Loud. The music is loud, vibrating through the wall as you sit on the edge of the tub in Steve's bathroom. A tear falls from your chin and lands on the skin of your thigh, just below the hem of your dress. You brush it away. Why does he have to do this every time he's drunk? Why does he have to speak to you like shit?
The doorknob turns and the door rattles in the frame. A voice, asking if there's anyone in there. You tell them you'll be a minute. You stand, sighing and straightening yourself out, check your make up in the mirror. Wipe away the black smears under your eyes. You'll do.
You flick the lock and open the door. Billy stands in the doorway. His stupid, shit eating grin on his stupid face. His eyes drop to your tits, they way they look in the dress you picked so carefully tonight because you know Steve likes it when you dress a certain way. You cross your arms over your chest, tell Billy to fuck off. He frowns a little, reaches out with his thumb, wipes a trace of mascara you missed from the side of your eye. He asks if you've been crying, and suddenly tears threaten to fall again. You don't want him to see you, so you pull the light cord next to you and in the darkness you tell him to leave you alone, trying to step into the bedroom behind him. Billy doesn't move, and suddenly you're chest to chest with him. You can feel the heat of his body, his bare chest showing in his unbuttoned shirt, pressed against your front, but your nipples harden as though he's made of ice. You can smell him, cigarette smoke and cinnamon, some cologne he's wearing. He smells good, and for a few seconds you're lost in his scent. You come to your senses, try to step backwards away from him, but his hand is pressed to the small of your back and suddenly his lips are on yours, soft and warm. You're surprised that you're kissing him back, opening your mouth to him, letting him brush your tongue with his. He tastes of cheap liquor and mint, gum or toothpaste, you can't tell. His hand cups your jaw, firm and gentle at the same time, and you moan a little at his touch. He smiles into your kiss. You pull him back into the bathroom by his shirt, he kicks the door shut behind his back, and then he's pushing you up against the wall, framed in the moonlight pouring through the window. You can feel the music. Your hands are all over him now, trailing over his chest, his arms, cupping his dick, hard inside his jeans. You take his hand and press it to your pussy, under your dress. Your panties are wet already, and when he feels it he laughs. You tell him to shut up and bite his lip as you kiss him, and he hisses at you, kissing you back, urgent and wanting. His fingers are inside your underwear now, exploring your slick swollen folds, rubbing your clit and then they're inside you and you gasp against his neck and clench around them. You shake your head and tell him to fuck you, not with these, with this, and you squeeze his dick through his pants. He laughs again but this time you don't care, because Billy's fingers are moving inside you and he's unzipping his pants. Of course he's not wearing any underwear. You feel him stroke himself once, twice, and then his fingers leave you as he lifts your leg and rubs the head of his cock against your dripping cunt, your panties pulled aside. Your foot finds the edge of the tub, the spot you sat crying about Steve not even five minutes ago, and then you cry out as he thrusts his full length into you, hard, as he lifts you, presses you to the wall, his hand under your ass. You've barely processed how fucking good his cock feels in you, how full you feel, stretched around him in a pleasurable burning sensation, and he's pulling out and pushing into you again and you cry out again. His teeth graze your shoulder and you hear yourself saying yes, telling him to bite you, and he does, hard enough to leave a perfect indentation of his teeth, and the whole time he's fucking you hard, pounding into your tight wet cunt. His fingers slip the strap of your dress from your shoulder, pull down the front on one side. His thumb and finger pinch your nipple and you gasp, his name falling from your lips. He likes that, you can tell, you feel his lips curve into a smile against your neck and so you say it again as he thrusts, Billy Billy Billy, chanting it like a spell. It occurs to you that Steve has never made you come. You don't mind, the sex is okay without it, but you still go to the bathroom and finish yourself off after he's asleep. You won't need to do that with Billy, it's been building in you since he first put his cock in you, and now you're on the edge, ready to fall into the chasm. It's not like this with Steve. Steve makes love, slow and steady. Billy fucks, fast and hard, pounding into you furiously. He whispers into your ear, tells you to come for him. You realise he's about to come, he can't hide it in his wavering voice, and so you step off the edge and let yourself fall, waves of sheer pleasure washing over you. You feel yourself clench around his cock and he grunts, and suddenly he's twitching within you and spilling inside you and you didn't think you could feel any more pleasure but your orgasm intensifies, your eyes roll back and you resume your chant from earlier, Billy Billy Billy. It subsides, and your eyes meet his in the darkness, your bodies still touching, him still hard inside you. You're panting, both of you, breathless from your fuck against the wall, and you hate how empty you feel when he pulls out of you, still looking you in the eye in the light of the moon. He pulls your panties back into place and as his hand leaves you he draws his thumb down over your clit on top of the material and you moan. He smiles like before. He zips himself up as you pull your dress back into place, and he leaves without a word. You follow after a minute, and as you descend the stairs you feel his seed trickling out of you, soaking your panties, sticky between your thighs. Steve is in the hallway. He asks you where you've been, his eyes noticing the teeth marks on your shoulder and dismissing them. You can barely hear him over the music. You're still pissed off with him, so you play with fire and you say you were fucking Billy. He frowns a little, tells you he can't hear you. A little louder, you tell him you were being silly. The frown clears. He steers you towards the kitchen, his arm around your shoulders, and Billy winks at you from where he stands, leaning against the wall with a beer.