She'd asked for this—begged for it, really, over weeks of whispered confessions in the dark. "Make it feel real," Maria had said, her voice catching on the words. "I want to be terrified. I want to fight you and lose. I want to scream and know you won't stop unless I say the word." He'd listened without judgment, only repeating the rules back to her until her breath came fast and shallow.

The safeword was red. One use and everything would stop, no questions, no guilt. She would leave the bedroom window unlatched and the apartment key under the mat. She would be naked under a single cotton sheet when he arrived. He would come after midnight wearing black, face hidden, and he would not speak as himself. He would take what she'd offered him to take.

Tonight was the night. Maria lay in the centre of the bed, her pulse already hammering in her ears. The clock on the nightstand glowed 00:47. She'd turned off every light in the apartment hours ago, and now the darkness felt thick enough to drink. Her skin prickled under the thin blanket, every nerve ending alive and waiting.

She was alone. Her husband was away on business, and no neighbours were close enough to hear anything through these old walls. She closed her eyes and breathed slowly, deliberately letting the fear start its slow climb up her spine. She had chosen this. She trusted him with the darkest corner of her desire, and the thought of what was coming made her thighs press together involuntarily.

Somewhere in the apartment, a floorboard creaked. Her heart slammed against her ribs hard enough to hurt, and her eyes snapped open to stare at the bedroom doorway. The darkness there was absolute, impenetrable. It was beginning.

A second creak came, closer now, just outside the bedroom door. Maria's breath caught in her throat as she sat up slowly, clutching the sheet to her chest like armour that would never hold. The room was pitch black, so dark she couldn't see her own hand in front of her face. She could only feel the cool air shift as the door eased open with deliberate slowness.

Then the voice came, low and unfamiliar, deliberately roughened. "I've been waiting for you, Maria." It rolled through the darkness and sank straight into her stomach. She knew that timbre, knew the man behind it, but the mask and the night had stripped every trace of gentleness away. What remained was pure predator, and her body recognised it before her mind could catch up.

Her mouth went dry. Goosebumps raced over her bare shoulders and cascaded down her spine in waves. "Who's there?" she whispered, and the words came out small and shaking, exactly the way she'd fantasised they would. She almost didn't recognise her own voice.

Heavy footsteps crossed the threshold, slow and certain, each one deliberate. She scrambled backward on the mattress until her spine hit the headboard with a soft thud. The sheet slipped as she moved, and cool air kissed her breasts and thighs before she yanked the fabric higher. Her heart battered so hard against her ribs she felt the pulse in her throat, in her wrists, behind her eyes.

A shape filled the doorway—tall, broad, clothed in black from hood to boots. The faint streetlight bleeding through the blinds caught the edge of a balaclava and the glint of eyes that never left her. He didn't answer her question. He didn't need to.

Maria's next breath came shallow and fast, her chest rising and falling visibly even in the darkness. Terror flared in her chest, real and bright, exactly the way she'd begged him for. Beneath it, hotter and wetter, throbbed the first helpless pulse of want that made her press her thighs together under the sheet. She waited, trembling, for him to move.

The latch clicked shut with a soft, almost polite finality, and then the room swallowed every last scrap of light. Complete darkness pressed against her eyes, her skin, her lungs, thick and disorienting. Maria could no longer see him at all, could only feel the shift in the air as he moved closer. He walked slowly, deliberately, the way someone walks when they already own the space and everyone in it.

Her pulse thundered in her ears as she dragged the sheet higher and clutched it with knuckles gone white. "Whoever you are, get out," she said, forcing strength into her voice that she didn't feel. "I'll scream." The answer came from less than three feet away, gravel-rough and laced with amusement that made her stomach drop. "Go ahead. Scream."

A gloved hand brushed the edge of the mattress, and the bed dipped under new weight. Maria jerked sideways and scrambled for the far edge, but the sheet tangled around her hips and slowed her down. Before her feet could touch the floor, an arm like iron hooked around her waist and dragged her back to the centre with effortless strength. She kicked and twisted, but it made no difference.

