The bar was nearly empty when I first saw her. 

She was sitting alone in a corner booth, a half-empty glass of red wine in front of her, her dark hair spilling over one shoulder like ink. The low, amber lighting caught the curve of her neck, the sharp line of her jaw, the way her lips wrapped around the rim of her glass when she took a slow sip. She wasn't trying to be noticed. That's what made her impossible to ignore. 

I watched her for twenty minutes from the other end of the bar. She didn't look up once. She just sat there, tracing patterns on the condensation of her glass, lost in whatever thought had driven her out alone on a Tuesday night. There was something about her — something sad and dangerous and fucking intoxicating — that told me she wasn't looking for conversation. She was looking for a reason to forget. 

I decided to be that reason. 

I slid into the seat across from her without asking. She looked up slowly, her eyes dark and unreadable, and for a moment neither of us spoke. The silence stretched between us like a wire pulled tight. 

"You're sitting in my booth," she said finally. Her voice was lower than I expected. Smokier. 

"You looked like you didn't want to be alone," I replied. 

She stared at me for a long, measured second. Then she drained the rest of her wine in one swallow, set the glass down with a soft thunk, and said, "Your place or mine?" 

Mine. 

The door hadn't even closed all the way before I had her pressed against it. 

My hands were already on her — one gripping her hip, the other buried in her hair, tilting her head back so I could get at her throat. She gasped when my lips touched her skin, a sharp, surprised sound that turned into a low moan as I bit down gently on the curve where her neck met her shoulder. I sucked hard enough to leave a mark, and she arched into me, her fingers digging into my shoulders like she was holding on for dear life. 

"Eager," she breathed. 

"Starving," I corrected against her skin. 

She laughed — a dark, breathless sound — and then her hands were fumbling with the buttons of my shirt, pushing the fabric aside so she could feel my chest. Her nails scraped down my stomach, light but deliberate, and I felt my cock twitch behind my zipper, already half-hard from just the sound of her voice. 

I pulled back just long enough to look at her. 

She was wearing a black dress — tight, short, the kind of dress that promised everything and revealed just enough to drive a man insane. The fabric clung to every curve, every hollow, like it had been painted on. The neckline dipped low, exposing the soft swell of her breasts and the dark valley between them. Her legs were long and bare, ending in strappy heels that added three inches to her height and made her calves look like something out of a fever dream. 

I wanted to tear it off her. 

So I did. 

I grabbed the hem of her dress with both hands and yanked it upward roughly, bunching the fabric around her waist. She gasped again, louder this time, but she didn't stop me. Her arms went up, and I pulled the dress over her head in one savage motion, letting it fall somewhere behind me on the floor. 

And then I saw her. 

She was standing there in nothing but a black lace bra and matching thong — the kind of underwear that wasn't meant to be seen for long. The bra barely contained her breasts, the thin fabric straining against her full, heavy curves. Her nipples were already hard, pressing visibly against the lace like they were begging to be freed. Her stomach was smooth and toned, her hips wide and feminine, and between her thighs, the thong was already damp — a dark, wet spot that made my mouth water. 

"Fuck," I breathed. 

She smiled — slow, knowing, dangerous. "Like what you see?" 

Instead of answering, I dropped to my knees in front of her. 

I grabbed her hips and pulled her toward me, my face inches from the damp fabric of her thong. I could smell her — sweet and musky and warm — and I groaned out loud, my cock now painfully hard against my fly. I pressed my mouth to the wet spot on her underwear and sucked, tasting her through the thin barrier. Her hands flew to my hair, gripping tight as her hips bucked toward my face. 

"Oh god," she whispered. 

I pulled the thong aside with one finger and licked her directly — one long, slow stroke from her entrance to her clit. She was soaking wet, her juices coating my tongue immediately, and the taste of her was fucking intoxicating. Sweet and salty and completely her. I licked her again, slower this time, circling her clit with the flat of my tongue while she whimpered above me. 

But I wasn't done with the dress. Or rather — I wasn't done undressing her. 

