My car rattled as I idled outside his apartment. The check engine light glowed like a judgment—constant, unwelcome, just one more warning light in a life full of them. Rain slid down the windshield in lazy streaks. The wipers only cleared my side, the passenger side stayed smeared and foggy, half-forgotten. Like everything else, I hadn’t gotten around to fixing.

My phone lit up in my lap, casting a soft glow over a face I hadn’t wanted to see in the mirror lately. Tired eyes. Puffy from crying. The kind of exhaustion that didn’t just live in your body, but behind your ribs. Bills. Stress. The looming threat of losing my job. It all pressed down like a weight I couldn’t shift.

I reread the last few texts.

L: Are you awake?

B: At this hour? Always.

L: Can I come over?

B: U okay?

L: I just need to vent.

B: Yeah, come on over. Let Doctor Blake listen to all your words.

L: Dork… see you in a bit.

But I didn’t need him to listen.

I needed to stop holding everything up. To be caught. To be cared for. To stop being strong.

Blake had always been my anchor, steady, unshakable. We’d been friends since middle school, since the day I stepped between him and a group of bullies without thinking. In high school, he grew taller, broader. The kind of presence that made you feel safer just by standing next to him. Somewhere in that shift, he became the protector. But we never crossed the line.

I turned off the car and stepped into the night. The air was still, heavy with the scent of wet, earthy pavement, electric, like something waiting to change.

This wasn’t just a visit. It was a reclamation.

A night for giving in.

He lived on the third floor. Three flights of stairs to second-guess every impulse, every buried want clawing its way to the surface. Each step offered a reason to turn back, risking the friendship, the sting of rejection, the kind of regret that clings for years.

But just as many steps came with a memory. His bear hugs that made the world feel manageable. The way he laughed too hard at my worst jokes. His quiet company when words would’ve only deepened the ache.

Before I even realized it, I was standing in front of his door. My heart thudded hard, irregular, like it knew something I didn’t.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

My pulse pounded in my ears, drowning out the mental back-and-forth of doubt and desire. The wait stretched long. Rain clung to my hair, streamed down my cheeks like sweat or tears—I couldn’t tell. My black denim jacket was soaked, heavy against my skin, but under it all, I burned. Wet outside. Heat inside. Every nerve on edge.

The door opened. And there he was.

Messy hair. Stubbled jaw. That old band tee from the concert we’d never stopped joking about.

“Hey, Lexi.” His smile was easy, unguarded—his sweatpants slung low on his hips.

There was no room left for thought. It was now or not at all.

The door clicked shut behind me as I stepped inside. I didn’t greet him. Didn’t ask. My boots hit the floor in a careless heap, water pooling around them.

“Is everything alright?” He lingered in the doorway, concern etched deep across his brow.

I didn’t answer. Just shrugged off my jacket with trembling fingers. My white tee clung to me, hugging every curve. My breath came shallow, like I’d sprinted here from somewhere much farther than the parking lot.

I looked at him. Then grabbed the hem of my shirt. Pulled it up. Over.

Gone.

Dropped it on the floor without a word.

His expression shifted—concern tightening into something closer to confusion. His head tilted, eyes narrowing slightly as they settled on the black bra across my chest.

I took a step forward. Then another. My fingers found the clasp behind me, and with a quick flick, the bra slipped from my shoulders and dropped silently to the floor. My breasts spilled free, nipples stiff from the cold… and from the thrill.

Blake stepped back half a pace. His mouth parted like he was about to speak—but nothing came. And I wasn’t going to let him fill the silence with anything that might undo this moment.

“I need you to fuck the hell out of me.” My voice shook, but the force behind it didn’t.

I was close now. Inches from him. Bare-chested. Rain-damp. Looking up while he looked down, blinking like he needed to confirm I was real.

“I—uh.” He blinked again, lips twitching, stunned. He looked like someone had yanked the floor out from under him. He didn’t know what to say or even what to do.

“Blake.” I let the plea into my voice, raw and open. “You’ve always been there for me. Through everything—the highs, the lows.”

My hands slid around his waist, fingers curling into the hem of his shirt. Something to hold onto. Something real. “I’m down,” I whispered. My gaze locked with his. “And I need you to fuck me up.”

