I run a hand over my hair, settling the strands that have become dislodged. Against the gaudy backdrop of the gold and bronze mosaic tiles behind me, my suit does look a bit dour. But I don’t work in a restaurant priding itself in faux-gold finishes, do I? I work at a corporation, where people are expected to dress professionally and conduct themselves with some modicum of reserve.

Which is exactly why I feel so damn flustered.

I can’t get the image of Holly, naked and twisting on my bed, out of my blasted head.

Look, if I have to be honest, I’ve always had a tendency to… you know, imagine things. Nothing sick or strange, just… erotic. I don’t know why it happens. I can’t remember when it started. It might’ve been at my first job. More specifically, my first presentation. You know when you’re nervous and someone — unhelpfully — suggests you imagine the audience not wearing any clothes?

Well, turns out, not only am I a brilliant analyst… I’m also pretty damn good at imagining people without their damn clothes on.

Sometimes I can turn it off, of course. I mean, who wants to see broad-shouldered, blunt-waisted Mr. Hill in a onesie?

No one.

Trust me, it’s not a pretty picture.

Okay, so maybe I can’t quite control it as well as I thought. But still, usually after that first jarring moment, I can block out further pornographic shots with no trouble.

Not with Holly.

And with her, my imagination’s decided naked stills aren’t enough. Oh no, my mind’s gone all American Beauty on my ass, with me imagining doing all kinds of debaucherous things to that slip of a girl.

Maybe I’m just burned out.

I put my palms on the basin and lean close to the mirror, studying my reflection. I don’t have shadows under my eyes, but that’s because I force myself to get eight hours of sleep a night.

It means I don’t ever have time for anything more ‘social’ than catching a meal at the Golden Goose before heading home, but at least I always wake up looking rested. Even if I don’t feel it. And God, I’m not feeling it right now. My brain’s fizzing. My body feels shiver-tight, and every nerve ending on my skin is prickling.

And this Holly girl isn’t helping. I’ve never felt so awkward, so out-of-place, and this helpless before.

Or this damned horny.

I push my way into a toilet stall, one hand already on my zipper.

No time for the belt. This has to be quick. Clean. Last thing I want is her thinking I’m… well, jacking off in here.

Even the thought of what I’m about to do has my dick hard. Well, harder. I wedge it out of my pants, slam the toilet seat down with my shoe, and lean against the closest wall with one hand, the other wrapped around my cock.

It responds instantly.

I’ve been a little too busy to rub one out these past few days, okay?

But I start tensing, thoughts of someone walking in, perhaps hearing that repetitive sound. I start stroking my dick faster, but that just ends up hurting.

So I hold my dick out and spit on it.

I close my eyes.

And I picture Holly sliding her skirt up her legs.

Holly, spreading her legs open for me, her pussy still draped with folds of fabric.

Holly, one hand by her mouth, teeth teasing the edge of her fingernail. The other, sliding up the inside of her thigh.

My muscles start to tense — this time, not from anxiety. I lean my forehead against the back of my hand and move my fingers down my shaft so I have more of my cock to work with.

Holly slides her hand into that pit of darkness, her nail tugging at her bottom lip. She hikes her legs up, flashing me a devilish grin as this exposes her shaved, pink slit to me. I reel, feeling a climax approach out of nowhere like a jet plane.

For a moment, I pause, hand on my cock, as I revel in the fantasy playing out in 3D in my head.

Holly runs her pastel-blue fingertips over her entrance — God, but that color contrast is exceptional — before sliding a finger inside herself. She makes a noise, a soft groan in the back of her throat, and starts pumping that finger in and out.

I vaguely realize I’m the one making that sound, but I’m too transfixed in my reverie to stop. I begin sliding my hand up and down my shaft, teasing my climax into a halt, letting it build up.

My thumb flashes over my crown. Got my own lube now, don’t need any more spit. I work that liquid into my skin, slowing down even more until I’m shuddering for release.

Holly still has a finger inside herself. She uses her thumb to draw a languid circle around her clit, watching me with that curious expectation on her face.

“God,” I murmur, my shoulders hunching.

I know this was supposed to be quick, but damn, it feels so good. My hand slides down, and then I tug up, hard. That jar of pain snaps me out of the fantasy.

I’m so close I hardly needed to give my dick the extra few tugs it needs, but I want to draw out what feels like a blazing orgasm. Who cares if the janitor finds me laying in a sodden heap on the bathroom floor three hours from now?

I flash my thumb over my crown again. My lips part and my jaw draws back.

Holly flickers into my mind, unbidden. I groan — too loudly, but it can’t be helped — as she brings that finger up to her lips and licks it.

The bathroom door crashes open.

“—telling me he hasn’t read it yet?”

I manage — barely — to stifle a yell of surprise.

“I meant what I said about keeping that shit private, man.”

The stall beside me opens, and the man slams the door shut behind him. I stare down at my engorged, shivering cock, feeling every pulse of adrenalin flickering through those blood vessels.

Maybe he was the kind of guy that peed sitting down. If he took less than a minute, I should be able to—

A loud fart cuts off that thought. I grimace, manhandling my cock back into my pants.

My zipper refuses to close.

Again, I’m struck with the overwhelming urge to slam a fist into my dick and beat it into submission.

“Yeah, well, just delete the fucking thing before anyone sees it. I mean, shit. You two have to share a brain cell?”

Another fart takes care of enough of my erection to allow me to pull my zipper up. I don’t even bother to flush, hurrying out of the stall and washing my hands in record time. I pause just long enough to splash water on my face, fix my hair, and force a smile on my face.

I do look better when I smile, I guess.

You can do this, Josh.

My dick throbs as if to spur me on and I laugh. The guy in the stall stops talking, and I laugh again, shaking my head as I jerk open the bathroom door and step outside.

No one’s ever called me Josh before, and now I’m doing it.

Holy hell.