I stopped for a drink after work, just me and a tall Long Island Iced Tea. I sipped the icy cool drink, letting the week fall away, but I didn’t want to go home. Thoughts still plagued me, at work, too many people… too many demands… and my house is too empty… too quiet.

I closed my eyes to the big-screen televisions, the football games, the waitresses and bartenders, the boisterous customers placing bets, letting the liquid settle into my bones, and retreated within, seeking the quickest path to numbness.

I didn’t see him enter the bar, didn’t notice him until he took a seat next to me. 

He was massive, muscular, with jet-black hair and dark, dark brown eyes, almost black. I watched him order a drink and drag his hand through his hair. I was mesmerized but, more than that, I knew he was kindred… wild.

“Long day?” I asked with a sideways glance.

“Yeah, you know it.” He turned to face me and then got up from his seat, staring straight at me. “Where did you come from?”

I pointed to the door and quipped, “Somewhere out there.”

“You’re coming with me,” he growled, and scooped me off the barstool.

I wasn’t afraid. I wanted to dive into him, to swim naked in those smoldering eyes, and he walked me into a back room, closed to the public, and set me on my feet. With one hand on my throat, he pinned me to the wall and leaned in for a deep kiss.

My thighs went up in flames and I wrestled with emotions. Dear God, I want - need him, here and now!

“What is your name?” he demanded, cupping my cheek.

“Bridget. What’s yours?”

“Master.”

My breath caught, and I opened my mouth to challenge him, but I couldn’t form words. I was captive to his stare, and he kissed me deeply, stealing my breath and rationality. 

“I’ve been looking for you forever. You’re coming home with me. Wait in the foyer. I’ll pay for our drinks.”

I stood stock still, thinking, this is insane. He’s not real. I drank too much and I dreamed him. 

He tugged me into motion. “Do what I’ve asked, Bridget.” 

I did, with thoughts rankling in my mind. This is how murder movies begin, but Jesus Christ makes my eyeballs sweat.

He rejoined me, took my hand, and led me out the door. 

An hour later, we entered a block house. It was comfortable, spacious but not enormous, and I took in my surroundings. Bookcases lined several walls with all manner of journals, novels, genres and classics too. 

He led me to a room down the hall and instructed, “Take a seat and get comfortable, Bridget.”

He’d afforded me no light, so I pulled my heels off and found the edge of a bed, and then crawled onto the downy mattress. 

He stood by the bed, lifted me against his frame, and kissed me slowly, sucking in my bottom lip, and entwined his tongue with mine. I melted, clinging to him, inhaling his scent, and letting him intoxicate me. And he held my buttocks to him, ensuring that I would feel every inch of his iron need.

Gently, he laid me down, and then lay by my side, kissing my neck and exploring my body, not allowing me a second to think. I craved his touch—wantonly, intentionally, desperately—and wondered how far I would go to have it.

He removed my dress and I stripped him bare, drinking in his sinews. I etched him into my mind, thinking a memory to sustain me on cold nights alone, and then the room exploded.

We were kissing fiercely, ferociously, and I was breathless, with our hands feeling, squeezing, kneading, and we knocked over furniture, fighting to get closer, to inflame the passion which had brought two animals in heat together.  

He knocked me to my knees, demanding, “I’m going to wreck you.” 

He fisted my hair and pulled to part my lips, and sucked my tongue into his mouth, forcing me to withdraw from tight, sucking lips, and I reached to explore his broad chest, rising and falling heavily, and slid my hands down his belly, challenging, “Bring it. Destroy me.”

His breath caught, and I fingered his balls, exploring him gently and insistently, and then circled his hardness with both hands and tortured him, in slow, soft movements, until his desperation matched my own.

I stared at him lustfully, watching him, while I dragged my fingers up and down his solid length, with his face contorted, and he let out a low, animalistic groan, and pushed my back to the floor.

Again, he clasped his hand around my throat, spread my legs with his knee, and looked into my eyes, as though meaning to extract something from me, physically, and I needed him at that moment, like I'd never needed anything in my life. 

I arched my spine, burning to feel him, his skin to mine, and he gripped my waist. I squirmed, whimpering, wanting to drive my fingers into his hair, and he crawled over me on all fours. He drove his manhood into me full length, fast and hard. I screamed my fulfillment, and he pummeled me, with his hand around my throat, and staring straight into my soul.

“You’re mine, Bridgette, for now, for always, forever.”

“Forever. Shut up and fuck me.”

He pulled me up, with both of us on our knees, and crushed me to him as he drove his fiery cock into my molten depths, and began slow, deliberate strokes, while I craved more. 

“Fuck me harder, please.”

He let out an evil laugh and squeezed my buttocks, pushing deeper, and slowed more, saying, “I love how you crave this. I’ve been searching for you everywhere.”

His words enveloped me, and I was on fire, shaking, and needed to climax so badly I couldn’t stand it, but he tormented me. “I’m going to make sure you can’t look at another man. Ride me, Bridgette. I’ll take you places you’ve never been.”

I couldn’t take it anymore and I drove my hands into his hair, fisting him to pull him in for an animalistic kiss, and I devoured his lips. 

“Look at how hungry you are. You’ve never been properly fucked. Have you?”

“No, I was waiting for you.”

“Come here, baby girl.”

He held me against him, locked me into his embrace, and kissed me senseless.

My breathing was shallow, ragged, and I thought I might faint. “Please, Master.”

He slid the flat of his hand down my belly, between my thighs, and drew circles around my clitoris, watching me squirm and vibrate in his hands, and then lifted me up and forced me down on his cock harder and harder. 

I was lost in delirium, and he forced my eyes to his. “I told you I’ll fucking wreck you, and I meant it.”

“Do it. Destroy me. Claim my soul and make it yours.”

And I exploded on his throbbing manhood, our bodies slick with sweat. We finally lay sprawled on the carpet, panting, and coming down from an all-consuming climax, and he didn’t let go. In the carnage of our lovemaking, the destroyed room, the reckless passion, he still held me close, asking, “Are you okay, Bridgette?”

I laughed softly into his shoulder, completely sated, and whispered, “Destroyed.”