It was the kind of rain that didn’t stop, steady and relentless, driving most people home. The park was nearly empty, paths slick, restless dogs tugging at their leashes. Mine bolted ahead, splashing toward a tall man beneath the oaks with a dog of his own.

That’s when I saw him. Blue eyes sharp beneath the dripping brim of his cap, shoulders squared against the drizzle as if weather didn’t touch him. My hood slid back, wet hair clinging to my cheeks, and I cursed myself for coming out—until he smiled.

We traded the usual dog-owner small talk, but his voice carried weight, a rasp that settled deep. “I’m Mitch,” he said, offering a hand even in the rain.

“Jessie,” I replied, shaking it, the word catching in my throat.

His questions were easy to answer, disarming, and before long I was laughing out loud in the rain with a stranger.

When the downpour thickened, we tugged our dogs toward the lot, exchanged polite goodbyes, the kind that shouldn’t end the moment but did. I was halfway to my car when footsteps splashed behind me.

“Wait,” Mitch called, jogging up, water dripping from his cap. He stopped close enough for me to feel his heat through the rain. “Can I get your number?” he asked, as if it were nothing—but chasing me down made it everything.

The texts came steady: jokes, questions, teases that left me wanting more. Then the voice notes—his deep rasp curling low in my stomach. I never sent one back, too self-conscious, but he carried the rhythm between us.

Our first phone call lasted six hours. He opened with a bizarre line about vacuum cleaners that disarmed me instantly. Somewhere in the flow of conversation, he said something flirty, the kind of smooth line that made me laugh.

“Is that what you say to the ladies to get them to be your friend?” I teased, keeping it light, pretending not to bite.

He didn’t miss a beat. “You’re not going to be my friend, Jessie. I have bigger plans for you.”

The words stopped me cold. My laugh caught in my throat, and for the first time that night, I didn’t know what to say back.

By the end of that week, he invited me to watch the World Juniors at his place. Every warning bell told me not to go, but the pull was too strong. I typed back “Sure” before I could second-guess it.

That Saturday, I walked toward his building with a bottle of wine, muttering, “Schlepping across town for a booty call. Let’s just hope he doesn’t have unsolved murder clippings on the wall.”

The door swung open. Jeans low, t-shirt stretched across his arms, and the sight nearly made me drop the bottle. Heat coiled low, the kind that made me imagine him pinning me to the wall before I even stepped inside.

“You look pretty,” Mitch said—not as a compliment, but as fact.

Wine in hand, I sat beside him on the couch. Hockey hummed low on the TV, but my eyes kept catching on his movements, the way fabric stretched across his arms. His shoulder brushed mine, deliberate. He leaned back, legs spread, one arm draped behind me.

“You’re sitting all the way over there like you’re scared of me,” he said, voice low.

I turned, ready with a sarcastic reply, but the look in his eyes froze the words. Dark, intent, fixed on my mouth before rising to meet my gaze. Heat pooled low in my stomach.

He leaned in, unhurried, as though giving me time to retreat. I didn’t. His knee pressed against mine, firmer now, anchoring me in place. My breath stuttered.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you since the second I opened the door,” he murmured, his breath brushing my cheek.

The pause before his lips touched mine stretched taut, almost unbearable. Then his hand slid to the back of my neck, steady, certain, and his mouth claimed mine — hot, hungry, like he’d been holding it back all night.

My wine glass wobbled in my hand. I set it aside blindly and climbed into his lap, straddling him. His groan rumbled deep as his hands gripped my hips, dragging me down against him.

I kissed him harder, the rigid press of him beneath me making my pulse hammer. My hands roamed over his chest, shoulders, the strong line of his neck, pulling him closer.

His lips left mine, trailing lower. He didn’t rush. He kissed down my throat, slow, deliberate, until his mouth hovered over the lace stretched across my breast. The first flick of his tongue was maddeningly soft, barely there — a tease that made my breath catch. Then he sucked harder, pulling the lace taut, the contrast between gentle and rough so sharp I shivered.

Every drag of his tongue, every bite tempered with heat, felt deliberate — like he was testing how long I could resist. My body arched toward him, desperate, but he held me steady, controlled, dangerous in his patience.

He lingered on one nipple, sucking until it ached, then grazed me with his teeth before soothing with his tongue. I trembled, heat pooling low, sharp and insistent. But I hesitated. I wasn’t ready to give in, not yet.

He felt it. His voice rasped against my skin: “Let go. I want you to.”

He teased harder, slower, biting just enough to make me gasp, sucking until I could barely breathe. The pleasure coiled, tight and merciless, threatening to snap. I clung to what little restraint I had left, fighting the pull of his mouth, the danger of surrender.

The sudden buzz of his phone broke the haze. Mitch cursed, pressed a kiss to my chest, and reached for it. “I’ve got to take this.”

