The train station stop

The train hissed to a stop at Westbridge Station—Elena’s stop.

The one she’d been dreading and craving in equal measure.

The doors slid open with a mechanical sigh. Cold night air rushed in, sharp against her flushed skin. She stepped onto the platform without looking back, legs still unsteady, thighs slick beneath her skirt. The orgasm he’d pulled from her lingered like an echo, making every movement feel heightened, sensitive.

She heard his footsteps behind her—measured, unhurried. Not close enough to touch, but close enough that she knew he was following.

The platform was nearly deserted. Just a drunk couple arguing by the exit and a janitor pushing a cart far down the other end. Overhead lights buzzed faintly, casting long shadows across the concrete.

Elena walked toward the stairs that led up to street level. Her heels clicked too loudly in the quiet. She didn’t slow down. Didn’t speed up. Just kept moving, pulse racing, waiting to see what he would do.

Halfway up the stairs, his voice finally broke the silence.

Low. Rough. Close enough now that she felt his breath on the back of her neck.

“You’re shaking.”

She was. She hadn’t realized it until he said it.

Elena stopped on the landing between flights. Turned slowly.

He stood two steps below her, which put them almost eye-to-eye. Tall, even from this angle. Dark coat open over a charcoal suit. No tie. The top buttons of his shirt undone, revealing a hint of chest hair. His face was half in shadow, but what she could see—sharp jaw, full mouth, eyes that looked almost black under the harsh lights—made her stomach flip.

She should have been afraid.

She wasn’t.

“I’m not scared,” she said. Her voice came out steadier than she felt.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Good.”

He took the last two steps slowly, closing the distance until he was right in front of her. Close enough that she had to tip her head back slightly. Close enough to smell cedar and leather and something warmer—his skin.

His hand lifted, knuckles brushing her cheek, then sliding into her hair. Not gentle. Possessive. He tilted her head back further, studying her face like he was memorizing it.

“You came so pretty on my fingers,” he murmured. “Quiet little gasps. Trying so hard not to let the whole car hear.”

Heat flooded her cheeks—and lower.

He leaned in, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “I want to hear you louder this time.”

Before she could answer, his mouth was on hers.

Not soft. Not asking.

He kissed her like he’d already fucked her—like he knew exactly how she tasted, how she moved. His tongue slid against hers, deep and filthy, while his free hand gripped her hip and pulled her flush against him. She felt him again—hard, thick, pressing against her stomach through his slacks.

A moan slipped out of her, swallowed by his mouth.

He walked her backward until her spine hit the cold tile wall of the stairwell. The station was empty enough that no one would see unless they came looking. And even if they did…

His hand was under her skirt again, faster this time. Fingers hooking into her soaked panties and dragging them down her thighs in one rough motion. They caught at her knees before he let them drop to her ankles.

She kicked them off without thinking.

He broke the kiss only long enough to spin her around, pressing her chest to the wall. One strong arm banded across her waist, holding her in place while the other worked his belt open. The clink of metal, the rasp of a zipper—sounds that made her clench around nothing.

“Tell me to stop,” he said against her neck, voice strained. “Say it and I will.”

Elena pushed back against him instead, arching her hips. “Don’t you dare.”

A low growl rumbled from his chest.

Then he was inside her.

One long, thick thrust that stretched her open and stole her breath. He didn’t ease in—he took. Filled her completely, hips flush against her ass, holding still for just a second so she could feel every inch.

“Fuck,” she gasped, forehead pressed to the cool wall.

He pulled out slowly, almost all the way, then slammed back in. Again. Again. Setting a brutal rhythm that had her toes curling in her heels. His hand slid up under her blouse, cupping her breast through lace, pinching her nipple hard enough to make her cry out.

The stairwell echoed with it—the wet slap of skin, her broken moans, his ragged breathing.

He reached around with his other hand, fingers finding her clit again. Rubbing tight, perfect circles while he fucked her deep and relentless.

“Come for me again,” he ordered, teeth grazing her shoulder. “Let me feel it.”

She did—harder than on the train. Body locking up, pussy pulsing around his cock as pleasure ripped through her in violent waves. He groaned her name—no, not her name. Just a rough sound that might have been a curse—as he followed her over, thrusting deep one last time and spilling hot inside her.

They stayed like that for a long moment—panting, trembling, still joined.

Eventually, he pulled out slowly. Tucked himself away. Bent to retrieve her discarded panties and slipped them into his pocket with a wicked half-smile.

Elena turned to face him, legs barely holding her up.

He brushed a thumb across her swollen lower lip, eyes searching hers.

“Next train’s in twenty minutes,” he said quietly.

She swallowed. Nodded.

He stepped back, giving her space—but not leaving.

She smoothed her skirt down with shaky hands.

Twenty minutes.

Enough time.