It was supposed to be just another night.
Just me in my apartment, fresh out of the shower, hair damp, a glass of something strong in hand. I was in nothing but a robe, loosely tied, bare underneath… because why not? No one was coming over. Not anymore.
I’d deleted his number.
I swore it off. Swore him off.
But then the knock came. Not hesitant. Not soft. Three heavy raps. The kind that said he already knew I’d open.
I stood there in the hallway, heart in my throat, robe slightly gaping at the chest, the air still warm from my bath. When I opened the door and saw him standing there with his hood up, eyes low, jaw clenched and I knew exactly what this was.
Not an apology.
Not even regret.
Just need. Just hunger wrapped in the body of a man who couldn’t stop chasing ghosts and kept crashing into me instead.
He stepped inside without a word. And I let him, even though everything in me screamed not to.
Because he always came back when he missed the way it felt to be inside something that wouldn’t break. The way I arched into him instead of away. The way I took it.
I shut the door behind him.
He turned to me slowly, eyes dragging down my body like it hurt to look.
“I miss the way you let me fuck you.”
My stomach tightened.
“You mean the way I let you use me,” I said coolly.
His eyes flicked up. “No. The way you take it better than she ever could.”
The robe slipped from my shoulder as I exhaled sharply. My skin prickled with heat. I hated how much that line made my thighs clench.
He stepped closer. Close enough to feel the charge between us. His fingers brushed my waist, then gripped tighter. “You don’t whimper. You don’t cry. You take it.”
“And you love that,” I whispered.
He nodded.
Then: “Turn around.”
I didn’t ask why. Just turned my back to him, heart pounding. He moved behind me, the sound of his zipper lowering loud in the silence.
I felt the tip of his cock nudge between my thighs, sliding along my folds… already so wet he could hear it.
He groaned. “Fuck, I forgot how wet you always are for me.”
I braced a hand on the wall.
But he didn’t fuck me yet. No. He teased. Rubbed himself along my pussy, slowly. Let it catch on my clit and slide back down. Over and over.
My hips bucked against him.
“Say it,” he growled behind me.
I swallowed. “I want it.”
“Louder.”
“I want your cock.”
A sharp smack landed on my ass. I gasped.
He hissed, “That’s more like it.”
He grabbed my hip, dragged me closer, and without warning and slammed into me.
I choked on my own moan, forehead hitting the wall. He was so thick, so deep with my pussy clenching around him immediately.
And he didn’t pause. Didn’t let me adjust.
Just pulled back and fucked into me again. And again.
Hard.
Relentless.
One hand splayed on my lower back, the other gripping my hip tight enough to bruise. The sound of skin slapping skin echoed down the hallway.
“Still take it better than she ever could,” he groaned, pounding into me like he had something to prove. “She whines when I go this hard.”
I arched back into him.
“Then why are you still with her?” I shot back through gritted teeth.
He slammed into me harder, forcing a cry from my lips. “Because she doesn’t make me hate myself in the morning.”
“Liar,” I hissed, pushing back against him so deep his breath hitched.
His hand snaked around my body and found my clit. Rubbed it rough, fast, like he knew exactly how to make me come apart in seconds.
“You know what I miss most?” he rasped.
“What?”
“The way you cum for me. Loud. Shameless. Like you don’t care who hears.”
My breath was ragged. I was so close already… his cock dragging over that spot inside me just right, his fingers relentless against my clit.
My nails scraped the wall.
I could feel it coming, that heat building low and fast, coiling in my belly, my thighs shaking.
“I’m gonna — fuck — ”
“Yeah,” he groaned. “Come on. Cum for me. Let her ghost hear it.”
And that did it.
I came hard, screaming his name, cunt clenching tight around his cock, hips jerking. I didn’t care how loud I was. Didn’t care that the neighbors could probably hear everything.
Because this… this was the fuck that would haunt her, not me.
He didn’t stop thrusting. Just slowed, dragged it out, let me feel every inch of him inside me.
I was still shaking when I looked back at him over my shoulder.
His eyes were locked on where I was joined.
His cock still deep inside me.
And his control?
Long gone.
His cock was still buried inside me when I looked back over my shoulder… hair stuck to my face, breath coming in gasps, thighs shaking from the orgasm that had just wrecked me.
And he was watching.
Not me, not my face. But us… where we were joined. Where I was stretched wide around him, dripping, twitching, still fluttering from the aftershocks.
His control was gone. I could see it in the slack of his jaw, the twitch of his fingers against my hips, the way his abs clenched as he tried to hold himself still inside my still-quivering pussy.
But he didn’t pull out.
Instead, he slid his hand up my back, slow and warm, until it was wrapped around the back of my neck. Not choking. Not rough. Just there. Holding me. Claiming me.
“I missed this pussy,” he said, voice low, wrecked. “Missed how tight you get when you cum.”
I swallowed hard, still catching my breath, forehead pressed to the wall. “You gonna fuck me again, or just stand there talking about it?”
