Favorite Mistake

Undeniable, irresistible. She fights but can't win against her desire to be used by him.

The clouds hung low, swollen and heavy, like the sky itself was second-guessing my decision in the late afternoon.

Rain spattered across the windshield in slow, uneven taps. Too soft to be a storm, but too steady to ignore. I gripped the steering wheel tighter, as if that could anchor me to reason.

This is a bad idea.

I told myself that with every mile, every sigh that clouded the glass, every red light I stopped at a little too carefully.

I shouldn't be doing this. Not again.

Not when I know how he makes me feel. Not when I know what he can do with just one look.

But the more I told myself to turn around, the stronger the pull became.

It wasn’t logic that drove me anymore it was him.

The way his voice lingers in my head long after he’s gone. The way he says my name like it’s something forbidden. How my skin feels when he walks into a room charged, awake, trembling like it remembers what my mind tries to forget.

I pressed harder on the gas.

The rain picked up, like the clouds were scolding me for giving in. But even the storm couldn’t compete with the one unraveling inside me.

I shouldn’t want him.

He’s not good for me.

But God, I miss the way his presence consumes me.

I miss the way everything else in the world disappears when he touches me like his hands rewrite reality.

I turned onto his street, heart pounding now, the ache between my legs syncing with every beat.

I knew I was making a mistake.

But it was one I couldn't stop making.

And worse?

I didn’t want to.

---

The tires splashed against the wet pavement as I pulled into the parking lot. The glow of the coffee shop sign buzzed in the haze, soft against the gray rain light filtering through the clouds. My heart was racing so loud I could barely hear the patter of rain on the roof.
I sat there for a second, hands still gripping the steering wheel, lungs aching to slow down.
It is just a talk, I told myself. But I deep down I knew that it isn’t enough. It’s never enough.

I took a breath. Then another. And I opened the door. The cold air bit at my skin the second I stepped out.

I pulled my coat tighter around me, head down, heels clicking softly against the sidewalk as I approached the entrance.

When I stepped inside, the warmth hit me all at once. So did he. He was already there. Sitting at a corner table. Waiting.

His skin unusually pale in the gloomy wash of light from the window, like he hadn’t been sleeping.

His jet-black hair, usually slicked back, now hung slightly disheveled, damp strands falling over his sharp cheekbones, giving him a messier, more haunted edge.

His posture was rigid, like every muscle in his body was coiled tight. His eyes locked onto me the second I walked in, unblinking, unreadable, almost afraid. Almost surprised?

Like part of him didn’t believe I’d actually come. Like part of him wished I hadn’t. But it was too late for both of us. I didn’t look away. I walked toward him slowly, my pulse drumming in my throat, the rain still clinging to my coat and lashes.

When I reached his table, I stopped. He didn’t stand. He didn’t smile. He just watched me.
His eyes were that impossibly light shade of grey, almost silver, like storm clouds about to break. His pupils were small, constricted by the light pouring in from the window behind me.

He didn’t blink. Didn’t move. Just stared.

There was something in his gaze, longing, hunger, so raw it felt almost palpable, like I could reach out and touch it. I couldn’t even tell if he was breathing.

I could tell he could feel it too, that pull. That invisible thread between us that snapped taut the second we were in the same room.

Eyes still locked on his, I reached for my raincoat and opened it slowly. Taking it off my shoulders, letting it slide down my arms, damp and heavy.

His eyes follows my movements. His jaw tenses and he swallows, looking down towards his steamy coffee mug. With his eyes off of me I gather some courage.

“You didn’t expect me to come.” I said, draping my coat over the chair beside me.

His eyes followed every movement. His jaw tensed. He swallowed, then looked down toward the coffee mug in front of him, steam curling into the air like it might say something for him.

With his gaze off me, I finally found enough breath to speak.

“You didn’t expect me to come.” I finally said.

He inhaled deeply, the sound quiet, tired.

“No, I didn’t.” A long pause. Then, softly “Yet I still came. Because against all odds, I hoped that you would.” His voice was low, worn thin. His eyes lifted again, meeting mine, this time studying me like I might disappear if he blinked. “What changed your mind?”

