Quinn swore he was done.
After the alley. The motel. The aching stretch of his body that lingered for days.. He told himself it was just a phase. A thing he let happen because he was bored, or curious, or drunk.
He didn't bottom.
Didn't beg.
Didn't come from being fucked into the mattress by someone who barely knew his name.
So when he saw the guy at the underground lounge- leaning against the bar, sleeve tattoos, gold tooth flashing in the dim red lights- he told himself this time would be different.
This time I'm the one in control.
Quinn approached like a wolf, drink in hand smirk sharp.
"Let me guess," he purred. "You're the strong, silent type who likes rough hands and no strings."
The guy turned to him, dark eyes dragging up and down Quinn's body like a slow drag of a knife.
"No," he said, deep and low. "I'm the type who doesn't ask."
Quinn blinked.
But before he could say a damn thing, the guy grabbed him by the back of the neck and kissed him hard. Like he owned his mouth.
Like he already knew Quinn would follow.
And he did.
The place was barely a room above a garage. Mattress on the floor. One lamp. No names. No music.
The guy pulled Quinn in by the belt, then spun him around and shoved him hard against the wall.
Quinn gasped, body catching up to the heat in his blood.
"What-"
"You came to me," the man growled in his ear. "Don't pretend you didn't know what you were begging for."
Quinn should've fought back.
But his hips rolled back instead.
His cock was already hard.
He hated it.
Loved it.
Hands grabbed his ass. Gripped, pulled apart. Fingers spat on and shoved in without warning.
Quinn shouted, knees buckling.
"Already loose, the man muttered. "Fuck. Who broke you in, sweetheart?"
Quinn moaned into the wall, hating the rush of heat in his stomach.
Then he was lifted- arms wrapped under his thighs, legs spread open, back against the wall.
"Wait--fuck, wait-"
But the guy didn't.
He lined up and slammed in, deep and fast, stealing all the air from Quinn's lungs.
Quinn screamed.
"Shhh," the man whispered, licking his neck. "Good boys don't cry out unless say."
Every thrust hit him hard, his whole body rocked with every pump.
Quinn clawed at the man's back, eyes rolling, "Fucking- fuck- you're so- deep- too deep-"
"You came to be used," the man said again. "So I'm using you."
He bounced Quinn on his cock like a toy, sweat dripping, breath rough. And Quinn.. took it.
His mind shattered. His voice broke. His cock leaked untouched as he got filled again and again until he couldn't think straight.
The man didn't even moan when he came- he just groaned low, teeth sinking into Quinn's shoulder, grinding in deep like he wanted to mark him.
Quinn came seconds later, shaking.
Ruin wasn't even the word.
When he woke up, the guy was gone.
No name.
Just bruises on his thighs, a wet spot on the sheets, and the familiar ache in his gut that told him he'd been used all over again.
And the worst part?
He wasn't even mad.