I slipped off his lap, stepping onto the balcony to catch my breath. Cool night air wrapped around me as the city stretched glittering below. My chest still heaved, body buzzing from the way he’d undone me.

Then he was there. Mitch’s arms wrapped around my waist, lips grazing my neck before his hands slipped lower, tugging at my jeans. Denim dragged down my hips, leaving me bared to the night air. The city glowed below, indifferent, as adrenaline tore through me.

“You know someone could see you like this,” he rasped, his voice jagged with hunger. The warning made my pulse hammer harder, every nerve screaming at the risk.

I braced against the railing, the metal cool beneath my palms, as he pressed close behind me. His body caged mine in, heat searing against my back. For a moment he lingered there, grinding slow, making me feel every inch of him before he finally pushed inside.

The shock stole my breath. My body jolted forward into the railing. His hands clamped down on my hips, steady, controlling, dragging me back to meet his thrusts.

The rhythm started deliberate, teasing, as if he wanted me to feel the danger of being spread open in the night air, the city lights flickering all around us. Then his pace snapped harder, urgent, relentless. Each stroke slammed me into the railing, the sound of skin on skin swallowed by the hum of traffic below.

I gasped, breath breaking into sharp cries as the pleasure built, fierce and unyielding. His growls tore out against my ear, filthy words rasping between clenched teeth: “So fucking tight. You feel so good.”

The coil inside me tightened mercilessly until it snapped. My orgasm ripped through me, violent and consuming, my body trembling against the railing. I cried out, the sound lost in the open air, as his grip bruised my hips and he pounded harder, chasing his own release.

With a final thrust, he groaned raggedly, spilling into me, holding me pinned to the railing as his body shuddered against mine. For a moment neither of us moved — my breath harsh, his chest pressed into my back, the city sprawling bright and alive beneath us while we clung to the shadows.

Only when his breathing steadied did he loosen his grip, his hand sliding around to pull me upright, his lips brushing the side of my neck in a fleeting kiss that felt almost tender.

*****

He left for a three week-long trip, and the ache of missing him only grew sharper each day. By the time I pulled up to the arrivals curb, my secret was already burning under my skin — just a sheer lace bra and panties beneath my jacket, waiting for the right moment to reveal.

Mitch tossed his bag in the back and slid into the passenger seat, giving me that easy, tired smile that told me he was still half in business mode. We exchanged the usual quick words — the flight, the weather, the traffic but the air between us was thick, charged with everything unspoken.

The ride back to his place was short, but every second stretched. The silence wasn’t awkward, it was heavy, loaded, as though both of us were holding back. My fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter than I meant to, and I caught him glancing over, his eyes lingering on me before turning back to the windshield.

I wanted to blurt it out what I was wearing, what I had planned,  but I stayed quiet, pulse hammering, waiting.

At his building, I pulled up to the curb. He leaned over, kissed my cheek softly, like a man still caught between worlds — half business, half mine. He reached for his bag, and something in me sank. He hadn’t invited me up.

I forced a smile, pretending I was fine with goodbye, even as disappointment knotted with desire in my stomach. Sliding back into the driver’s seat, I gripped the wheel, trying to swallow the letdown.

Then his voice cut through the air above me. “Hey.”

I looked up. Mitch was leaning through the open sunroof, his eyes dark, his voice rough. “Look down.”

My breath caught. His cock rested heavy against the sill of the passenger window, thick and unashamed, daring me. Heat flooded low in my belly. Before I knew what I was doing, I leaned over, lips parting to taste him. My tongue circling his tip before sliding him into my mouth.

His growl vibrated through me. “You didn’t think I was just going to let you leave, did you?”

*****

Upstairs, he strode ahead with his suitcase, still in that half-practical, half-business mode, while I lingered at the door. My heart hammered as I slipped inside behind him, nerves sparking with the secret I’d been carrying all evening.

He turned back, brow furrowed slightly when he saw me hovering there. “You coming in?”

Instead of answering, I stepped closer. My fingers caught the collar of my jacket, tugging it loose. With one slow pull, I let it slide from my shoulders and fall to the floor.

His eyes dropped instantly, widening as lace and bare skin came into view — the bra sheer, the panties delicate, every inch of me exposed except for what little fabric concealed.

For a beat, he just stared. The suitcase slipped from his hand, forgotten. Hunger overtook the fatigue in his eyes, replacing restraint with something rawer, darker.

“Jesus, Jessie…” His voice was hoarse, almost reverent, before it roughened again.

Two strides and he was on me, his hands gripping bare skin like he needed proof I was real. His mouth crashed onto mine, urgent, devouring, the kiss tasting of the week he’d been gone and the anticipation I’d been carrying.

He caught my hand, pulling me down the hall with a pace that left no room for hesitation. In the washroom, steam began to rise the moment he turned on the water. The air thickened with heat as he pressed me back against the cool tile, his mouth never leaving mine.

