>Mallory
I just watch him while she unbuckles his pants, my breathing ragged with a mix of anxiety and anticipation pressing tightly against my chest. Then he pulls it out.
No.
That's a weapon.
My breath catches, a gasp caught in my throat. That's something you should never put inside a human body. My lips part instinctively, but no words come. My body screams for it, a restless ache igniting beneath my skin, yet my mind screams in warning—impossible, impossible.
He leans over me, our bare skin warm and trembling with proximity. His breaths send shivers through my nerves, a rhythmic pulse that echoes inside me. He traces his nose along the curve of my neck, a soft, tentative brush that awakens a fluttering inside—something fragile and raw.
One of his hands reaches toward himself, the faint whisper of fabric rustling as he brushes against me. I try to push away, my heart pounding louder, a storm of anxiety rising in my chest.
"It won't f-fit," I whisper, my voice trembling like a fragile leaf in the wind. Before I can react, he seals my lips with a gentle, lingering kiss, then finally looks into my eyes.
"I'll be gentle," he whispers softly, between shallow breaths. Then he pushes inside—slowly, cautiously.
It's as if lightning has struck my core, jolting my nerves into a wild, uncontrollable shiver. Pain blooms inside me, spreading like ripples across still water. Everything feels full—overwhelming and raw. I don't notice the tears slipping down my face until he wipes them away with the back of his hand, his touch tender and soothing. He hushes me softly, like a child, pressing a gentle kiss to my tear-streaked skin. His tenderness is almost unbearable.
"Trust me," he murmurs, pulling me closer, one arm wrapping around my waist, the other cradling my back. His face burrows into my neck, warm breath sending a whisper of sensation through me.
I wrap my legs around his waist, every movement still sharp and painful. Maybe he senses my distress, because he doesn't push further. Instead, he holds me tighter, slowly rocking, letting my body gradually acclimate to the pain—transforming it, somehow, into a different kind of sensation. An exquisite, almost addictive pleasure begins to rise, creeping through my veins.
I reach up, grabbing his face, searching his eyes with mine—pleading without words.
"You can move now," I whisper, voice trembling as much as my hands.
He responds with a slow, deliberate rhythm, thrusting gently at first, then building speed. The sensation envelops me—so overwhelming that I forget how to breathe, sinking deeper into the moment. The room fills with moans, curses, and whimpers, a symphony of shared pleasure drowning out everything else.
And then—finally—a hot, sticky wave floods through me, leaving us both limp, covered in sweat and trembling.
_____
I woke up in a dimly lit room, the faint glow of early morning light seeping through the thin, half-opened curtain told me everything I needed to know. Shadows danced softly across the walls as the sunlight filtered in, casting a muted amber hue.
I was wrapped snugly in a blanket, my body still bare and slightly chilled from the cool air. Despite the warmth of the blanket, I could feel the lingering dampness of sweat and the faint scent of alcohol clinging to my skin. My head throbbed fiercely, as if a band of drums was pounding inside my skull, threatening to split me in two. I lay there, caught in a fog of confusion and regret, contemplating all my questionable life choices.
My! What did I do?!
Suddenly, I sensed it—something groaned nearby, a low, muffled sound that jolted me upright. My eyes darted around the room until I spotted him. A man—just as naked as I was—his head buried against the pillow, his chest rising and falling with each uneven breath. His features were blurry, indistinct in the dim light, but I could see enough to know he was as messy as I am.
My breath hitched sharply, catching in my throat. My chest pounded so fiercely I was afraid it might burst out of me at any moment. The rush of fear and adrenaline flooded my senses, making me forget the pounding hangover that was still gnawing at the edges of my consciousness.
I moved with the utmost caution, the kind of stealth that makes ninjas pale in comparison. Slowly, as deliberately as I could, I slipped my body out from beneath the blanket, careful not to make a sound.
The only noise inside the room was the faint hum of the air conditioner, a constant, monotonous drone that seemed to echo the pounding of my heart. As soon as my bare feet touched the cold, tiled floor, a shiver ran up my spine—a shock of icy sensation that made me wince. The cold air wrapped around me like a shroud as I tiptoed across the room, hugging myself, each step cautious and barely perceptible.
I moved sideways, aiming for the other side of the bed where all my clothes were scattered in a chaotic mess—dress, bra, panty, whatever I could grab—my fingers stumbling through the darkness as quietly as I could. I slipped into each piece of clothing one by one, pulling them on with trembling hands, trying not to disturb the man still lying there. In my mind, I probably whispered prayers to every saint I could think of, begging that the man wouldn't wake up.
There was no way I could meet his eyes after everything that happened. My remaining dignity was already slipping away, almost dissolving into the smoke. That fragile piece of dignity is the only thing holding me together, and even that was trembling on the brink of shattering.
No. Absolutely not.
I couldn't remember much about last night, but the one thing burned clear in my mind: I had pounced on him before we even made it to the door, driven by alcohol, fueled hormones, and whatever reckless impulse my mind told me to do.
Poor man. I didn't even know what he looked like. His face was hazy and blurry in my memory. I only knew he was just a stranger—an anonymous body I'd surrendered to in my drunken desperation.
And he has nothing to do with my mess.
Once I managed to get my dress on, I crept to the door, my heart pounding so loudly I was afraid it might give me away. Carefully, I reached around my chest, clutching all my remaining belongings—my phone, my purse—and with my free hand, I slowly turned the doorknob. I pulled the door open just enough to slip through, hugging my scattered things tightly against my chest to keep them hidden from view. With a deep, trembling breath, I closed the door behind me.
As I descend the stairs to the first floor of the club, I am met with empty place—only tables and chairs remain, the stools turned upside down and nicely arranged. An old woman was silently mopping the entire place with her eyes, her face as stoic and unmoving as a stone. She seemed to weigh me with her gaze, not blinking, not smiling, just staring right into my soul.
I forced a nervous smile and exchanged a quick, awkward glance with her, feeling the weight of my embarrassment settle over me like a heavy shroud. Without another word, I turned on my heel and bolted for the exit, my heart pounding in my chest.
What's wrong with her?
I couldn't spend another second in that place, or the shame will kill me before anything else.
As soon as I stepped outside, the blast of sunlight hit my skin, warm but overwhelming after the cool interior. The smell of exhaust fumes and city noise rushed into my nose. I fumbled hurriedly into my bag, fingers trembling as I grabbed my phone. Without hesitation, I dialed Mara's number.
It rang only a few seconds before her cheerful, teasing voice answered, slicing through the haze of my shame.
"Hey, girl! Had fun?" she asked, her tone light and mischievous, as if she already knew the answer. I almost threw my phone in the street.
Fun? You've got to be kidding me. I was hurting all over, especially in that place.