I sighed, the answer already heavy on my tongue. “As much as we both know I should… I can’t stay away from you.”

That hit him.

He looked down again, hand curling around the mug like he needed its warmth just to stay upright.

When he looked back up, something in him had cracked open.

“I don’t know what to do,” he said, voice quiet but fraying at the edges. “I can’t sleep. I can barely eat. I can’t stand being away from you.” It wasn’t anger. He didn’t have the energy for that. Just... truth. Raw and bruised. “But when we’re together…”

“I know,” I whispered, looking away from him.

Being with him isn’t soft. It isn’t sweet. It’s chaos. Heat. A total collapse of anything I thought I wanted.

The second we’re in the same room, I stop existing as a person with boundaries, thoughts, a plan. I don’t want to be seen. I want to be used.

All I can think about is him taking control. Taking me. However he wants, whenever he wants. When we’re together, I don’t feel like his partner, I feel like his toy. His thing. Something he owns and plays with when it pleases him. And God help me, I need that.

I want to be beneath him, on my knees for him, bent over, wide open, wrecked and ruined by him. I want to be nothing but the body he uses to satisfy himself.

It consumes me.

Every time I try to go back to my life, my writing, my thoughts, my independence, it feels fake. Like I’m pretending. Because nothing compares to the feeling of surrendering to him.

And I hate that.

I hate how much power he has over me. How easily I fall apart for him.

So I push him away. Again and again. Because if I stop resisting, even for a second, I don’t know if I’ll ever come back from it.

But I always go back to him. After two months of what it feels like torture, I’m here.

With him again.

He studied me in silence. I didn’t have to speak. He could see it. The way my gaze slipped somewhere else, somewhere darker. He always knew when I disappeared into that space in my head. The space where I tried to deny him.

“Where are you right now?” he asked softly.

I blinked, but didn’t answer.

His voice dropped lower. “Are you fighting it again?” He said as if he could read my internal dialogue.

A shaky breath left my lips. I looked back at him. “I still try to convince myself you’re not good for me,” I whispered.

He tilted his head, eyes searching mine. “But today you didn’t succeed, did you?” There was a sexy smirk on his face. He’s enjoying my defeat.

I swallowed hard. “No.” He had to make me admit it. Acknowledge my unsuccessful attempts to stay away from him.

And just like that, like he couldn’t wait another fucking second, he said it.

“Let’s get out of here.” His voice was low, calm, but there was urgency buried under it. Before I could process it, he was already standing, sliding into his coat like the decision had been made long before he said it out loud.

I didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. He didn’t wait for me. He didn’t ask again. He just turned and walked toward the door.

And I followed. Of course I did. Because I already knew where we were going. His place.

His bed. His hands. His cock.

Everything in me ached for it. We each got into our own car, the rain still whispering against the glass like it knew what was about to happen.

And for once, my mind was quiet. No more fighting myself. No more rehearsing reasons. No more pretending I didn’t want this.

There was only the slow, building pulse in my core. The quiet swell of need that turned heavier with each red light.

The only thing I could think about was getting to him, getting under him, around him, on my knees for him.

I wanted him so fucking bad the drive felt unbearable.

And I hated that I couldn’t have him soon enough.

It was lust, longing. It was something deeper. Darker. As I was following his car, the hunger turned into pain. And I was eager to let him feed it.

---

I parked behind him on the street, my tires barely crunching to a stop before I saw him step out of his car. He slammed the door shut, not sparing me a glance.

He was already walking fast, heading toward the house with that same focused intensity that always made my chest tighten.

I practically jumped out of my car, rushing to keep up.

He didn’t look back.

Didn’t wait.

By the time I reached the porch, he was inside, the front door left open behind him.

“Lock the door,” his voice called from deeper in the house, calm, but unmistakably commanding.

I closed the door behind me and twisted the lock with trembling fingers. The click echoed in the quiet like a promise I couldn’t take back. Turning around I see he’s taken off his shoes. I did the same and followed the sound of him to the living room.

