I didn’t think about men who scared me.
And yet my body had already made a decision my mind was scrambling to catch up with.
I lay back slowly, staring at the ceiling, cheeks burning as awareness pooled low and heavy inside me. I’d never felt want like this—raw and physical and completely detached from romance or fantasy.
There was nothing sweet about it.
It was need.
My hand moved before I could talk myself out of it.
Tentative at first, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of my panties, brushing over skin that felt too hot, too sensitive. I was already slick there, shamefully so, my body betraying how desperately it craved something I'd never allowed myself to fully explore.
Then bolder, pressing firmer, circling that swollen bundle of nerves with a pressure that made my hips jerk involuntarily. The way I imagined he’d be—direct, unflinching, unconcerned with whether I was ready or not. Those strong, callused hands pinning me down, taking without asking, claiming every inch of me like I belonged to him already.
I bit my lip, stifling a sound as sensation crested too fast, too sharp, my body responding like it had been waiting for permission all along.
My fingers dipped lower, sliding through wet folds, parting them to tease my entrance before pushing one inside—slowly, experimentally, the stretch foreign and aching in a way that made me gasp. I was so tight, so untouched, and the thought of him forcing his way in, thick and relentless, made me clench around my own finger.
I added another, scissoring gently, pumping in and out as my thumb worked my clit in frantic circles. Heat coiled low in my belly, building with every thrust, every imagined growl of his voice telling me I was his to break, his to ruin.
His face flashed behind my eyes—not kind, not gentle, not careful. That chiseled jaw set in determination, those piercingeyes dark with hunger, broad shoulders and sculpted chest gleaming under dim light, every muscle honed for dominance. The way he'd looked at me earlier, like he could see straight through my innocence, stripping me bare without a single touch.
Now, in my mind, he loomed over me, shirtless and unyielding, his powerful body caging mine as he drove into me hard and deep, no mercy for my inexperience. Watching. Judging. Deciding I wasn't enough—yet making me beg for more, anyway.
My breaths came in shallow pants, thighs trembling as I fucked myself faster, harder, chasing that forbidden edge.
Slick sounds filled the quiet room, obscene and intoxicating, my arousal coating my fingers, dripping down to soak the sheets. I was mortified by how much I wanted this—wanted him—how my naive body arched and writhed for a stranger whose name I didn't even know, a man who screamed danger and control. But I couldn't stop; the need was too raw, too overwhelming, awakening something dark and hungry inside me that terrified and thrilled in equal measure.
I came quietly, breath shuddering, the aftermath leaving me flushed and stunned and mortified all at once.
When it was over, I lay there in the hush of my own apartment, heart pounding, one hand pressed to my mouth like I could take it all back.
What was wrong with me?
I rolled onto my side, curling in on myself, heat slowly ebbing into something softer and more unsettling.
This wasn’t who I was.
Was it?
I’d spent my life cultivating order. Gentleness. Men like him didn’t belong in that world.
And yet.
Something in me had woken up.
And it didn’t feel sweet at all.
I lay there longer than I meant to, staring at nothing, listening to the quiet hum of my refrigerator and the distant sounds of traffic outside. Normal life. Ordinary life. The kind I’d always known how to navigate.
My body, on the other hand, felt foreign.
Too aware. Too awake.
My cheeks burned all over again, shame curling tight in my chest—not because touching myself was wrong, exactly, but because he was a stranger. A man whose name I didn’t know. A man who’d dismissed the very thing I’d built my life around and somehow lodged himself under my skin, anyway.
I pressed my palm flat against my sternum, trying to slow my breathing.