The sheet ripped away in one sharp tug, and cool air hit every naked inch of her skin. She gasped and twisted harder, trying to curl into herself for protection, but his body was already over hers — heavy, immovable, radiating heat through his clothes. He pinned her wrists above her head with one hand while the other splayed across her throat, not squeezing, just resting there as a silent reminder of who held control. His weight pressed her into the mattress, and she couldn't move, couldn't escape.

His mouth found her ear through the fabric of the mask, his breath hot against her skin. "Fight me, Maria," he growled, and she felt the words vibrate through her chest. "It only makes me harder." Her sob broke free, raw and real, torn from somewhere deep inside. The slick heat flooding between her thighs was even more real, impossible to hide when he shifted his knee between her legs. She hated how her body betrayed her, how the fear and arousal tangled together until she couldn't tell them apart.

He did not move right away, simply holding her there naked with her wrists locked in one gloved hand while the weight of his body felt like a promise rather than a prison. Seconds stretched out like toffee in the oppressive silence, each one pulling her nerves tighter with unbearable anticipation. Maria's chest rose and fell too fast, her breaths coming in short, ragged bursts that betrayed her rising panic.

Every inhale dragged the scent of leather and warm cotton from his mask across her tongue, sharp and intimate in the blackness. She could feel the hard line of his erection pressing against her hip through his trousers, but he did not grind or thrust or give her the friction her body was already begging for in humiliating ways. He just waited, letting the quiet build between them like a storm about to break. The silence was worse than any threat, thick with unspoken possibilities that made her skin crawl and her pulse race.

Her legs shifted restlessly, thighs brushing together as slickness smeared cool against hot skin in a way that made her flush with shame. She hated that he could feel her tremble under him, the fine vibrations running through her limbs. She hated even more that he knew exactly why, that her body's betrayal was laid bare in the dark where she could not hide it. A single gloved fingertip started at her collarbone and traced downward, unhurried and deliberate, moving between her breasts and over the frantic flutter of her ribcage.

It circled her navel once and then twice, but never lower, teasing without mercy. Each inch it traveled dragged a tiny, helpless sound from her throat, soft whimpers she could not swallow back no matter how hard she tried.

"Please," she whispered, and the word slipped out before she could stop it, thin and cracked, nothing like the defiant scream she had meant to give him.

He paused then, the finger hovering just above the place that ached most, so close she could almost feel its heat radiating against her skin.

"Please what, Maria?" His voice was velvet soaked in smoke, low and teasing as it washed over her. "Tell me to stop, or beg me to keep going." The choice hung in the black air between them, sharp as a blade, forcing her to confront the line she had drawn for herself long ago.

She swallowed hard, her throat tight with conflicting need and fear. Her hips tilted upward in the smallest betrayal, seeking what he withheld without her permission. He still did not touch her where she needed it most, letting the tension coil tighter inside her like a spring about to snap. He waited, patient as a predator who knew his prey was already caught.

Another second passed, then another heartbeat that echoed in her ears. Her thighs fell open on their own, parting without her conscious command as the need overrode her resistance. Only then did the gloved hand slide lower, slow enough that she felt every millimetre of its path against her heated skin. Two fingers came to rest feather-light against her soaked folds, not parting them or stroking, just pressing there and letting her own pulse throb against the leather in desperate rhythm.

Maria whimpered, the sound long and broken in the darkness where it seemed to linger. It echoed like surrender, filling the room with her vulnerability and making her cheeks burn. She lay there exposed, caught between the fear that gripped her chest and the rising heat that refused to be ignored, her body trembling in anticipation of what came next.

He spread her with those two gloved fingers, slow and deliberate, exposing every wet inch of her to the cool air and his unseen gaze. Maria's back arched sharply before she could stop it, a mortified gasp escaping her lips.

"Listen to you," he murmured, his voice low and rough against her temple. "Already dripping for the man who broke in." He still had not moved his fingers beyond holding her open, letting the exposure do its cruel work while her clit pulsed desperately against nothing.