That cracked him. He snorted—just once—but it wasn’t laughter. It was all heat. The smirk that followed was pure instinct. I knew that expression like I knew my own.

“Are you sure?” His voice had dropped, concern still lingering—but edged now with something darker. Hunger.

I didn’t answer.

I just slipped my hand into his sweatpants and found him—thick, warming in my palm, swelling with every second. I gave him a slow, deliberate tug. His breath stuttered in his chest like I’d knocked something loose.

I leaned in, lips brushing the stubble along his jaw. “I need you,” I whispered, “to pull my hair… and call me a whore.”

The words hung between us—thick, electric, daring. Our bodies pressed close, breath mingling. Neither of us moved, not really. The only sound was the low hum of the heater, hissing through the vents, like the room was holding its breath.

Then his hand rose—quick and sure—wrapping around my neck. Not choking. Not hurting. Just enough pressure to say: you’re mine.

My breath hitched. And he didn’t wait.

His mouth crashed into mine—lips, teeth, hunger. There was nothing gentle in the way he kissed me. This was need. This was surrender.

He backed me toward the wall, step by step, guiding me with a kind of force that felt like gravity.

When my spine hit the cool drywall, his lips left mine, trailing fire down my throat until they found my nipple—and latched. He sucked hard, and the jolt that shot through me was pure white heat. My fingers tangled in his hair, clutching, grounding, unraveling.

Somewhere behind him, the bedroom door stood open—a dark invitation.

He grazed his teeth across my nipple, just enough to bite the edge of pleasure.

“Bedroom,” I gasped. Pleaded.

He didn’t hesitate.

In one smooth motion, he ducked low, grabbed me by the waist, and slung me over his shoulder like I weighed nothing.

I yelped, laughing—sharp, breathless, high. I thought I was leading. Blake was showing me what it meant to be taken.

He strode down the hall and kicked the bedroom door wide. The light flicked on, dim and amber. One dead bulb in the ceiling left the room cast in moody shadow.

He tossed me onto the bed like a prize. I bounced on impact, hair in my face, breath racing.

I didn’t wait.

My fingers fumbled at my belt, yanking it loose. Jeans halfway down my thighs, panties tangled at my knees—I fought with them, frantic.

“Fuck!” Tears pricked at my eyes. It felt like the world was trying to slow me down—even now.

Blake’s hand was there.

One firm grip, and he ripped everything down in one motion, growling. The clothes vanished somewhere behind him.

He just stood there.

His gaze dragged over me—slow, possessive, devouring.

Soft tits. Legs spread. Pussy wet and aching. I was laid bare.

And he looked at me like I was everything.

Reaching down, he tore off his shirt. His chest was broad, dusted with hair, muscles tight with tension—just as I’d felt pressed against me minutes ago. He hooked his thumbs into his waistband and shoved the sweatpants down in one smooth motion.

He was thick. Hard. Heavy.

And I wanted him like I never had before.

“Don’t keep me waiting.” Not a tease. An order.

He moved fast.

Crawling up onto the bed, sliding over me, his body blanketed mine like heat rolling off a fire. Our faces were inches apart. His arms bracketed my head. Towering. Solid. Ready.

I hooked my legs around his hips, lazy but certain.

My hand found him—hot and pulsing. Velvet skin stretched over iron. A thick vein throbbed beneath my touch. The contradiction of sensation made my breath stutter.

“Fuck me, you co—” The word dissolved as he pushed into me.

Slow.

Sweeping.

Filling.

He stretched me open, inch by inch, until he was fully buried—his hips flush with mine. My moan slipped out, unbidden, and trembled through every part of me. I looked up. He looked down. Eyes locked.

One beat. One breath.

Still asking: Are you sure?

I bit my lip and nodded, nails digging into his back like I was bracing for a fall I wanted.

He moved.

His hips drew back—steady, then slammed forward. Another moan, louder this time, tore from my throat. Pleasure climbed my spine in waves, and before one crested, another rolled in behind it. He fucked me deep. Relentless. Controlled. Unforgiving.

His hands slipped beneath my head, fingers lacing into my hair. He gave a tug, firm, exact—and I groaned, arching up to meet him.

His mouth found my ear. Hot breath. Rough rhythm.

