2.

The room was dimly lit, shadows flickering across the walls as he knelt between my legs, his broad shoulders framed by the faint glow of the bedside lamp.

My thighs were spread wide, pussy wet, his fing rs moved slowly down my inner thighs.

Fingers slowly touching my swollen clit.

Damn.

His eyes locked on mine, dark and filled with desire, as he positioned himself at my entrance.

I could feel the blunt head of his cock pressing against me, teasing, stretching the slick folds of my pussy.

The anticipation was maddening, and I whimpered, lifting my hips to meet him, desperate for more.

“Patience,” he growled, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down my spine.

But I didn’t want patience. I wanted him, deep, hard, all of him.

I was a girl who depended on masturbation for pleasure. My interactions with penetration was a dildo.

“Please,” I begged, my voice cracking as my hands clutched at the sheets beneath me.

He didn’t make me wait long. With one slow, deliberate thrust, he sank into me, stretching me open inch by inch until he was buried to the hilt.

The sheer size of him had my breath hitching, my walls clenching tightly around his cock.

“Fuck,” I gasped, my back arching off the bed as he filled me completely.

His hands gripped my hips, holding me steady as he pulled back almost all the way, only to drive into me again, harder this time.

The sound of our bodies meeting was obscene, wet and messy, every thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through me.

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” he groaned, his grip on my hips tightening as he set a relentless pace.

Each thrust was deep and precise, hitting spots inside me that made my vision blur. My moans filled the room, mingling with the rhythmic slap of his hips against my ass. The wet sounds of his cock moving in and out of me were loud and shameless, evidence of just how soaked I was.

“Harder,” I pleaded, my nails digging into his arms as he leaned over me, his face close to mine.

“You want it harder?” he asked, a wicked smirk curling his lips as he thrust into me with bruising force.

“Yes,” I cried out, my voice breaking as he gave me exactly what I asked for.

He didn’t hold back, his cock driving into me with a punishing rhythm that had me gripping the sheets for dear life.

My left hand went to My breasts, playing with the nipples as he went faster.

My body rocked with each thrust, the pleasure building to an unbearable peak. Just when I thought I couldn’t take anymore, he pulled out abruptly, leaving me gasping and aching for him.

“Turn over,” he commanded, his voice rough with need.

I obeyed without hesitation, rolling onto my hands and knees, presenting myself to him. He didn’t waste a second, his hands gripping my hips as he slid back into me, filling me completely in one smooth motion.

“Fuck, yes,” I moaned, my head falling forward as he began to move again, deeper this time.

He reached forward, tangling his hand in my hair and pulling my head back, forcing me to arch as he pounded into me from behind. Each thrust sent shockwaves through my body, his cock hitting places that made me scream his name.

“You feel so fucking good,” he growled, his other hand reaching around to grab my breast, his fingers pinching my nipple.

The combination of pain and pleasure had me teetering on the edge, my thighs trembling as he fucked me harder, deeper. My wetness coated him, the lewd squelching sounds of his cock moving in and out of me filling the room.

“Touch me,” I begged, my voice shaking as I felt the heat building in my core.

His hand slid down between my legs, his fingers finding my clit with unerring precision. He rubbed it in tight, fast circles, the pressure perfect, and I shattered.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—” My words dissolved into a scream as my orgasm hit me like a tidal wave, my pussy clenching around him as I came hard.

A gush of wetness soaked the sheets beneath me as my body convulsed, pleasure ripping through me in waves.

He didn’t stop, his thrusts relentless as he chased his own release, my body shaking with aftershocks.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his hips slamming into me one last time before he pulled out, his hand stroking himself quickly.

I turned my head just in time to see him finish, his cock pulsing as he spilled his hot release onto my face. The sight of him, his chest heaving, muscles tense, was enough to make my breath catch.

I was lucky to have such a wonderful experience with such a hot guy.

He collapsed beside me, his body warm and solid against mine as the room filled with the sound of our ragged breathing. My skin was slick with sweat, face with cum that I licked, tasting him.

My legs trembling from the intensity of it all.

“Happy birthday,” he murmured, a smirk tugging at his lips as he reached out to brush a strand of hair from my face.

I couldn’t help but laugh, my chest rising and falling as I tried to catch my breath. “Best present ever,” I whispered, a satisfied grin spreading across my face.

***

I woke up to the sound of birds chirping,those traitorous bastards, and the faint smell of cologne still lingering in the room.

My eyes blinked open, adjusting to the soft light filtering through the curtains, and then I froze.

He was there.

Damn…he was really handsome. Dark cropped hair, a handsome face, with plump kissable lips.

Same lips that kissed mine last night. A blush crept to my cheeks and I looked away.

Why was I acting as if we didn't just had a night filled with five rounds of sex?

If we weren't drunk and tired, I swore we would have had a marathon.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, casually pulling on his jeans like he had all the time in the world. My sundress was draped over his lap, and the faintest smirk played on his lips as he caught me staring.

“You’re awake,” he said, his voice deeper in the morning, a lazy drawl that made my stomach flip for no reason at all.

“Yeah,” I croaked, my throat dry, my brain racing to catch up.

I propped myself up on my elbows, the sheets clinging to me in a way that screamed, last night happened. My cheeks burned as his eyes, very blue, by the way, trailed over me with zero shame.

“You don’t look like you regret it,” he said, standing up and tugging his shirt over his head, the muscles in his back flexing annoyingly.

“I don’t,” I shot back, sitting up straighter. “But that doesn’t mean I’m calling you or anything. It was a one-time thing.”

He chuckled, pulling his belt through the loops with a snap that was way too deliberate. “Funny, I don’t remember giving you my number.”

“Good.” I folded my arms across my chest, pretending I wasn’t acutely aware of how naked I still was under the sheets. “Because I wouldn’t take it if you did.”

He turned to face me then, his lips curling into a full-on smirk, the kind that said challenge accepted.

“Liar,” he said simply.

“Excuse me?”

“You’d take it. You’d probably save it under something ridiculous like ‘Hot Stranger’ or ‘Birthday Gift.’”

I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore the way his grin lit up his entire face. “You’re way too confident for someone who wore my dress last night.”

His laughter filled the room, rich and unapologetic, as he picked up the sundress from the bed and held it up like he was about to model it again. We were both drunk, and I wanted to give him a blow job with him wearing a dress. It was stupid.

“To be fair, it looked better on me.”

“Debatable,” I muttered, though the memory of him winking at me while wearing it was both mortifying and hilarious.

He tossed the dress back onto the bed, leaning down just enough to invade my personal space. “You’re fun,” he said, his voice softer now, almost teasing. “But next time, maybe try to learn my name before you decide it’s a one-night thing.”

“Next time?” I scoffed, arching an eyebrow. “You’re bold.”

“You love it,” he said, straightening up and slipping on his shoes.

Before I could reply with something witty, or at least mildly insulting, he reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a pen. With a quick flick of his wrist, he grabbed my arm, scribbling something on my skin before I could stop him.

“What the hell?” I yanked my arm back to see a string of numbers written in messy, confident strokes.

“In case you change your mind,” he said, capping the pen and tossing it back into his pocket.

I stared at the numbers, then back at him. “I’m not calling you.”

“Sure, you’re not,” he replied with a wink, stepping toward the door.

“Wait,” I called out before I could stop myself. “What’s your name?”

He turned, his hand on the doorknob, that same infuriating smirk still plastered on his face.

“Ryder,” he said simply, opening the door. “Don’t forget it.”

And then he was gone, leaving me alone with a messy bed, a stolen dress, and a scribbled phone number that I definitely wasn’t going to call.

Probably.