She tried to close her thighs in a last bid for modesty, but his knees shoved them wider and pinned her firmly to the mattress.

"Don't hide," he growled, the words vibrating through her skin. "I want to see how much you hate that you want this."

The first stroke came barely there, one slick glide from her entrance to her clit and back again, leather dragging over swollen flesh. Her hips jerked upward involuntarily, chasing more contact, and he stopped immediately.

She whimpered, hips still circling in empty air as frustration and need warred inside her. Another stroke followed, firmer this time, two fingers circling her clit once and then twice before vanishing again. He repeated the pattern, each pass a little harder and faster, but never enough to satisfy the ache building low in her belly. Maria's head thrashed on the pillow, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes into her hair as the teasing pushed her closer to the edge.

"Please… please…" she begged, the words tumbling out between broken breaths. He leaned down then, the mask brushing her cheek while his breath burned hot through the fabric.

"Say it," he commanded, voice dark with demand. She knew exactly what he wanted, and her pride shattered on a sob.

"Please touch me. Please don't stop."

The reward came instantly: two thick fingers plunged deep inside her in one slick thrust that stole her breath. Maria cried out, her back bowing off the bed as pleasure crashed through her. He curled them expertly, found that sensitive spot, and stroked once, hard, sending sparks behind her closed eyelids. He did not let her recover, fucking her with his fingers in slow, ruthless rhythm while every thrust dragged over the place that made her legs shake.

Her breath fractured into high, broken noises she barely recognised as her own. Just as the first wave threatened to crest and pull her under, he pulled out abruptly. She keened at the sudden emptiness, frantic and aching. His soaked glove clamped over her mouth, muffling the desperate sound and grounding her in the moment.

"Not yet," he whispered against her ear, the words a dark promise. "You come when I'm buried inside you. Not before."

Maria nodded against his palm, tears sliding faster down her temples while her hips rolled helplessly against air, seeking what only he could give. She was lost in the sensation, suspended between torment and surrender, waiting for him to decide her fate.

He released her mouth only to flip her onto her stomach in one swift, brutal motion that left her breathless. Maria gasped as her face pressed into the sheet, the fabric still carrying the scent of her own fear-sweat from moments before. He yanked her wrists behind her back and pinned them at the small of her spine with one implacable hand. The mattress dipped heavily as he shifted behind her, his presence overwhelming in the darkness.

She heard the metallic rasp of a zipper and the rustle of fabric being pushed aside. Then the blunt, scorching heat of his cock nudged between her thighs, sliding through her slick folds and coating himself in her wetness. He did not ask permission, and he never would. One iron arm hooked under her hips and tilted her exactly how he wanted, raising her to meet him.

The head of his cock pressed against her entrance, thick and unforgiving, stretching her even before he moved. Maria's breath stopped entirely, her body tensing in anticipation and dread. He leaned over her, the rough fabric of the mask scraping against her ear.

"Last chance to scream red, Maria," he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her back. The safeword hung in the air like a lifeline she had no intention of grasping.

She stayed silent, trembling beneath him, and pushed back the tiniest fraction in silent consent. A dark, hungry sound escaped him, raw with approval. He drove into her in one long, punishing thrust that buried him to the hilt. The stretch burned fiercely, and the sudden fullness stole every ounce of air from her lungs. She screamed into the mattress, the sound raw and helpless, exactly as she had dreamed it would be.

He did not pause to let her adjust. He pulled back and slammed home again, setting a merciless rhythm that jolted her whole body forward on the bed. Every stroke dragged over that sensitive spot inside her until pleasure and panic tangled so tightly she could no longer separate them. His free hand fisted in her hair and arched her neck back, forcing her to feel every inch of him.

"Look at you," he snarled, his voice ragged now with his own need. "Crying into the sheets, begging to be fucked harder by the stranger who broke in."

Maria sobbed out fragments of yes, the word shredded and meaningless, because her body was already answering him with every desperate roll of her hips. He released her wrists only to grip both hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, and angled her for even deeper penetration.

