’t tell him to leave. She pushed her ass back against Dave, taking him deeper, a silent invitation.
Dave froze, his hips stuttering. This was new. The idea had been a flicker in the back of his mind for months, a curiosity he’d never acted on. Now it was here, in this filthy room, with this man unbuckling his jeans. A thick, heavy cock sprung free in Shane’s hand. He was already hard.
“You just gonna stand there?” Shane asked, moving closer. His thigh brushed against Dave’s. The contact was electric. “Or you gonna share?”
Shane didn’t wait for an answer. He moved to Lola’s side, his hand coming up to fist in her blonde hair, tilting her head back so he could kiss her. It was deep and possessive, his tongue plunging into her mouth. Dave watched, mesmerized, as Shane’s other hand groped Lola’s breast, pinching her nipple through her top. Then Shane’s eyes locked on his over Lola’s shoulder. The challenge was clear.
Dave’s brain short-circuited. The last thread of hesitation snapped. He gave a sharp, tight nod.
“Good man,” Shane smirked. He released Lola’s hair and spat into his own palm. He rubbed the spit over the head of his cock, then pressed it against Lola’s mouth. “Suck it. Get it nice and wet for your other hole.”
Lola opened her mouth without hesitation, taking him in deep. The obscene, wet sounds of her sucking filled the stall. Dave watched, his own hips beginning to move again in shallow thrusts, driven by the raw sight of it. Shane’s blunt fingers trailed down Lola’s spine, over the curve of her ass, dipping into the slick mess where Dave was fucking her.
“Fuck, she’s tight,” Dave grunted, the words torn from him.
“Gonna be tighter,” Shane said, pulling his cock from Lola’s mouth with a pop. He pressed the fat head against her rear entrance, applying steady, insistent pressure. “You just keep her still for me.”
Lola whimpered around a moan, the vibration travelling through Dave’s body. He held her hips like a vice, pinning her in place as he fucked her cunt in deep, steady strokes. He watched, breath hitching, as Shane’s cock began to breach that tight, untouched ring of muscle. Lola cried out, a sharp, choked sound, her body going rigid.
“Easy, girl,” Shane soothed, but he didn’t stop. He pushed forward, an inch, then two, his own groan joining the chorus. “Fuck. That’s it. Take it.”
The sensation for Dave was overwhelming. The pressure was incredible, Lola’s body clamping down on him like a vise as she was stretched and filled from both ends. He could feel the outline of Shane’s cock pressing against his own through the thin wall of tissue separating them. The intimacy of it was shocking, a white-hot wire of pleasure and taboo.
Shane began to move, setting a rhythm that countered Dave’s. They found a clumsy, brutal syncopation, their bodies slamming into her from both sides. The stall was a cacophony of grunts, skin, and the creak of the partition wall. Dave’s world narrowed to the heat around his cock and the sight of Shane’s muscled forearm braced next to his on Lola’s back. Their knuckles were almost touching.
Shane shifted his weight, his hip bumping against Dave’s. The contact sent a jolt through him. Shane did it again, deliberate this time, his rhythm faltering as he ground himself back against Dave. It was an accident that wasn’t an accident. An offer.
Dave’s hand, still splayed on Lola’s hip, slipped. His fingers slid through sweat-slicked skin and tangled with Shane’s where they gripped her other side. For a second, they held there, fingers interlaced against the small of her back, a connection as intimate as any other in the tangled mess of limbs.
It was too much. The coil in Dave’s gut snapped. A raw, guttural sound was ripped from his throat as he came, pulsing deep inside her, his vision whiting out at the edges. His thrusts turned ragged, then stilled.
Shane followed moments later, a harsh curse exploding from his lips as he shoved himself as deep as he could go and held there, shuddering. Lola was shuddering too, her own climax triggered by theirs, her internal muscles fluttering wildly around them both.
The silence that fell was heavy, broken only by their ragged breaths and the drip of a leaky tap. The fluorescent light buzzed like an angry insect.
Slowly, carefully, they pulled away. Lola sagged against the sink, her legs trembling. Shane tucked himself away, buckling his belt with steady, practiced hands. Dave did the same, his fingers clumsy. He couldn’t look at either of them.
Shane was the first to speak. He ran a hand through his hair and nodded at the broken door. “I’ll, uh… I’ll see you on site Monday, Dave.”
He left without another word, the broken door swinging loosely behind him.
Dave finally looked at Lola. She was straightening her skirt, her movements slow. She caught his eye in the mirror and gave him a small, shaky, utterly satiated smile. It didn’t reach her eyes.
“I should…” she started, nodding toward the door.
“Yeah,” Dave said, his voice rough. “Me too.”
He followed her out, the noise of the pub hitting him like a wall. The night air outside was cold, a shock to his sweat-dampened skin. He could still feel the ghost of the pressure, the heat, the scrape of stubble that wasn’t his against Lola’s shoulder. He stood on the pavement, the sounds of the city ordinary around him, and knew nothing would feel ordinary again.