The club pulsed with the kind of energy only freshers’ week could bring, sticky floors underfoot, bass thumping through the walls, and the sharp tang of cheap vodka and sweat hanging in the air. Rachel clung to her plastic cup, her fingers damp from condensation and nerves, her wide eyes darting between the writhing bodies on the dance floor and the clusters of laughter-shouting strangers near the bar. She had dressed carefully, too carefully perhaps, a fitted black dress that hugged her curves just a little too tightly, the hem riding up her thick thighs whenever she shifted. The lace of her bra itched against her skin, a secret she’d bought on a whim, something pretty instead of practical. She wasn’t used to this. Not the noise, not the press of bodies, not the way men’s gazes lingered a second too long as they passed.

Matt had been watching her for twenty minutes.

He leaned against the bar, one elbow propped on the sticky counter, a pint glass loose in his fingers. The sleeve of his white shirt was rolled to the elbow, the fabric straining slightly over the swell of his biceps. His skin was a deep, rich brown, a stark contrast to the pale, freckled girls giggling nearby, their eyes flicking to his lips each time he spoke. He wasn’t smiling, not properly, but there was a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, like he knew something they didn’t. His gaze had locked onto Rachel the moment she’d walked in, all wide-eyed and clutching that drink like it was a lifeline. Fresh meat.

He pushed off the bar and cut through the crowd with the easy confidence of a man who knew he’d be let through. The music swallowed his footsteps as he stopped just shy of her personal space, close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. Up close she was even more striking, cheeks flushed, lips slightly parted, the scent of something sweet and floral clinging to her skin.

“You look lost,” he said, his voice low, smooth, the sort of tone that made girls lean in without realising they were doing it.

Rachel blinked, her grip tightening on her cup. “I… I’m fine, thanks.”

Matt’s lips twitched. “Liar.” He reached out, his fingers brushing the back of her hand, just a graze, but her breath hitched anyway. “First time in the city?”

She nodded before she could stop herself.

“Thought so.” His thumb traced a slow circle over her knuckles, his touch warm, possessive. “You shouldn’t be wandering about on your own. Let me show you around.”

Rachel’s pulse jumped. She should have said no. She knew she should have said no. But the way he was looking at her, like she was the only girl in the room, like he’d already decided she was his, made her stomach flip. And the vodka lemonade in her hand was stronger than she’d expected, the ice long melted, the liquid warm and bitter now. “Okay,” she heard herself say, voice too soft to carry over the music.

Matt’s smirk deepened. Too easy.

The walk to his flat was a blur of neon signs and laughter spilling from pub doorways, Rachel’s arm tucked into the crook of his elbow like she belonged there. She stumbled once on the kerb, her ankle twisting in her stupidly high heels, and Matt’s hand shot out to steady her, his fingers digging into the dip of her waist. She giggled, actually giggled, and the sound made something dark and hungry coil in his gut.

His flat was on the third floor of a crumbling Victorian conversion, the stairs narrow and dimly lit. Rachel’s heels clicked against the wood, the sound too loud in the silence of the hallway. She hesitated at the door, her fingers twisting together. “I… I should probably—”

Matt didn’t let her finish. He crowded her against the doorframe, one hand braced above her head, the other sliding down to grip her hip. His thumb hooked under the hem of her dress, brushing the lace top of her stockings. “You should probably shut up,” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear.

Rachel’s breath came in short, sharp gasps. She should have pushed him away. She should have run. But the way his fingers traced the edge of her lingerie, the way his body caged hers in, made her thighs clench. The vodka had warmed her blood, melted the edges of her caution. “Matt, I ...”

“You what?” His free hand cupped her jaw, tilting her face up to his. His thumb dragged over her bottom lip, pulling it down just enough to expose her teeth. “You wanna tell me to stop?”

She didn’t. God help her, she didn’t.

Matt’s chuckle was dark, knowing. He turned the key in the lock and shoved the door open, guiding her inside with a hand on the small of her back. The flat was sparse, a sofa, a coffee table littered with empty beer bottles, a kitchenette separated from the living space by a counter. Rachel barely had time to take it in before Matt was on her again, spinning her round and pressing her back against the cold edge of the counter. His mouth crashed onto hers, his tongue forcing its way past her lips, tasting of mint and something darker, something that made her head spin.

Rachel moaned into the kiss, her hands flying to his chest, not to push him away but to clutch at his shirt. Matt groaned, low and rough, his hands sliding up her thighs, bunching the fabric of her dress around her hips. His fingers found the waistband of her lace knickers, tugging them down just enough to expose the damp heat between her legs.

“Fuck,” he hissed, breaking the kiss to look down at her. “You’re already wet for me, aren’t you? Little slut.”

Rachel’s face burned. She should have been offended. She was offended. But the way he said it, like it was the hottest thing he’d ever heard, made her hips jerk forward, seeking friction. “I… I don’t—”

“Shh.” His fingers slid through her folds, two of them pressing inside her with no warning. Rachel gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders. He curled his fingers, hitting a spot that made her vision white out for a second. “You don’t what? You don’t want this?” His thumb circled her clit, slow and deliberate. “Your cunt says otherwise.”