I stood up abruptly, making her stumble slightly. Before she could complain, I spun her around and pressed her chest-first against the wall. Her palms slapped against the paint as I pinned her there with my body, my hardness pressing into the curve of her ass. 

"I said I was starving," I growled into her ear. "And I haven't even had my meal yet." 

I reached around her and unclasped her bra with one hand — a trick that made her moan in appreciation. The black lace fell away, and her breasts spilled free. I groaned at the sight of them in the mirror across the room — full, round, with dark nipples that were already tight and peaked. They swayed slightly as she shifted against the wall, heavy and perfect. 

My hands came up immediately, cupping both breasts from behind, squeezing the soft flesh roughly. She cried out as my fingers dug in, kneading her like I was trying to memorize the weight of her. Then I found her nipples — rolling them between my thumbs and forefingers, pinching and tugging until she was pushing her chest back into my hands, begging for more without saying a word. 

I pinched harder. She gasped. 

"You like that?" I muttered against her neck. 

"Yes," she breathed. "God, yes." 

I turned her back around to face me. 

And then I lowered my mouth to her breast. 

I took as much of her as I could into my mouth — her warm, heavy flesh filling my lips as I sucked hard. She cried out, her fingers tangling in my hair, holding me against her like she was afraid I'd stop. I swirled my tongue around her nipple, flicking it back and forth before sucking again, deeper this time, pulling the hard peak deep into my mouth while my teeth grazed the sensitive skin. 

"Oh fuck," she moaned, her head falling back against the wall. 

I switched to the other breast, giving it the same hungry attention. My tongue lapped at her nipple, circling it slowly before I closed my lips around it and sucked hard enough to make her whimper. I bit down gently — just enough to make her gasp — then soothed the sting with my tongue, licking broad, wet stripes across the underside of her breast before moving back to her nipple. 

Her hands were everywhere — my shoulders, my hair, my back — gripping and clawing and pulling me closer. I sucked her breasts until they were glistening with my saliva, until her nipples were dark and swollen and sensitive to every flick of my tongue. She was trembling now, her breath coming in short, desperate pants. 

"Please," she whispered. 

"Please what?" 

"Please — I need —" 

"Tell me." 

She looked me dead in the eyes, her pupils blown wide with lust. "I need your cock in my mouth." 

I didn't need to be asked twice. 

I stepped back just long enough to undo my belt, my fly, and shove my pants and boxers down to my thighs. My cock sprang free — thick, hard, already leaking precum from the tip. She stared at it with an expression that was half hunger, half reverence. 

Then she dropped to her knees. 

She didn't tease. She didn't play. She wrapped her fingers around the base of my shaft, her hand warm and soft, and leaned forward. Her tongue darted out first — a slow, deliberate lick from the base to the tip, collecting the bead of precum that had gathered there. She swirled her tongue around the head, tasting me, savoring me, her eyes never leaving mine. 

Then she took me into her mouth. 

The heat of her was overwhelming. Her lips closed around the head of my cock, tight and wet, and she sucked gently at first — just enough to make my hips jerk forward involuntarily. Then she took me deeper, her mouth sliding down my shaft inch by inch, her tongue pressing flat against the underside of my cock as she went. 

"Jesus Christ," I groaned, my hand finding the back of her head. 

She moaned around me, the vibration shooting straight up my spine. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked, pulling me deeper into her throat. I felt the tip of my cock hit the back of her mouth, and then — she swallowed me further. Her throat opened around me, hot and tight and impossibly wet, and I watched in awe as she took every inch of me into her mouth until her nose was pressed against my pubic bone. 

She stayed there for a moment, her throat working around me, her eyes watering slightly. Then she pulled back slowly, dragging her lips along my shaft, before plunging down again. 

I fucked her mouth. 

There's no gentler way to put it. I gripped her hair and thrust shallowly at first, then deeper, watching my cock disappear between her pink, swollen lips over and over. She took it all — every thrust, every inch — her tongue dancing along my shaft, her hands gripping my thighs for stability. She looked up at me with those dark, watery eyes, and the sight of her like that — on her knees, her mouth stretched around my cock, drool beginning to escape the corners of her lips — nearly made me come right there. 