The straps of my bra slipped easily from my shoulders, the lace quickly soaking through as the water poured over us. My nipples hardened beneath the fabric, tightening with every drag of his mouth. He tugged the lace down just enough to free me, sucking hard, tongue flicking until my back arched against the wall.

His hands slid lower, hooking into my panties, dragging them down slow, letting the water plaster them to my thighs before peeling them away completely. He dropped to his knees in one fluid motion, steam curling around him as he looked up at me with hunger in his eyes.

“You wore this for me?” he rasped, his voice jagged in the mist.

I opened my mouth to answer, but the words broke into a gasp as his lips closed over my clit. His tongue was relentless, circling, plunging, sucking until my knees trembled. My hands pressed up against the wall tying to hold myself upright, my moans drowned out by the pounding shower.

The pressure built fast, unbearable, the steam and the slickness of his tongue making me shudder. “Mitch, don’t stop. Your cock is going to make me cum,” I whimpered. My orgasm ripped through me with violent force, every muscle quaking, the ooze of my cum pooling inside me.

He rose quickly, catching my mouth in a kiss that still tasted of me. With one swift motion he spun me, pressing my chest against the tile, and drove into me hard, deep, without warning.

I gasped, the stretch searing, his hips slamming relentlessly as water cascaded over us. His hand pressed firmly at the back of my neck, holding me in place as he thrusted hard,  his growls tearing into my ear: “I’ve wanted this every second I was gone.”

Each movement grew harsher, his pace brutal, urgent, until I shattered again, my cry muffled against the wet tile.

When he finally finished, spilling into me with a hoarse moan, he didn’t collapse. Instead, he stayed pressed against me, his chest heaving against my back, his cock still hard inside me.

He pulled out slowly, killed the water, turned me, and caught my mouth in another deep, claiming kiss. His hardness throbbed hot against my thigh, proof that he wasn’t close to finished.

His lips brushed my ear, his voice rough and unyielding.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he rasped.

In one swoop he lifted me, dripping wet, and hauled me into the bedroom.

I barely hit the mattress before he was on me again, spreading me open, sliding into me while my body was still throbbing from the shower. The sheets dampened instantly under us, but neither of us cared — all that mattered was the relentless rhythm of his hips, the raw need in his growl as he fucked me harder, faster, like he had to make up for every second we’d lost.

I kissed him deep, then let my lips trail to his ear. “I want you to take me from behind,” I whispered, the words trembling but firm.

His breath caught, and I felt the shift in him instantly — his body tightening, his eyes burning darker. He didn’t ask if I was sure. He didn’t have to. The way I said it left no room for doubt.

My pulse raced as he turned me, guiding me onto my hands and knees. The sheets were cool beneath my palms, my body trembling with nerves and raw anticipation. Not every man could take me like this — not every man could reach me this way — but I wanted him to, needed him to.

He slid a hand down my spine, steadying me as he shifted closer, the blunt head of him pressing deliberately into place. His jaw clenched, a low growl rumbling in his chest as his grip tightened on my hips. “Fuck, Jessie…” he rasped.

The first push was slow, achingly careful, stretching me until I gasped. My fingers knotted into the sheets, every nerve in my body alight as he pressed deeper, inch by inch. The burn gave way to heat, sharp and consuming, my body trembling under the weight of it.

He groaned hoarsely behind me, the sound raw, like the feel of me this way unraveled him completely. His hands clamped tighter on my hips, grounding me as he sank all the way in, filling me until I cried out.

And then he began to move.

At first, deliberate — giving me time to adjust, each stroke long and steady. But the restraint didn’t last. The urgency took over, his thrusts growing harder, faster, until every snap of his hips slammed me forward into the mattress. The stretch, the fullness, the sheer force of him sent sparks racing through me, higher, sharper, more intense with every pounding stroke.

Just as the climax threatened to tear through me, his palm pressed firmly between my shoulder blades, driving me down from all fours until my chest hit the mattress. Pinned, helpless, my hips still raised for him, every thrust slammed deeper as he held me there, unyielding.

That was all it took — I shattered, body convulsing, orgasm ripping through me with a force that left me gasping into the sheets.

“Mitch!” I cried out, voice breaking as the pleasure tore through me.

He groaned hoarsely, pounding harder as his own release broke. One final thrust and he spilled into me, collapsing heavy across my back, both of us trembling, wrecked, lost in the aftershocks that seemed to go on forever.

We collapsed in a tangle of wet skin and sheets, hearts pounding in sync. My body was wrecked, trembling from everything he’d taken out of me. His cum dripping down me.

At last he rolled onto his side, dragging me with him, his arm hooking possessively around my waist.

“You’re trouble,” I whispered, breathless, still shaking.

His lips brushed the back of my neck. “Trouble?” he murmured, voice rough but amused. “You’ve got no idea what you’ve started.”