He stood there, coat already halfway off, eyes locked on mine as he shrugged it from his shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

“Take off your clothes,” he said. His tone wasn’t angry or rushed. It was eager, stripped down and impatient in a way that sent a jolt straight through me.

I blinked, heat blooming low in my belly. It was cold, but that was the least important thing happening to my body. I ached for him. Just as much as he clearly ached for me.

So I obeyed.

First my coat, then my T-shirt, jeans, all added to the pile. I stood before him in my black lace bra and matching panties, chest rising and falling with every breath, my skin already tight with want.

I looked at him. His eyes didn’t waver. “All of your clothes, Vicky,” he said.

Not a suggestion. A demand. The way he said my name, sharp, low, possessive, made my pussy clench, heat spreading so fast I could hardly stand still.

I reached behind my back, unhooked the bra, and let it fall. Then, slowly, I slid my panties down my legs and stepped out of them, adding them to the pile at my feet.

My long, dark blonde hair brushed against my bare skin, my back, my shoulders, the tops of my nipples, making me shiver.

I was naked. And his eyes told me he was going to do something about it.

“Turn around.” His voice came out low and rough, like it was being dragged from somewhere deep in his chest.

I obeyed without a word. My bare feet shifted across the hardwood as I turned slowly, now facing the couch.

Another breath slipped out of him, harsher this time. Like he had to physically keep himself from reaching for me too soon.

I closed my eyes. Waiting.

Not knowing what he’d do next, only that I wanted it. The silence between us crackled with heat. Then I heard it. The soft sound of his footsteps.

One. Two. Three.

He stopped right behind me. So close I could feel the heat of his body radiating across my skin. So close I couldn’t even breathe right.

Goosebumps swept up my arms and across my stomach. My nipples hardened instantly, my thighs pressing together from the tension building between them.

Then, gently, he reached forward and moved my hair off my back.

His fingers grazed my neck as he did, just enough to make me flinch in the best way.

And then his lips were on me. He kissed my shoulder. Soft. Hot. Deliberate. Then higher, along the curve of my neck.

Open-mouthed now, warm breath trailing against my skin. His tongue brushed where my pulse throbbed beneath the surface, and I could’ve collapsed from just that. I let out a small whimper, head tilting slightly to give him more. I didn’t even mean to. My body just knew.

“Bend over the couch.” He demanded against my skin.

I did. Slowly. Hands bracing on the cushions, my hips tilted toward him, back arched, heart thudding against my ribs so loudly I could hear it in my ears.

I felt the shift in the air as he dropped to his knees behind me. Felt the heat of his breath move closer. Then lower. And then his tongue. One long, slow stroke from the base of my pussy all the way up to my ass. He starts making out with it, pushing his tongue in and out of my tight hole.

I cried out. My legs trembled. My eyes fluttered shut.

He groaned loud and full of hunger like he’d just tasted the one thing he’d been starving for.

Then, in one swift motion, he leaned back, turned me around, and pushed me.

I collapsed over the couch, startled, breath ragged, my body already trembling from how badly I wanted more.

Still on his knees, he reached for my thighs and spread them wide, exposing me completely.

Then his mouth was on me again, hot, hungry.

He sucked my clit into his mouth, tongue flicking and dragging over the sensitive flesh, slow at first… then faster, building pressure in waves that curled through my core and stole the breath from my lungs.

My body was winding up tight, seconds away from unraveling, when I felt it. His finger slipping between my cheeks. And then, without warning, sliding inside my ass.

My eyes flew open, a sharp gasp escaping my lips, not from shock, but from how good it felt.

He worked it in and out of me, his mouth never leaving my clit. It was too much. Too intense. Too perfect. I couldn’t hold it back. I came, hard.

A desperate, broken moan tore from my throat as my whole body pulsed, both holes clenching, rippling with release as I came on his tongue.

A deep groan rumbled out of him like he was savoring it.

I relax, limp, barely processing what just happened.

But he didn’t give me time to recover.