Rachel whimpered, her body betraying her. She was soaking, her thighs slick with it, her lace knickers ruined. Matt’s fingers pumped in and out of her, his palm grinding against her clit with every thrust. She could feel her orgasm building, coiling tight in her belly, and the shame of it, how easy this was, how desperate she was, only made it worse.

“That’s it,” Matt growled, his lips against her ear. “Come for me, whore. Show me how much you love this.”

The word sent her over the edge. Rachel cried out, her back arching off the counter as her cunt clenched around his fingers, her release dripping down his hand. Matt didn’t stop, didn’t let her catch her breath. He withdrew his fingers and spun her round, bending her over the counter. The cold surface bit into her hips as he yanked her dress up, exposing her arse, the lace of her knickers still clinging to one hip.

“Fuck, look at you,” he groaned, his hands running over the curve of her arse, his thumbs pulling her cheeks apart. “So pretty. So tight.”

Rachel heard the sound of his belt unbuckling, the zip of his fly. She turned her head just enough to see him stroking himself, his cock thick and dark, veined, the head already glistening. She’d never seen one like it, never, and the sight of it made her throat go dry.

Matt didn’t ask. He didn’t wait. He gripped her hips and lined himself up, the head of his cock pressing against her entrance. Rachel bit her lip, her fingers scrambling for purchase on the counter. She was still sensitive from her orgasm, her cunt swollen and aching, and he was huge.

“Relax,” Matt commanded, his voice a dark rumble. “Breathe, whore. You can take it.”

She couldn’t. She couldn’t.

Then he pushed inside, and Rachel screamed.

It burned. It stretched. Her body resisted, her muscles clenching around the intrusion, but Matt didn’t stop. He gripped her hips hard enough to bruise, his cock sinking into her inch by inch until his pelvis pressed against her arse. Rachel sobbed, her forehead pressed to the counter, her knuckles white.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” Matt groaned, his voice strained. He pulled back slightly, then thrust forward again, deeper this time. Rachel cried out, the sound raw and needy. It hurt. It hurt. But beneath the pain there was something else, something dark and twisted and good. She could feel him everywhere, filling her, owning her. She’d never been so full in her life.

Matt set a brutal pace, his hips snapping against her arse, his cock pistoning in and out of her with wet, slapping sounds. Rachel’s tits bounced with every thrust, her nipples rubbing against the cold counter, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure straight to her clit. She was dripping, her arousal coating his cock, easing the way as he fucked her harder, deeper. The dampness dripping and falling down her thighs

“You like that, don’t you?” Matt snarled, his hands sliding up to tangle in her hair, yanking her head back. “You like being my little whore. Taking my cock like a good slut.”

Rachel whimpered, her body trembling. She shouldn’t like it. She shouldn’t.

“Say it,” he demanded, his voice a growl. “Say you’re my whore.”

The words stuck in her throat. She couldn’t. She couldn’t.

Matt’s hand cracked across her arse, the sound sharp in the small kitchen. Rachel yelped, the sting radiating through her, but it only made her cunt clench tighter around him.

“Say. It.” Another smack, harder this time.

“Y-yes,” Rachel sobbed, her voice breaking. “Yes, I… I’m your whore.”

Matt groaned, his grip on her hair tightening. “Again.”

“I’m your whore!” she cried, the words tearing out of her. “I’m your whore, please—”

“Please what?” He thrust into her so hard the counter skidded forward. “Use your words, slut.”

Rachel’s mind was a haze of pleasure and shame and need. “Please fuck me. Please, please—”

Matt didn’t need to be told twice.

He let go of her hair and gripped her hips again, his fingers digging into her flesh as he pounded into her, his balls slapping against her clit with every thrust. Rachel’s moans turned to screams, her body trembling, her cunt fluttering around his cock. She was close. So close.

“Come for me,” Matt ordered, his voice rough. “Come on my cock like the good little whore you are.”

That was all it took.

Rachel’s orgasm hit her like a freight train, her body locking up as her cunt clenched around him, her release gushing out around his cock. Matt groaned, his thrusts turning erratic, his breath coming in sharp gasps. Then, with a final, brutal snap of his hips, he buried himself to the hilt and came, his cum flooding her in thick, hot pulses.

Rachel collapsed against the counter, her body spent, her mind blank and spaced. Matt stayed inside her for a long moment, his cock twitching as the last of his release dripped out of her. Then, with a slow, deliberate pull, he withdrew, his cum spilling out after him, dripping down her thighs tot he kitchen floor.

Rachel whimpered, her legs trembling, her body aching in the best way. She could feel him on her skin, inside her, marking her. She should have been horrified. She should have been disgusted.

But all she could think was: Again, god please, again.

Matt zipped himself up, his smirk back in full force as he looked down at her, messy, used, his. He reached out, his thumb brushing over her swollen lips. “Welcome to the big city, whore.”