Chapter 3: Ruined By A Stranger

CAMILLA.

My step faltered the second those eyes locked on mine. I couldn’t tell if it was the whiskey swimming through my blood or if the man in front of me was simply that devastating. His eyes were beautifully blue, the kind that looked like they’d seen every dirty secret a woman could have and still wanted more. 

Something about the shape of his mouth, the way the silver at his temples caught the low club light, tugged at a memory I couldn’t quite reach. 

He looked familiar in a way that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up, but the alcohol and the ache between my legs made it impossible to care.

“Hey,” he said. The word rolled out deep, low, the kind of voice that vibrated in my chest.

I swallowed. “Can I sit?”

He didn’t smile, not really. Just a small tilt of his mouth as he stood and pulled the chair out for me like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I glanced back toward the bar and Maya was watching, grinning like a cat. I winked and she winked back, lifting her glass in a silent toast.

I slid into the seat and the dress rode high on my thigh. His eyes flicked down once, slow, then returned to my face.

“What can I get you?” he asked.

“You,” I said, the word out before I could stop it. Heat flooded my cheeks. “Shit—sorry. I meant whiskey.”

A real smile tugged at his face this time. He lifted two fingers toward a server without looking away from me. “Two whiskeys.”

The glasses arrived. 

He didn’t touch his, he just watched me the way a man watches something he already knows he’s going to take apart.

“You’re pretty,” he murmured, voice still that low rasp. “Really pretty.”

“You’re also very handsome,” I answered, surprised by how steady I sounded. “You look really dangerous though.”

He leaned forward just enough that I caught the scent of him. “I am dangerous.”

My tongue swept across my lower lip before I could stop it. The throb between my legs had turned sharp, insistent. Julian had never looked at me like this, he had never made my stomach flip just by existing in the same air.

“Why don’t you take me back to your apartment,” I said, “and show me how dangerous you are.”

Those blue eyes darkened. “Are you sure about that?”

I stood and the slit in the dress flashed the full length of my thigh. I held out my hand. “I’m sure.”

He took it. His palm was warm, rough in places, the hand of a man who actually used his body for something. He led me out of the club without another word.

I expected an apartment, some sleek high-rise with floor-to-ceiling windows. Instead he pulled up in front of a boutique hotel with a discreet lobby and soft lighting. 

I didn’t mind, I didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was the way his hand rested on the small of my back as he guided me into the elevator, the quiet click of the keycard, the door shutting behind us with a soft click.

The second we were inside I crashed my mouth onto his.

He met me halfway, one hand fisting in my hair, the other gripping my ass hard enough to bruise. 

The kiss was nothing like Julian’s careful presses. This was open-mouthed, wet, filthy, tongues sliding, teeth catching my lower lip until I moaned into him. 

He tasted like whiskey. I shoved his jacket off his shoulders. He spun me, pressed me back against the wall, and hiked the dress up around my waist in one rough motion.

“Fuck,” he growled against my mouth. “No panties?”

“Didn’t feel like wearing any.”

His fingers found my pussy immediately—slick, swollen, already dripping down the inside of my thigh. 

Two thick fingers pushed inside without warning. I cried out, head thudding back against the wall. He curled them, stroked that spot that made my knees buckle, and laughed low when my hips jerked.

“Already this wet for a stranger,” he murmured, mouth at my ear. “Dirty fucking girl.”

I should have been ashamed but I wasn’t. I was starving, three years of three-minute fucks and selfish finishes and now this man had two fingers buried in me and I was already shaking.

He dropped to his knees right there in the entryway. The dress stayed rucked up around my waist. He spread my thighs with both hands and dragged his tongue up the length of my cunt in one long, slow lick. 

I nearly came on the spot. He sealed his mouth over my clit and sucked hard while those fingers kept fucking into me, wet sounds loud in the quiet room. My hands tangled in his hair and I held him there while I ground against his face like the shameless thing I suddenly was.

“Oh god—fuck—yes—”

He growled against me, the vibration shooting straight up my spine. When he added a third finger I broke. 

The orgasm hit so hard my vision whited out. I came on his tongue, thighs clamping around his head, a broken moan tearing out of my throat that didn’t sound like me at all. 

He kept licking through it, slower, filthy, drinking every pulse until I was whimpering and trying to push him away because it was too much.

