The neon sign above the bar flickered one last time before dying at 2:17 a.m. Riley wiped down the last sticky table, the faint scent of spilled whiskey and lime still clinging to her fingers. She was twenty-four, quiet, always the one closing alone because she never complained. Zane had been nursing the same beer for the last two hours—leather jacket, ink crawling up his neck and forearms, dark eyes that tracked her every move like a predator sizing up prey.
He waited until the front door was locked and the lights dimmed to black. When she turned toward the back exit with the trash bag, he was already there—blocking the hallway, arms crossed, smirk lazy but dangerous.
“You’re done?” he asked, voice low and rough from smoke and late nights.
Riley nodded, pulse jumping. She’d felt his stare all shift. Felt it burn.
He didn’t ask. Just stepped forward, grabbed her wrist—not hard enough to bruise, but firm enough to stop her—and pulled her through the heavy metal door into the narrow alley behind the bar. The door clanged shut. Cool night air hit her skin; the distant thump of bass from the next block vibrated through the brick.
Zane spun her, slammed her back against the rough wall. Brick scraped her shoulders through her thin tank top. He kissed her once—brutal, claiming—then yanked her shorts and panties down in one rough tug. The fabric tore at the seam; he didn’t care. His fingers found her already wet, slick despite the suddenness, despite her small gasp of surprise.
“Knew you wanted this,” he growled against her ear. One hand wrapped around her throat—not squeezing, just holding, thumb pressing lightly under her jaw so she felt every heartbeat. The other hand shoved between her thighs, fingers finding her clit and rubbing hard, fast circles that made her knees buckle.
He freed his cock with his free hand—thick, hard, already leaking—and lined up. No warning, no slow slide. He slammed in deep in one brutal thrust. Riley cried out, the stretch burning bright and perfect. Her hands flew to his shoulders, nails digging through leather as he started fucking her relentlessly—hard snaps of his hips that pinned her to the wall, each one driving the air from her lungs.
She screamed into his shoulder to muffle the sound, biting down on leather as he pounded into her. His hand left her throat to fist her hair, yanking her head back so he could see her face—eyes wide, lips parted, cheeks flushed. He spanked her ass once, twice, hard enough to sting and bloom red even in the dim alley light. The sharp cracks echoed off the bricks; she clenched around him harder with every strike.
“Fuck, you take it so good,” he rasped, pulling her hair tighter, forcing her to arch. He flipped her suddenly—spun her to face the wall, bent her forward, hands braced on rough brick. He kicked her legs wider, entered her from behind in one vicious thrust. Deeper this angle. Harder. His hips slapped against her raw, reddened ass; one hand snaked around to rub her clit again—merciless, rough circles while he fucked her like he was trying to break her open.
Riley’s moans turned desperate, broken. Her thighs shook; the orgasm built fast and violent. “Zane—please—”
He didn’t let up. Fingers worked her clit faster; cock drove deeper. She came screaming—body seizing, walls clamping down so hard he groaned, hips stuttering but never stopping. She rode the waves against the wall, trembling, gasping, until the aftershocks left her limp.
He pulled out, spun her again, pushed her to her knees on the gritty pavement. Riley looked up at him—eyes glassy, lips swollen, chest heaving. Zane stroked himself fast, slick with her wetness. “Open,” he ordered.
She did. Mouth parted, tongue out slightly. He came hard—thick, messy ropes painting her face, her cheeks, her lips, dripping down to her chest and the tops of her breasts. Hot spurts landed on her tongue; she swallowed instinctively, tasting salt and him. He groaned low, milking the last drops across her skin until he was spent.
For a long moment the only sounds were their ragged breathing and distant city noise. Zane looked down at her—marked, wrecked, beautiful—and something softer flickered in his eyes. He crouched, wiped a streak of come from her cheek with his thumb, then kissed her slow and deep, tasting himself on her lips.
“You okay?” he murmured, voice rough but quieter now.
Riley nodded, still trembling, a small, dazed smile curving her mouth. “Better than okay.”
He helped her stand, pulled her shorts back up with surprising gentleness, zipped his jeans. They stood there a minute longer—foreheads pressed together in the shadowed alley—before he took her hand and led her toward the streetlights.
Behind them, the bar’s back door stayed closed. Ahead, the night stretched open and full of promise.