“Goddamn, you feel so good,” he growled.

The sound of his voice cracked something open in me.

I whimpered. My legs fell open wider, too weak to grip him. My hands slid down his back, finding the curve of his ass. I pulled him in harder. Deeper. He pushed up slightly, shifting his weight as one hand slid to the base of my neck. His fingers curled there, claiming, not constraining. Grounding, not controlling. Possessing.

His thrusts picked up speed, hips snapping into mine, harder now. Faster. Every one landed deep, like he meant to stay inside me.

And then something inside me lit.

A low burn in my core turned into a roaring fire—an orgasm building with a slow, merciless climb. My thighs trembled. My breath hitched. My moans sharpened, rising without my permission. I was helpless.

But only because I chose to be.

Helpless—on my terms.

“Fuck me harder,” I gasped, voice catching on the edge of need. “I can take it.”

His grip tightened around my waist. He lifted me, hips off the sheets, ass suspended in the air as he leaned forward, adjusting the angle. He drove into me—deep, relentless. Each thrust knocked a moan from my throat, raw and involuntary. I couldn’t hold onto anything.

Crack! Like lightning, it hit me.

My orgasm tore through me, wild and consuming. My body spasmed. My pussy clenched around him, refusing to let go. The shock rippled through my limbs, sharp, electric, leaving me flushed and breathless.

Blake slowed, letting me ride the aftershocks. His body hovered above mine, and then his lips found my mouth—softer now, but still burning. We kissed like we wanted to memorize each other’s taste. Like maybe we already had, and were trying to remember.

Our breathing synced, the air between us thick and humming. My hands traced his back, fingers skimming the muscle beneath sweat-slick skin.

He was still hard. Still inside me. Still holding back.

And I didn’t want him to.

The world had fucked me over.

I needed him to fuck me like that.

I lifted my head from the mattress, lips brushing his ear, my breath ragged and wrecked.

“Fuck me in the ass…”

A beat. A breath. Like a fuse lit.

Blake growled—deep and primal—and pushed off of me. His hand gripped my thigh, firm, unyielding, and flipped me onto my stomach with enough force to knock the air from my lungs.

I barely had time to gasp before I felt him again—his full weight pressing down, chest to back, skin to skin. The pressure was overwhelming but grounding. A perfect contradiction. Fear and comfort colliding, sparking through every nerve in my body.

“Such a filthy slut.” His voice dropped into a growl, low and thunderous, right at my ear.

My hips jerked at the sound, instinctively, like the words had flipped a hidden switch inside me.

His cock slid between my ass cheeks—hot, slick, pulsing. Each shift of his hips dragged that thick length over sensitive skin, grazing the place we both knew he was about to claim.

“You want me to ruin you?” Still low. Still steady. But dangerous now.

A shiver climbed my spine. I nodded, breath catching, a soft whine slipping from my lips before I could stop it.

He pressed harder against me, grinding slow and deliberate. I felt all of him—his heat, his weight, the raw intent in every inch of contact. Then the sheets pulled tight beneath me as he dragged me forward across the bed, positioning me exactly where he wanted me.

“Beg for it,” he growled, his mouth at my ear. “Let me hear how much of a whore you really are.”

I couldn’t even think. Perfect.

The drawer slid open beside my face with a soft scrape of wood.

“I’m your little whore—do whatever you want to me.” I rocked my hips back into him, slow, needy.

His groan rumbled through his chest like thunder.

He pressed off of me.

I heard the click of a cap—sharp and final.

Through the curtain of my messy hair, I saw him drizzle lube over his cock, then down the curve of my ass. The slickness hit my skin like ice against fire. I gasped.

He tossed the bottle aside.

His hand found his shaft, rubbing it against my hole. He smeared the lube with long, deliberate strokes—each pass dragging heat through my core. Teasing. Testing. Claiming.

“I’m going to stretch your tight little ass until you can’t take anymore,” he growled.

The words hit low. Hit deep. Terrifying. Addictive.

“Oh god…” The only breath I had left.

The tip pressed against my ass—slow, firm. Breaching. Stretching. Filling.

I gasped, hips trembling as I pushed back into him, welcoming the intrusion. My fingers clawed at the sheets, desperate for something to hold. My lungs seized. My mouth opened in a silent cry.

