Keelan was an asshole. There was no other way to describe him. Every shift we worked together, he found some way to needle at me, his sarcastic comments and dirty looks making it clear he truly despised me. I couldn't understand why. It was a shame because, despite being a total douchebag, he wasn't bad looking.

One night, we were closing together, and I was dreading it. I knew he'd find a way to slack off, leaving me to pick up the pieces of his half-assed side work. I was friends with the front-of-house manager, so we decided to sneak out to her car and smoke a bowl. Her weed was potent, and by the time I came back inside, I was riding an excellent high, ready to shut down shop.

I stopped in the little, dingy employee bathroom to pee. I hovered over the toilet, not daring to sit on the grimy seat. The door swung open just as I was mid-wipe, pants still at my knees. I glanced back, mortified, to see fucking Keelan standing there.

"Fuck, close the door!" I yelled, cheeks burning red. He got a full view of my ass and everything else. It wasn't his fault—I had forgotten to lock the door—but it didn't stop the embarrassment from flooding through me.

I cleaned up quickly but stayed in the bathroom for an extra ten minutes, seething with a mix of humiliation and hatred. When I finally emerged, bracing myself for snarky comments from the kitchen staff, no one said a word. It seemed Keelan had kept his mouth shut, which was a small relief.

I went back to my station, breaking things down, and he didn't say anything out of line. Still, I could barely look at him. As the end of the night finally approached, my manager was in her office finishing up with the cash, leaving just Keelan and me. I grabbed my purse, ready to get the hell out of there, when I heard him behind me.

"Hey Jenna, you really do got a nice ass."

I snapped. I whirled around, finger pointing right at him, and let loose. "You're an arrogant, rude asshole!" I spat, stepping forward as he backed away. He ended up with his back against the closed bathroom door, and I was right in his face, doing a full-on Latina neck swing. Then, out of nowhere, he grabbed me and kissed me. It was rough, his teeth biting into my bottom lip, sucking it in.

"Fucking brat," he growled.

I didn't know what came over me. He reached behind him to open the bathroom door, and we slipped inside, the small space barely accommodating us. We made out feverishly, and my hand found its way to his crotch, feeling his dick through his uniform slacks. I licked my lips when I pulled it out; thick, not too long, wider in the middle with a smaller head. It stood full mast out of his zipper, and I stroked him, feeling his cock grow harder in my hand. I couldn't deny it was a nice dick.

We had both worked a long day, and the thought of sucking his sweaty dick wasn't appealing. I'm particular about smells, and the idea of gagging turned me off. Instead, I turned around, yanked my pants and underwear down in one motion, and spit on my fingers to rub across my slit. Not that I needed it—I was soaking wet.

He stepped up behind me, positioning himself at my entrance. He pushed all the way in with two strokes, his girth stretching me open. He pushed my pussy tunnel in, knocking the wind out of me. He started fucking me hard and fast, each thrust making me gasp. His hands gripped my hips, pulling me back against him with brutal force. His cock filled me completely, rubbing against every sensitive spot inside me.

"You're such a slut, Jenna," he hissed in my ear, his breath hot against my skin. His words sent a shiver down my spine, making me clench around him. "Always knew you were a fucking slut."

I couldn't deny how hot his words made me. I was lost in the deep tummy feeling of him pounding into me, my hands braced against the sink for support. The bathroom was small and dirty, but I didn't care. All I could focus on was the way he was fucking me, like an animal. His pace was relentless, faster than anyone had ever fucked me before. It felt like he was about to cum, and I prepared myself for it.

But then, he pulled out suddenly, leaving me empty and shocked. He bent down and buried his face in my ass, his tongue darting out to taste me. I'd showered before work, but it still made me self-conscious. Then he started sniffing me like a dog, nose planted firmly on my asshole. I couldn't help but moan, my knees almost gave out.

He stood up, his cock harder than before, and slammed back into me. This time, he buried himself deep and started to cum, his body shuddering against mine. He leaned in close, his lips brushing my ear. "I fucking hate you, brat," he whispered, his voice low and filled with contempt.

He pulled out and left without another word. I stood there momentarily, trying to catch my breath and process what had just happened. I cleaned myself up and left the bathroom, my mind spinning.

We never spoke of that night again, and we never had sex again. But I never gave him shit again, either. The dynamic between us shifted to more positive ground because I respected him for keeping his mouth shut. But we still got into our heated arguments every now and then.