"I'm close," I warned. 

She pulled off with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting her bottom lip to the tip of my cock. She stroked me with her hand instead, her grip firm and slick with her own spit. 

"Not yet," she said, her voice hoarse. "I want you to fuck me first." 

She stood up on shaky legs, and I walked her backward toward the bed. 

When the backs of her knees hit the mattress, I pushed her down. She fell onto her back, her hair spreading across the pillow like dark silk, her body bare and waiting. Her breasts rose and fell with her ragged breathing, her nipples still dark and wet from my mouth. Her legs parted slightly, almost involuntarily, and I could see the damp spot on her thong had grown larger — much larger. 

I hooked my fingers into the waistband of her thong and pulled it down her legs slowly, dragging the black fabric over her thighs, her knees, her calves. I tossed it aside and spread her legs wide with my hands on her inner thighs. 

She was completely exposed now — her pussy glistening, her folds swollen and wet, her clit peeking out from its hood like it was begging for attention. I could see how ready she was, how badly she wanted me inside her. 

But I wasn't done tasting her. 

I lowered my head between her thighs and licked her from bottom to top, slow and deep, collecting her wetness on my tongue. She cried out, her hips lifting off the bed, and I grabbed her hips and held her down as I did it again. And again. I circled her clit with the tip of my tongue, flicking it lightly before sucking it gently between my lips. She screamed — a raw, broken sound — and her hands fisted in the sheets. 

I could have stayed there all night. But my cock was throbbing, aching, demanding to be inside her. 

I crawled up her body, positioning myself between her thighs. The head of my cock pressed against her entrance, wet and ready, and I pushed just the tip inside — just enough to make her gasp. 

"Look at me," I commanded. 

Her eyes met mine. 

And then I slammed into her. 

One brutal, full-length thrust that buried every inch of me inside her tight, soaking heat. Her back arched off the bed, her mouth opening in a silent scream, her nails raking down my shoulders. She was so tight — impossibly tight — her walls clenching around me like her body was trying to pull me even deeper. 

"Fuck," I groaned, my forehead dropping to hers. "You feel..." 

"Don't stop," she begged. "Please don't stop." 

I didn't. 

I pulled back almost all the way and thrust again — hard, deep, punishing. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room as I found a rhythm, each stroke faster and harder than the last. She wrapped her legs around my waist, her heels digging into my ass, pulling me deeper with every thrust. 

"You're so deep," she whimpered. 

"Not deep enough." 

I drove into her harder, my cock hitting a spot inside her that made her whole body convulse. She cried out my name — or maybe it was just a sound, just a vowel — and her nails left red trails down my back. 

This was the dark between us. No names. No promises. Just two strangers using each other to feel something — anything — other than the cold. 

And it was fucking perfect. 

I fucked her until the headboard cracked against the wall. 

I fucked her until her voice went hoarse from screaming. 

I fucked her until she came — once, twice, three times — her pussy clenching and fluttering around me with each orgasm, her juices soaking my thighs, the sheets, everything. 

And when I finally came, buried deep inside her, I growled her name into her neck — even though I didn't know it. Even though I never would. 

Because that was the deal. 

That was always the deal. 

Afterward, we lay in the dark, tangled in sweat-soaked sheets, our breathing slowly returning to normal. She traced patterns on my chest with her fingertip, and I stared at the ceiling. 

"I'm not going to ask for your number," she said quietly. 

"I know." 

"And you're not going to ask for mine." 

"No." 

She smiled — a small, sad thing I could feel more than see. "Good." 

She left before sunrise. I heard her heels clicking down the hallway, the soft sound of the door closing behind her. 

I never even got her name. 

But I'd remember her forever. 

END OF CHAPTER 2 

🔥 Coming Next in Dawn & Darkness: 

 Chapter 3: Stranger in My Bed — A hotel room. A wrong door. A very right mistake.