He paused.

I was about to beg, plead, but with a low grunt, he pushed deeper.

Slow. Unforgiving. My body tensed around him, bracing, stretching, until he bottomed out—buried to the hilt. Still.

Heat bloomed outward in every direction. It was everything I’d asked for: the sting, the fullness, the weight of him. A blend of pain and pleasure that burned every coherent thought from my mind.

He stayed deep inside me.

But his weight vanished.

Before I could breathe, his hand fisted in my hair. He yanked—firm, commanding—pulling me onto my elbows, spine arched, mouth open in a moan I couldn’t contain.

“You’re such a whore.” His voice cracked against my ear like a whip.

And right then, I knew— He was giving me everything I asked for.

Blake began to move. Hips rocking. Grip unrelenting. Each thrust deeper than the last, dragging raw sounds from my throat. Grunting. Pulling.

Me—moaning, presenting, offering everything.

The room filled with the sound of us—wet, heavy, relentless. The air was thick with sweat and sex and something that felt like surrender.

SLAP!

I cried out, my spine bowing as his palm struck my ass. My body clenched around him, gripping tight. Pain and pleasure lit me up in tandem. A surprise—but a welcome one.

I looked back, eyes lidded. Met his gaze. Dark. Ravenous. Glowing.

I smiled.

His hand tightened in my hair. He fucked me harder. Spanked me again. And again. Each strike of his hips or his palm sent sparks skittering through my nerves, cascading toward a second orgasm.

I felt it in him—he was close. The rhythm faltered, grew ragged.

I pushed up, grinding my hips into his, matching his pace with wanton need. One hand reached back, threading into the back of his hair. His hands were everywhere—gripping my tits, sliding along my waist, then slipping between my thighs.

His fingers found my clit. Tight circles. Dirty pressure.

“Oh fuck—” I gasped, shattering at the edges as he fucked into me, every thrust hitting that perfect spot while his fingers dragged me higher.

My legs shook. My moan broke.

I came undone.

He followed, crashing over the edge with me.

His body slammed into mine, deeper, rougher, chasing his own release. My second orgasm hit like a tidal wave—my body locking down, clenching around him, dragging him into my chaos. His groan turned feral as he came, buried deep, held tight by my grip and need.

His grunts softened into moans, his face buried in the crook of my neck. I felt the heat of him spill inside me, warm and grounding. His fingers clamped around my waist, holding me like I might run.

But I wasn’t going anywhere.

We collapsed, tangled together, breathless. Our bodies hot and slick, sticky with sweat and sex and everything we hadn’t said.

We lay there, tangled together—heavy, breathless, spent. His heartbeat thudded slow and steady against my back, a rhythm I could almost fall asleep to. His leg stayed draped over mine like he wasn’t ready to let me go.

Our breaths slowed, syncing without thought. My body felt boneless, melted into his sheets, his warmth bleeding into me, holding me to the moment.

His fingertips traced lazy, weightless lines down my arm. Not urgent. Not teasing. Just being there.

For the first time in what felt like forever, I wasn’t thinking about bills or failures or what came next.

For a few precious seconds, there was only this.

Only him.

And that’s when it cracked open.

Tears welled up, hot and blinding, before I even realized they were coming. A soft, broken whimper escaped my lips.

“Shit, shit. Are you okay?” Blake’s arms pulled me tighter, his voice low, brimming with concern.

“Thank you,” I whispered it into his chest, and I meant every syllable.

He kissed the top of my head. The same hands that had just taken me so completely now moved with aching tenderness. He held me like I might break.

I told him everything.

The car.

The bills.

The job I was probably going to lose.

He didn’t interrupt. Didn’t try to fix it. He just held me. Let me cry.

The pain didn’t disappear. It still sat heavy in my chest.

But in his arms, for the first time in what felt like forever, I felt something else.

Hope.

He brushed the damp hair from my face and kissed my cheek. The dark, lust-blown stare was gone.

And Blake—the man who had always been there—was back.

“Move in,” he said.

So simple.

So stupidly, beautifully simple.

It felt like love.

We had crossed a line that night—one neither of us had dared to step over until now.