The pace turned savage, skin slapping against skin in the darkness. Her moans climbed higher, broken and animal, echoing off the walls. Orgasm coiled low and vicious in her belly, ready to snap at any moment. He sensed it, growled deep in his throat, and reached beneath her to find her clit with brutal precision.

"Come," he ordered, teeth scraping her shoulder through the mask. "Come while I use you."

The command shattered her completely. She came with a guttural scream, her pussy clenching hard around him as waves crashed through her so violently her vision greyed at the edges. He followed seconds later, burying himself deep and pulsing hot inside her with a low, triumphant groan.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing and the wet tremble of her thighs against the sheets. She lay spent beneath him, every muscle fluttering with aftershocks. He stayed inside her a little longer, letting her feel the weight of what they had done. Then, slowly, he withdrew and the intensity began to ebb, leaving her floating in the dark.

The weight lifted from her back as he eased away, leaving her trembling in the aftermath. Maria stayed where she was, cheek pressed to the damp sheet, limbs loose and heavy while every muscle fluttered with lingering aftershocks. She heard the soft thud of boots hitting the floor and the quiet rustle of fabric being removed. Then warm, familiar hands—gloves gone—slid gently under her and turned her over as though she weighed nothing.

The balaclava was already off. It was just him now, the man she had loved for three years, his eyes soft with concern and shining with pride. He gathered her up and cradled her against his chest, rocking her slowly in the darkness.

"Hey, love," he whispered, his voice back to its normal gentle baritone. "Come back to me. I've got you."

The tears came harder now, but they were different—relief and gratitude and overwhelming tenderness all mixed together. Maria burrowed into him, arms winding around his neck while her legs still trembled from the intensity. She felt his lips press into her hair and his hand stroke down her spine in long, grounding passes that chased away the last shadows of fear.

"You were perfect," he murmured against her temple. "So fucking brave. So beautiful when you let go." She laughed, the sound watery and shaky against his skin. "I was loud," she managed, voice hoarse from screaming. "You were everything you wanted to be," he replied, kissing her temple, her wet cheeks, the corner of her mouth. "Colour?"

"Green," she sighed, melting deeper into his embrace. "So green it hurts."

He reached blindly for the duvet at the foot of the bed and pulled it up over both of them, cocooning them in warmth and safety. Minutes passed in quiet strokes and soft kisses, the storm giving way to gentle calm.

When her breathing finally evened out, he tipped her chin up to meet his eyes. "Water and cuddles now," he said, already shifting to carry her toward the bathroom. "Then ice cream in bed while I tell you every single thing I loved about tonight." Maria smiled against his throat, boneless and adored, utterly safe in his arms.

He carried her to the bathroom and set her gently on the counter while steam began to fill the small space. Maria's gaze drifted past him to the bedroom doorway, drawn irresistibly to the discarded black balaclava lying on the floor like shed skin. She stared at it, her pulse fluttering again, softer now but far from gone, a quiet echo of what they had just shared. The sight stirred something deep inside her, a lingering hunger that refused to fade even in the warmth of afterglow.

He noticed immediately and followed her eyes, a slow, knowing smile curving his lips. "Already thinking about round two?" he teased, the man who had been her nightmare only minutes ago now gentle and familiar. Maria bit her lip, cheeks flushing from more than just the rising steam. She reached out and brushed her fingers over the empty eyeholes of the mask, the fabric still warm from his skin.

"Next time," she whispered, her voice raw and certain, thick with renewed hunger, "you don't take it off until morning."

His eyes darkened with promise as he stepped between her knees and cupped her face in both hands. His thumbs stroked gently over the tear tracks he had put there, tracing them with reverence.

"Then next time," he said, low and steady, "you won't see my face at all."

The shower hissed behind them, filling the air with heat and the scent of water on tile. Neither of them moved to get in just yet, caught in the quiet intensity of the moment. In that stillness, her heartbeat started to race again, already impatient for the dark to return and swallow them whole once more.