Last night was something else. I still can’t quite wrap my head around it. I wasn’t even supposed to be out—I’d planned for a quiet night in, but something pushed me out of the house. Call it fate or sheer boredom. Either way, I ended up at this little café that stays open late, a proper cosy spot.

That’s where I saw him. He wasn’t doing much, just sitting alone by the window, sipping on something dark. But there was something about him—how he carried himself, the way he glanced around like he was clocking every detail but couldn’t care less about being noticed.

I was about to mind my business and get a cup of tea when he caught me looking. His eyes met mine, and for a second, I thought I’d imagined the way his lips twitched into a smirk.

“You alright?” he called out, his accent faint but warm.

I wasn’t sure if he was talking to me, so I just nodded. But before I could make a quick escape to the counter, he stood and walked over. He wasn’t cocky about it, but there was a quiet confidence in how he moved, like he knew exactly how to get what he wanted.

“You looked like you had something on your mind,” he said, standing just close enough for it to feel intimate.

“Do I?” I replied, trying to sound indifferent.

He raised an eyebrow. “You tell me.”

I didn’t know what to make of him. He was sharp, observant, and entirely too calm for someone who’d just decided to walk up to a stranger. But there was something about him that made me want to know more.

We started talking. I can’t even remember what I said; I was too busy studying him—the curve of his jaw, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. He asked me questions, though, proper ones, the kind that made me pause and think.

“You don’t get out much, do you?” he asked at one point, a playful edge to his voice.

“Cheeky,” I shot back, folding my arms.

“Not a bad thing,” he said, leaning in slightly. “I like quiet people. They’re full of surprises.”

I should’ve left then. Said goodnight, gone home, and forgotten about him. But I didn’t.

Instead, I asked, “What about you? What’s your deal?”

He chuckled, a low, throaty sound that made my stomach flip. “I could tell you. Or I could show you.”

It wasn’t long before we were heading back to mine. The whole walk home, I felt this buzz in the air between us, like a wire pulled tight. He didn’t say much, but he didn’t have to. His presence said enough.

The second we got inside, the atmosphere shifted. It was quieter, heavier. He stood in the doorway for a moment, watching me as I kicked off my shoes.

“Second thoughts?” he asked, his voice low.

I hesitated. “Maybe.”

He stepped closer, his eyes locked on mine. “Tell me to leave, and I will. No hard feelings.”

I swallowed hard, my heart racing. “I’m not telling you to leave.”

“Good,” he said, his lips twitching into that same faint smirk. “Because I wasn’t planning on going.”

Before I could respond, he closed the distance between us. His hand cupped my face, his thumb brushing over my cheek as he studied me. Then he kissed me—soft at first, almost tentative, like he was giving me a chance to pull away. But when I didn’t, he deepened it, his other hand sliding to my waist and pulling me closer.

I could feel the tension in him, like he was holding back. It made me want to push him, to see what would happen if he let go completely.

“Can I try something?” he asked suddenly, pulling back just enough to look me in the eye.

I blinked, my breath hitching. “What?”

“Trust me,” he said, his voice rough and quiet. “Open your mouth.”

I froze for a moment, my mind racing. It was such a bold thing to ask, so raw and unexpected. But the way he said it—calm, steady, like he wasn’t going to push if I said no—made me nod.

I opened my mouth, and when he spit, it wasn’t gross or humiliating like I’d imagined it might be. It was… intimate. Raw. Before I could even process the moment, his hand slid up to my neck, his fingers firm but careful, tilting my head slightly so I was looking straight at him.

“Swallow it,” he said, his voice low, calm, and unrelenting.

I hesitated for half a second, but the way he held my gaze, the weight of his hand on my neck—it pushed me over the edge. I obeyed, swallowing without breaking eye contact. It was strange, primal, and freeing all at once.

When I opened my mouth again to show him it was gone, his lips curved into the faintest smirk. His thumb brushed the side of my neck, his grip tightening ever so slightly.

“Good girl,” he murmured, and the words sent a jolt through me.

“More,” I whispered, barely recognising my own voice.

He raised an eyebrow, amused but not surprised. “You sure?”

I nodded, my heart pounding as I kept my mouth open for him. His hand stayed on my neck as he leaned closer, his thumb resting against my pulse. This time, when he spit, it wasn’t just about the act—it was the way he controlled it, the way his eyes bore into mine as it slid down my throat.

“Swallow,” he ordered again, his voice rougher this time.

I did. It felt more deliberate now, more consuming, and when I opened my mouth again to show him it was gone, there was no hesitation. “Again,” I said, my voice steady and sure.

His hand stayed on my neck as his eyes roamed my face, searching for something. Whatever he found must have satisfied him because his grip tightened, pulling me closer until his lips were brushing my ear.

“Bedroom,” he said softly, but there was nothing gentle in his tone. It was a command, and I felt my legs move before I even realised I’d obeyed.

He followed close behind me, the weight of his presence making my skin prickle. As soon as we crossed the threshold, he spun me around and pressed me against the wall. His hands were everywhere—firm and insistent, but never rushed. He wasn’t just touching me; he was mapping me out, claiming every inch like he had all the time in the world.

“You’re perfect,” he muttered, almost to himself, as he slid his hands under my shirt. The fabric was gone in seconds, discarded carelessly onto the floor. He stepped back for a moment, just enough to look at me, his eyes dark and full of something that made my knees weak.

“Take the rest off,” he said, his voice low and steady.

I hesitated for a moment, feeling the weight of his gaze as I reached for the waistband of my trousers. He didn’t move, didn’t help—he just watched, letting me undress for him piece by piece until I was bare, exposed, and trembling under his scrutiny.

“Beautiful,” he said, and there was a rawness in his voice that made my chest tighten.

He stepped forward then, his hands finding my waist and guiding me to the bed. I sat down first, but he didn’t let me stay there for long. His hands were on my thighs, spreading them apart as he knelt between them, his lips finding my skin in slow, deliberate kisses that made my head spin.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured against my skin, his voice soft but edged with control.

“It’s not,” I whispered, breathless.

He looked up at me, his eyes locking onto mine as he rose to his feet and began undressing. There was nothing hurried about it, no fumbling or hesitation—just a quiet confidence that made me ache.

When he finally joined me on the bed, everything else faded away. His hands and mouth moved over me like he was worshipping me, like he needed to know every part of me to make this moment complete.

The rest of the night was a blur of heat, sensation, and raw, unrelenting pleasure. He was insatiable, pulling me back every time I thought I couldn’t take any more. His movements were controlled, deliberate, like he knew exactly how to push me to the edge and then pull me back again.

“Look at me,” he said more than once, his voice rough and commanding, and every time I met his gaze, it made me fall apart all over again.

By the time it was over—if it ever truly was—I was completely spent, my body trembling and my mind hazy with exhaustion. He collapsed beside me, his chest heaving as he pulled me close, his hand brushing sweat-damp hair out of my face.

“You alright?” he asked, his voice softer now, almost tender.

I nodded, too exhausted to speak. My body felt like it wasn’t mine anymore, like he’d taken everything and left me hollow in the best possible way.

As I drifted off, I felt his hand resting lightly on my hip, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles on my skin. I didn’t know what the morning would bring, but for now, I didn’t care. All that mattered was this, him, me, and the quiet aftermath of a night I’d never forget.