He stood, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and looked at me like he’d just started.

“On your knees.”

I dropped. The carpet was soft under my shins. My hands went straight to his belt. I got the buckle open, the zipper down, and then his cock was free—thick, heavy, already leaking at the tip. 

It was bigger than Julian’s. The kind of cock that looked like it knew exactly how to ruin a woman. I wrapped both hands around it and stroked once, watching the way his stomach flexed.

“Look at you,” he said, voice rough. “Licking your lips like you can’t wait to choke on it.”

I opened my mouth and took him as deep as I could on the first try. The head hit the back of my throat and I gagged, eyes watering, but I didn’t pull off. 

I hollowed my cheeks and sucked, messy and wet, spit already sliding down my chin. He groaned and his hand fisted in my hair again.

“That’s it, take it. Fucking take it.”

I bobbed my head, letting him use my mouth, letting the spit and the tears and the wet sounds fill the room. 

Every time I took him deeper the ache between my legs pulsed harder. I was dripping onto the carpet and I didn’t care. This was what I’d been missing—being used, being wanted, being fucked like I was something to be taken apart instead of politely finished on.

He pulled me off with a wet pop and strings of spit connected my lips to his cock. My mascara was already ruined. He looked down at me and smiled that dangerous little smile again.

“Climb the bed. NOW.”

I scrambled. The mattress dipped under my weight. I yanked the dress the rest of the way off and tossed it. 

He stripped until he was naked and hard and climbing over me. 

The first thrust punched the air out of my lungs. He buried every thick inch in one hard stroke and stayed there, grinding deep while I clawed at his back.

“Fuck—oh fuck—”

“Feel that?” he growled against my mouth. “That’s what a real cock feels like.”

He started moving—long, deep, punishing strokes that made the headboard slam the wall. Every thrust dragged across that swollen spot inside me until I was sobbing, begging, the words spilling out without filter.

“Harder—please—fuck me harder—use me—”

He hooked one of my legs over his shoulder and drove deeper, the angle so sharp I saw stars. 

The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room. My tits bounced with every thrust. He leaned down and bit the side of my neck hard enough to mark, then licked the sting away.

“Come on my cock,” he ordered. “I want to feel this pretty cunt squeeze me when you break.”

I did. The second orgasm ripped through me so violently I screamed. 

My walls clenched around him in hard, rhythmic pulses. He fucked me through it without slowing, chasing his own, and when he finally came it was with a low, guttural groan and a final deep thrust that painted my insides hot and thick. 

He stayed buried, breathing hard against my neck, one hand still gripping my hip hard enough to leave fingerprints. 

When he finally rolled off I was trembling, thighs sticky, cunt still twitching with aftershocks. My whole body felt used and loose and perfect in a way it never had with Julian.

I drifted off to sleep in seconds.

I opened my eyes the next morning and the bed was empty. 

My head throbbed like someone was taking a hammer to it, but the rest of me felt… good. It had been a long time since anyone fucked me like that like they actually wanted me to come apart.

I gathered my dress, my shoes, the little clutch I’d carried, and left the hotel without looking back. 

The cab ride to Maya’s was quiet. My thighs still stuck together, every shift of the seat reminded me of how thoroughly I’d been filled.

I used the spare key she’d given me years ago and pushed the door open.

“Oh shit,” I muttered.

Maya was on top of a guy in the middle of her living room couch, riding him hard, dark hair bouncing, one hand braced on his chest. 

She looked over her shoulder, eyes wide for half a second, then grinned and climbed off like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Welcome back, girlie.”

The guy was shirtless, cock still wet and hard scrambled for his clothes, pressed a quick kiss to Maya’s mouth, and slipped out the front door without making eye contact.

I stared. “Isn’t that the bartender from last night?”

Maya shrugged, still naked from the waist down, and stretched. “Yeah. He’s so hot, right?”

She padded over, hooked an arm around my neck, and pulled me in close. “Forget about that though. Did you fuck that man?”

I nodded, a slow, satisfied smile pulled at my mouth. “Yes.”

Her eyes went huge. “Tell me all about it—”

A sharp knock cut her off.

I walked to the door on legs that still felt a little unsteady, turned the handle, and pulled it open.

My stomach dropped.