“Easy,” he says, and his voice is smoother than whiskey, with a rough edge that scrapes the underside of my soul.
I try to stammer out an apology, but my tongue has liquefied. There’s a smell—something expensive and woody, with an undertone of sex that isn’t cologne but skin. The man is older, but in a way that amplifies rather than dulls his power. If anything, he looks more dangerous than Liam Thomas, more likely to set off alarms and not care if he does.
We’re frozen together for a single, ragged breath. His hands tighten on my shoulders, and for a moment I’m sure he’s going to scold me or tell me to get lost, like every other authority figure in my life.
“Um,” I stutter like a hopeless dork. “Hi.”
But the man isn’t turned off by my stammering. Instead, he pulls me in. Not gently, not asking permission, just the full, animal certainty that I will follow.
He guides me deeper into the alcove, out of sight of any windows or security cameras, and plants my back against the brick wall. There’s nothing said, not a word, but I can feel everything he means: want, need, and something more feral. His hand cups the back of my neck and pins me there, just hard enough to remind me that I am—right now—helpless and soft and entirely his.
It should scare me. It doesn’t. Instead, I feel my body switch tracks, the same way it did outside my dorm door an hour ago. There’s a pulse between my legs, a low, steady ache that makes my knees threaten to fold.
His other hand slides down my arm, ghosting over my waist, pausing at the hem of my hoodie. “You’re cold,” he murmurs, and when he tugs the zipper down, it’s almost caring. But then his fingers find my bare stomach, and the carefulness is gone. He’s mapping me, cataloguing the way I twitch at every touch.
I reach up, almost by reflex, but he catches my wrist and pins it to the brick beside my head. “Keep that there,” he says, and for some reason I do. “Don’t speak, sweetheart. Just savor the moment.”
He’s close enough that I can see the dark stubble along his jaw, the smudge of a healed scar under his ear. His breath is warm and humid, and I realize I am breathing only in tiny sips, as if too much air might snap the spell.
His mouth is on mine before I see it coming. He kisses me like he wants to eat something out of my soul, not just lips but teeth, tongue, all of it. I can’t keep up; my mind empties out, pure sensation flooding in to take its place.
“Mmmm,” I murmur, sweet heat filling the space between my thighs. “Oh.”
The man chuckles deep in his chest.
“Yeah, you want it, don’t you?”
He breaks the kiss, and in the space of a single heartbeat, his hands are everywhere. He pops the button on my jeans, slides his palm down the front, and I gasp at how quickly he finds me—wet, so wet I can’t believe it’s real. He circles my clit with his thumb, slow and perfect, and I make a noise I’ve never made before in my life, a little strangled animal yelp.
“Good girl,” he whispers, and that does something to me, something weird and hot and deeply embarrassing. I want him to say it again, and again.
He pulls his hand out and licks his fingers, eyes locked on mine the whole time. “Delicious,” he says, voice low and amused. “You’re fucking drenched, baby. Slick and horny, just like a naughty little girl.”
I want to ask his name. I want to say something witty, or smart, or at least not totally humiliating, but my tongue is deadweight. He doesn’t seem to mind. He turns me around, faces me to the wall, and leans in so his whole body is flush against my back, chest to ass, cock already hard and thick behind his zipper.
He slides both hands up under my T-shirt, palms flat against my ribs, and then—oh, god—his thumbs catch the undersides of my bra and hoist it up, baring my tits to the night air. I shiver, both from cold and the raw shock of exposure, but then he pinches my nipples, hard, and all the cold disappears into a wash of pure fire. Hot jolts of sensation go straight from my tips to my cunt, and I sag into his hands.
“Ooooh,” I moan breathlessly. “Mmm.”
He chuckles and props me there, a toy or a puppet, totally at his mercy.
“That’s my horny little bitch. You’re in heat, aren’t you?”
OMG, did he just call me a bitch in heat? But I can’t process because he bends me forward, palms pressed to the brick, andwith one hand yanks my jeans down to mid-thigh. My panties go with them, leaving my ass bare and gleaming in the cold. His fingers return, stroking between my legs, finding every wet place. He teases my clit with one hand, the other grabbing a fistful of my hair and pulling my head back so I have no choice but to arch for him.
“You ever been fucked outside?” he asks, voice a little slurred from want.
I shake my head, unable to speak.
“You ever been fucked in the ass?” he asks, and this time his tone is playful, mocking.
That jolts me fully awake. I whip my head around to stare at him, my mouth an O. “Are you serious?”
He grins, white teeth sharp in the dark. “You’ll like it,” he promises. “I know you’re a butt slut. I can always tell when it comes to certain girls.”
He spits in his palm again, then presses a slick thumb against my asshole. The pressure is weird, not quite pain, not quite pleasure, just—new. I jerk forward, but he’s got me pinned. He circles the rim, presses harder, and the shock of the invasion makes me gasp out loud.
“Oh!” I cry, my pussy gushing. “Oh oh oh!”
