A Second Chance

Scott’s POV

My ass burned with every frantic step I took hurrying up for my interview. Each movement reminded me exactly how hard that mystery man had fucked me raw the night before. His Cum still leaked out of me despite the quick shower, soaking into my cheap boxer. My neck and thighs carried his teeth marks like badges I couldn’t hide.

I’m late. Twenty fucking minutes late.

“Shit, shit, shit!” I muttered. Jayden had pulled strings for this interview at the biggest art academy in the city. If I blew it because of some hot stranger I met last night, I’d never forgive myself. But damn… that man had made me feel alive. Wanted. For a few hours, the mountain of debt and my dead mom’s hospital bills didn’t bother me.

As I got to Zenex Tower. The receptionist, a woman in her forties, glanced up.

“Scott McAllen. I have an interview for the Academy program,” I panted, putting on my best charming smile even though I was sweating and probably smelled like sperm.

She checked her tablet. “You’re twenty-three minutes late. The panel has already started. You can leave.”

“Please,” I begged, leaning on the counter. My voice cracked a little. “This is my only hope. I’ve got debt collectors breathing down my neck and…” I stopped, realizing I was rambling. “Look, I know I’m late, but just pity this poor boy who’s got nothing but his late mum’s debt to clear.”

I knew mentioning my late mum would touch her. Women are emotional beings, easy to get at. She stared at me for a moment, eyes narrowing at the faint hickey peeking from my collar. Then she sighed. “Fine. Follow me. And fix your shirt.”

I hurried after her, my hole still throbbing with every step. When the elevator doors finally opened, she pointed to a glass conference room. “Good luck.”

I stepped in breathing hard, my portfolio clutched like a shield. Five serious faces turned toward me. I straightened up, flashing that bold, expressive grin that usually got me out of trouble.

“Sorry for the delay,” I said. “Traffic in Brooklyn waits for no man.”

They didn’t laugh, but one older woman gestured for me to present. I pulled out my largest canvas, a raw, emotional piece of two shadowed figures tangled together under city lights. I poured my heart into the pitch, talking about light, texture, passion, loneliness, the pain of wanting something real in a cold world. My hands moved expressively as I spoke. I saw a couple of them lean forward.

By the end, the head of the panel nodded. “Impressive work, Mr. McAllen. I think we need you here. You’re hired. You can start next tomorrow as the junior curator assistant. Welcome to Zenex.”

Relief crashed over me so hard my knees. I wanted to cry. “Thank you. You won’t regret it.”

As I left the building, hope bloomed in my chest for the first time in months. I did it. I got my dream job. Steady paycheck. Maybe I could finally breathe.

I went home, showered properly this time, watching my mystery man’s dried cum swirl down the drain with mixed feeling. Time to celebrate. I texted Jayden: Got the job! Meet me at our usual spot tonight. First round on me, bro.

The bar was lively, music thumping. I nursed my second drink, checking my phone every minute. Jayden never showed up. Very typical of him. I was so disappointed, but I refused to let it kill my mood.

Then I saw him.

Sitting alone at the end of the bar.

My mystery man. Same powerful body build, same steel-gray eyes scanning the room. My cock twitched instantly.

I wasn’t thinking straight. I grabbed my drink and walked straight over, bold as ever. “Sneaking out before dawn? Is that your usual thing? or… was I just that forgettable?”

His eyes widened slightly. “Work,” he said simply. “Early morning meeting.”

I slid onto the stool next to him. “I got my dream job today. I’m here celebrating alone because my friend bailed. After the beautiful night we had… figured you owed me a drink at least.”

He looked at me, that intense gaze dragging over my marked neck. “You’re persistent.”

“Oh please.” “Come on. It’s just a drink.”

He hesitated. Then, charmed by my perkiness like last night, he nodded. “One drink it is.”

One drink turned into five. The alcohol loosened us both. His hand found my thigh under the bar. By the time we stumbled into the hotel attached to the bar, we were all over each other.

The door barely closed before he had me pinned against it, kissing me deep. “You talk too much,” he growled, the same line as last night.

“Then shut me up,” I challenged, nipping his lip.

He did. He shoved me onto the bed, yanking my pants down. No foreplay this time. He spat on his thick cock and pushed in raw, one brutal thrust that made me scream into the pillow.

“Fuck… don’t pity me, please.”

He fucked me like he owned me. Hard, punishing strokes that made the bed slam against the wall. His hand wrapped around my throat from behind, choking me just right while he railed my hole. Every thrust pushed his previous load and new pre-cum deeper.

“You’re still so fucking full from last night,” he snarled, biting my shoulder hard. Fresh marks bloomed on my skin. “I’m gonna breed you again and fill this greedy hole until you’re dripping for days.”

I pushed back against him, defiant even while submitting, moaning like a slut. “Do it. Breed me deeper, Sir.”

The word slipped out. He flipped me onto my back, hooked my legs over his shoulders, and pounded down into me. I came first, shooting across my stomach with a broken cry, hole spasming around him.

He followed with a deep groan, burying himself to the hilt and flooding me again. Thick, hot pulses of cum painted my insides. He kept thrusting through it, pushing every drop deeper, marking me from within.

We didn’t stop there. He pulled out, flipped me over, and ate me out, tasting his own cum while I whimpered and begged. Then he fucked me slow and deep, face to face, choking me gently while whispering filthy praise. “Good boy… you’re taking my cock so well… gonna ruin you for anyone else.”

By the time we passed out, I was wrecked, cum-filled and curled against his broad chest again.

The morning light crept in. I woke up earlier this time.

But this nigga was almost dressed, trying to sneak out quietly like before.

“Sneaking out again?” I sat up fast, despite the soreness. His Cum leaked down my thighs onto the sheets. “What the fuck, man?”

He froze, looking rattled. “I… have to go. You won’t understand.”

“Try me.” I stood up naked, bold and pissed, not caring about the mess or the marks covering my body. “You fuck me twice, breed me like you own me, hold me all night, then slip without a word? That’s some coward shit man.”

His jaw clenched. “We can’t have something serious. I don’t do attachments.”

“Yeah? Well, I don’t do ghosts.” I stepped closer. “Give me your number and your name atleast. Or I swear I’ll make a scene right here.”

He stared at me, breathing hard. Finally, he muttered, “Elliot Travis.” He handed over his phone. I saved my number and called myself so I’d have his.

“Scott McAllen,” I said, shoving the phone back at his chest. “Don’t disappear on me again.”

He dressed quickly and left without another word.

I collapsed back on the bed, sore, satisfied, and confused as hell. He felt something, I knew it. But the way he sneaks out? That shit hurts.

Still basking from the best sex of my life and the new job waiting tomorrow, I grinned. “Elliot Travis… who the hell are you really?”