That did something to him. I felt his cock twitch inside me.
His grip tightened on my neck. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to make me feel it.
“You don’t get to challenge me, sweetheart,” he growled.
Then he pulled out… just halfway and slammed back in.
I gasped, body jerking, already overstimulated.
But he didn’t care.
He fucked into me slow at first, dragging every inch out, making me feel it. Letting the stretch tease my already aching core, letting my walls suck him back in like I couldn’t help it.
And I couldn’t.
I didn’t want to.
Every thrust was deliberate. Deeper than before. More controlled. Like he was trying to memorize the way I felt from the inside out.
He leaned forward, his chest pressing to my back, mouth brushing the shell of my ear.
“I hate how good you feel.”
I smirked. “No, you don’t.”
His teeth sank into my shoulder… hard and I gasped again.
“I dream about this,” he muttered against my skin. “When I fuck her, I see you bent over. When she comes, I imagine your voice. You ruin everything.”
I moaned, pressing back against him. “Then ruin me.”
That broke something.
He grabbed my hair, wrapped it tight around his fist, and yanked my head back just enough to bare my throat. Then he started pounding into me. Hard. Faster than before. Deep, punishing thrusts that shoved my body against the wall with every stroke.
I could barely breathe.
And I didn’t want to.
The sound of skin slapping skin was obscene. Wet. Loud. My pussy was soaked… his cock dragging slick with every motion, hitting that spot again and again, pushing me toward a second orgasm before the first had even fully faded.
His hand slid between my thighs again, fingers rubbing fast, merciless circles over my clit.
“Cum again,” he gritted. “Want to feel you break on me.”
I shook my head, eyes watering. “Too soon — fuck — it’s too much — ”
“Then cry.”
I whimpered. Loud. Guttural.
Because I did break.
My body clenched around him like a vice, coming again so hard my knees buckled. I would’ve collapsed if he hadn’t pinned me there… hand around my neck, hips holding me up as I fell apart for him all over again.
And still… he didn’t stop.
He fucked me through it. Through the shaking, the gasping, the breathless sobs of overstimulation and bliss and need.
“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, voice cracked and desperate. “You take it so good. Still so tight. So fucking wet.”
He grabbed both of my wrists and yanked them behind me, holding them together at the small of my back with one hand. I was fully restrained… nothing but a gasping mess against the wall, hips bruised, back arched, tits heaving.
“God, look at you,” he breathed. “Fucking made for me.”
He slammed in harder. Rougher. I could feel how close he was… how each thrust was getting sloppier, more erratic, his breath ragged, his rhythm wild.
He buried himself deep with a growl. Held it. His cock throbbing inside me.
But he didn’t cum.
He pulled out suddenly… leaving me empty and gasping and flipped me around to face him.
I barely had time to balance before he was lifting me. My legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, and he carried me to the couch like I weighed nothing.
We fell into it together, him on top, cock notching back at my entrance.
“You want more?” he asked, voice sharp, hand fisting in my hair again. “You want to keep being my dirty little secret?”
I stared up at him, flushed and panting, lips swollen. “Yes.”
He slammed back into me so hard the couch creaked under us.
This time was even filthier.
He fucked me like he wanted to imprint me into the cushions. My legs fell open wider, his hands pinning them down by the thighs as he drove into me again and again. The wet sounds were obscene. His cock so deep it felt like he was in my throat.
“Touch yourself,” he growled.
I reached down, fingers finding my clit, rubbing fast.
He watched. Eyes locked on the way my pussy squeezed around him.
“Good girl,” he hissed. “You gonna cum again for me?”
I nodded frantically. “Close. So close.”
He grabbed my face, forced me to look at him. “You cum when I say. Not before.”
“Please,” I gasped.
“Not yet.”
He slowed his thrusts. Deepened them. Forced me to the edge and held me there.
I whined, body trembling.
“Now.”
That was all it took.
I came again, screaming his name, legs kicking, pussy spasming around his cock. My whole body arched off the couch, eyes rolled back.
He thrust twice more… and then finally… finally let go.
With a broken groan, he slammed deep and came hard. Cock twitching. Filling me again with thick, hot cum. So much of it I could feel it spill out around his length as he stayed buried to the hilt.
Neither of us moved.
He collapsed on top of me, still pulsing inside, our bodies slick with sweat and sex and everything we tried to forget.
Minutes passed.
He pulled back slowly, watching as his cum leaked out of me, dripping down onto the couch.
I didn’t speak.
Neither did he.
He grabbed a towel from the table, wiped me clean with more care than I expected. Then leaned down, pressed his forehead to mine.
“I told myself this wouldn’t happen again.”
I blinked up at him. “You always say that.”
He sighed.
“I mean it this time.”
I didn’t answer.
Because we both knew the truth.
I’d take it again.
And he’d come back.
Because I was the only thing in his life that didn’t break when he fucked it.