The locker room still smells like him. Cedar. Sweat. Heat. And something darker. Something that clings to my skin like a second layer.
I’m standing by the lockers, trying to zip up my gym tank. My hands won’t stop shaking.
He watches me. Arms crossed. Chest heaving. Jaw tight.
I keep my eyes down. Pretend I’m focused on the stubborn zipper. Pretend my heart isn’t hammering against my ribs. Pretend I don’t remember every inch of him inside me.
“Look at me,” he says.
I do.
His eyes are dark. Bottomless. Heavy with something that isn’t just hunger.
He steps forward. Close enough that I feel the heat rolling off him. Close enough that I catch the sharp line of his cologne. Close enough to remember how it felt when he pinned me against the tile.
He reaches into his duffel. Pulls out a folded slip of paper. Holds it out.
“Text me.”
His thumb brushes mine. Calloused. Deliberate. The contact sends a jolt straight to my core.
I take it. My fingers tremble.
“Don’t make me ask twice,” he murmurs. Voice like gravel rolling over glass. “You’re mine now.”
I swallow. Hard.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I lie.
He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t smile. Just steps in. One hand cups my jaw. Thumb tracing my lower lip. Possessive. Final.
“You know exactly what I mean,” he says. “You felt it. Down there. In your chest. In your bones. You’re claimed. You’re marked. You’re mine.”
I should pull away. Should walk out. Should pretend I didn’t just let a man twice my age fuck me like I was made for him.
I don’t move.
He drops his hand. Turns. Doesn’t look back. Just walks out.
The door clicks shut.
I’m alone. And I’m already aching.
*
I ditch my sweatpants the second I’m inside my apartment. Kick them into a pile. Peel off my sports bra. Leave them on the floor.
I don’t care about mess. I care about the ghost of him on my skin.
I turn the shower on. Crank it hot. Let the steam fog the mirror. Let the water beat against my shoulders. But it doesn’t wash him off. Can’t. He’s under my clothes. Inside my head. Echoing in my veins.
*You’re mine now.*
I press my forehead to the tile. Close my eyes. Imagine his hands. His weight. The way he filled me. The way he didn’t ask. Didn’t wait. Just took.
My phone sits on the counter. Face down.
I don’t look at it. I tell myself I won’t. I’m smarter than this. Stronger. I don’t chase men who play games. I don’t fall for guys who show up looking like trouble and leave me wrecked.
But my body doesn’t care about logic.
My body remembers. The stretch. The burn. The way he grunted when I clenched around him. The way he growled when I came. The way he said *mine* like it was a promise. Like it was a law.
I pace. Three steps forward. Three steps back. Hands fisting in my hair. Heart racing.
8 PM.
9 PM.
10 PM.
10:15.
I’m sitting on the edge of my couch. Legs drawn up. Staring at the door.
I tell myself he’s not coming. That I imagined it. That this is just my body reacting to adrenaline and friction and an older man who knew exactly how to touch me.
I tell myself a lot of things.
Then I hear it.
Three knocks. Sharp. Authoritative.
My breath catches.
I don’t move. Don’t speak.
The door handle turns. He didn’t lock it. Of course he didn’t. He knew I wouldn’t. Knew I was waiting.
The door swings open.
He’s there. Towering. Shoulders broad. Dressed in dark jeans and a fitted black shirt that does nothing to hide the power rolling off him. His hair is messy. Like he’s been running his hands through it. Like he’s been thinking.
About me.
His eyes lock onto mine. Dark. Heavy. Unblinking.
He steps inside. The door clicks shut behind him.
I should say something. Should pretend I’m surprised. Should try to play it cool.
I don’t.
He’s on me before I can blink.
One hand braces against the wall beside my head. The other grips my waist. Pulls me flush against him. His mouth crashes onto mine. Hard. Demanding. No gentleness. No hesitation. Just claiming.
I gasp. He swallows the sound. Tongue sweeping in. Dominant. Unyielding.
I push at his chest. Weak. Pathetic.
He catches my wrists. Pins them above my head. One hand. Easy.
“You don’t get to run,” he murmurs. Breath hot against my lips. Eyes locked on mine. “Not anymore.”
I tremble. Heart slamming. Body burning.
“I didn’t say I wanted you,” I whisper.
He smiles. Sharp. Dangerous.
“You don’t have to say anything.”
He drops me to my knees.
Not roughly. Just inevitable. Like gravity. Like fate.
He steps back. Unzips his jeans. Pulls out his cock.
I look up. And my breath stops.
Thick. Heavy. Veined. Dark at the tip. Already leaking.