He stood, lifted me up like I weighed nothing, and spun me back around onto my knees.

My legs shaking beneath me, barely holding. He bent me over again.

I heard the sound of his zipper sliding down, the quiet thud of him pushing his pants down.

Then the tip of his cock, soft and warm, brushed between my cheeks.

He lined himself up.

And with one deep, unforgiving thrust. He pushed inside me. All the way.

A loud moan, almost a scream, escaped from me with the way he took me in that moment.

He felt huge, thick and hard and impossibly deep.

I stretched around him, spreading my legs a little to fit him in. My body barely able to take it. If I hadn’t already been a soaked mess, it would’ve hurt.

But it didn’t. It felt perfect. The way he filled me, claimed me, made me feel small and helpless and his.

It was overwhelming. And I fucking loved it.

The force of him, the way he didn’t hesitate, didn’t ask, just took it sent another wave of heat crashing through me.

Like my body was made for this. To be used like this.

I could feel the relief pulsing through me, the ache finally easing. This is how my body longs to be, always. Naked. Dripping. With his cock buried so deep inside my pussy it feels like it’ll never be the same.

Then he grabbed a fistful of my hair, twisted it tight around his hand, and pulled.

My back arched, forcing him even deeper. I gasped, barely catching myself with one hand braced on the back of the couch.

His other hand slid around my neck. Firm. Restraining.

The sensation of being held like that, fully his, made me whimper. His breath was hot against my ear.

“I needed this so fucking bad I almost bent you over that fucking table and took you right then and there,” he growled through his teeth, referring to the coffee shop I convinced him to meet me at, “so everyone could see how much you belong to me.” His breath was rushed. Then I heard him trying to ease it.

“You could’ve just come here,” he’s quieter now, pain laced in the edge of his voice.

I could’ve. But I needed a few moments of control. A few final seconds of testing If I had the strength to resist him. Truth is I never did.

“I’m here now for you,” I whispered. He exhaled like that admission cracked something open in him.

“Yes, you are,” he murmured. “With me inside you.”

Then he started to move. Slow. Deliberate. Each thrust dragging pleasure so deep it made my throat catch.

I moaned, soft, broken.

“When are you going to accept it?” he asked, still moving inside me, his voice lower now, almost moaning through the words. “That this is where you’re meant to be?”

He pulled back, then slid in again with aching precision. “You want it so bad you’re dripping on me.”

“I can’t help it,” I gasped. “This is all I want, all the time.”

“Good,” he said darkly. “Because I’m giving it to you. Just like you need it.” His thrusts deepened, his pace still measured but so intense it made my eyes roll back.

“Enjoy it while I fuck your tight little pussy,” he growled. “And once I’m done with you… I hope you stay. Right here. Where you belong.” His voice cracked at the end, a confession buried beneath the dominance. “I can’t bear not having you. Do you understand?”

When I’m not here, we both feel it. That unbearable emptiness. That world that doesn’t feel right without the other in it.

“Yes, Dante.” I tear up because there’s no other alternative for me. I want this more than anything, and I’ll let myself have it even if it scares me. “I need to be your little fuck toy. Your plaything. Your sex slave. I need to please you in any way you want. Please don’t ever let me go again.”

I surrender into his rhythm, into the deep, lovely strokes that start to build faster, stronger, each one hitting deeper than the last.

My moans turn desperate, breathless. He grips my hips harder, and his pace shifts.

Rough now. Unrelenting.

I feel him throb inside me, the tension coiling through both our bodies like a fuse burning fast.

“Cum with me,” he growls, voice wrecked, barely holding on. He releases his hand from my neck and reaches my clit. Playing with it, rubbing it in perfect circles.

And then he slams into me, hard, deep, dragging my orgasm from me like it belongs to him.

I shatter.

My body pulses, legs shaking, the sound of our bodies slapping together echoing through the room.

He follows with a deep, broken moan, buried so deep inside me I swear I can feel him everywhere.

We collapse forward, breathless, still tangled. Still connected.

And for a moment, there’s nothing else. Just this.

Exactly where we both need to be.

---

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