He doesn’t give me time to think. To doubt. To talk my way out of it.
He grips the back of my neck. Pulls me forward.
I take him in.
No warning. No prep. Just heat. Just him. Just the stretch that makes my eyes water and my stomach flip and my hips buck instinctively.
I whimper. He doesn’t stop.
His hand slides down. Fingers hooking into my sweatpants. Yanking them down. Kicking them away.
He steps out of his jeans. Drops to his knees again. Grabs my hips. Pulls me to the edge.
I’m already wet. Dripping. Ready. My body betrays me so easily it makes me dizzy.
He looks up. Eyes black with want. With ownership.
“Look at me,” he commands.
I do.
He pushes inside.
No mercy. Just him. Filling me. Stretching me. Claiming me.
I cry out. Head falling back. Fingers gripping his shoulders. Nails digging in.
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t slow.
Drives deeper. Hips snapping. One hand sliding into my hair. The other gripping my hip hard enough to bruise.
“You’re mine,” he growls. Voice low. Rough. Final. “Every inch. Every breath. Every drop.”
I’m trembling. Already addicted. Already wrecked.
He sets a pace. Relentless. Deep. Each thrust hits that spot. The one that makes me see stars. The one that makes my toes curl. The one that makes me forget my name.
I claw at his chest. Whimper. Arch. Beg without words.
He grunts. Changes angle. Hips grinding. Thighs locking.
“That’s it,” he pants. “Take it. Take your daddy.”
The word hits me like a switch. My core clenches. My back arches. My eyes roll back.
I’m sobbing. Not from pain. From need. From the sheer, overwhelming relief of surrender.
He pulls out. Slaps my ass. Hard. The sting blooms. Hot. Sharp. Perfect.
Turns me around.
I don’t resist. I’m already on my knees. Facing the wall. Hands braced on the wood. Hips back. Waiting.
He lines up. Pushes in.
Deeper. Harder.
From behind. He owns me. Completely.
Breeding me. Claiming me. Marking me.
I feel it. The swell. The fullness. The way he’s stretching me to take every inch. The way he’s holding me there. Like he’s going to keep me. Like he’s going to plant something. Like he’s going to make me carry his.
I climax. Hard. Screaming. Body convulsing. Clenching around him.
He groans. Hips stutter. Doesn’t pull out.
Drives deeper. Again. Again. Faster. Rougher.
I’m sobbing. Hands pressing flat against the door. Legs shaking. Core burning.
He’s close. I can feel it. The tension in his thighs. The sharp intake of breath. The way his grip on my hip tightens.
He doesn’t let me rest. Doesn’t let me fall. Keeps me pinned. Keeps me open. Keeps me his.
“Mine,” he rasps. “All mine.”
Then he’s inside. Hot. Thick. Pulsing.
He holds me there. Hips pressed flush. Groaning my name like a prayer. Like a vow.
I’m trembling. Wrecked. Empty and full at the same time.
He doesn’t pull out.
Just stays buried. Breathing hard. One hand sliding down. Fingers tracing my hip. Possessive. Final.
I lean back against him. Chest heaving. Skin burning. Mind blank.
He kisses my neck. Teeth grazing. Marking.
“Listen to me,” he says. Voice low. Calm. In control. “These are the rules.”
I nod. Can’t speak. Can’t think. Just feel.
“You call me. You show up. You take what I give. You don’t run. You don’t doubt. You don’t question who you belong to.”
His hand slides up. Fingers tangling in my hair. Tilting my head back.
His mouth finds my ear. Breath hot. Voice rough.
“You’re mine. Body. Mind. Womb. Soul. You don’t get to take it back. You don’t get to pretend this was anything but exactly what it is.”
I close my eyes. Lean into his touch. Let his words sink in. Let them settle.
I should fight. Should remember my name. Should walk away before he ruins me for good.
But my body is already humming. Already planning. Already dreaming of the next time he pins me. The next time he fills me. The next time he says *mine* and means it like a law.
I’m addicted. Trapped. Willing.
“Yes,” I whisper.
He tightens his grip. Pulls me back. Turns me around. Cradles me against his chest.
I’m a mess. Shirt twisted. Hair wild. Legs shaking. Skin marked. Core still throbbing.
He doesn’t care. He’s already claiming me again. With his arms. With his breath. With his silence.
I melt. Completely. Finally.
He kisses my forehead. My temple. My lips.
“Good girl,” he murmurs. “My girl.”
I close my eyes. Breathe him in.
The door is still closed. But I’m already locked in.