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It started with the broken light.
Jess had gone out back to check the old toolshed in the patio of where her and Dylan worked, figuring she’d fix it before the weekend.
The sun was low, casting amber light over the dusty shelves and metal tools. She tugged at the rusted chain of the ceiling lamp, but it didn’t flicker.
“Need a hand?”
The voice behind her was unmistakable. Smooth. Confident. Dylan.
Jess turned. Too fast. Too aware.
He stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, arms crossed over his chest. His shirt clung to his upper body in all the right places, but it wasn’t his chest that made her stomach twist into knots.
It was lower.
His jeans.
Tight.
Obscenely tight.
And the bulge pushing against them was unreal.
Her throat dried. Her thighs tightened.
She told herself not to look—but her eyes dropped anyway. That thing was massive. Too massive. It made Dan look like a boy in the worst, cruelest comparison her brain could conjure.
“You alright, Jess?” Dylan’s voice had dropped. He was watching her too closely now.
She blinked. “Yeah. Just—”
Her breath hitched.
Because she felt it.
A slick warmth sliding down the inside of her thigh. Slow. Unforgiving. Her thong was soaked. That grey high-waisted pair she wore to feel sexy for Dan… now drenched because of Dylan.
She clenched her legs tighter, trying to stop it.
But it was too late.
And Dylan saw.
He stepped inside. Closed the shed door behind him.
“You smell that?”
Jess gasped, stepping back. Her back hit the shelf.
“I—” she tried to say something. Anything. But her voice failed.
He stepped closer. And closer. Until she could feel the heat from his body.
His eyes dropped to her thighs.
“You’re dripping,” he murmured.
Jess shook her head, but it wasn’t denial—it was fear. Of how badly she wanted this. Of how close she was to breaking.
Dylan lifted her shirt carefully, scrambling his fingers around the top of the thongs.
“These yours?” Dylan’s fingers traced the waistband of her thong through her skirt. “Or his?”
She whispered, “His…”
Dylan’s lips curled into something dark. Animalistic.
“Good,” he growled. “Then he can smell me on them when you go back inside.”
Then he yanked her skirt up.
Jess gasped—but she didn’t stop him.
Her grey thong clung to her soaked lips, the fabric dark with arousal. Dylan growled low in his throat, palming the enormous bulge in his jeans.
“Tell me you don’t want this,” he whispered, pushing his forehead to hers.
Jess opened her mouth—but her body betrayed her.
A fresh stream of slick trickled down her inner thigh.
Dylan saw it.
Felt it.
Then?
He took.
He bent her over the old workbench, yanked her thong to the side, and without warning—without mercy—slammed into her.
Jess screamed.
Not from pain.
From release.
He was huge. Thick. Thicker than she had ever had. Stretching her more than she’d ever felt. Dan had never even come close.
Dylan’s grip tightened on her hips.
“That’s it,” he growled. “Take it.”
And Jess did.
She took it all.
His cock crashed into her, punishing and relentless. Her cries turned desperate. Her nails scraped the wood as her body clenched tighter, tighter—
And then, for the first time in her life—
She squirted.
Hard.
Wetness splashed against the wood, her thighs, his jeans.
She gasped, stunned.
Dylan didn’t slow. Didn’t stop.
“That’s what you needed,” he grunted. “You were starving for this.”
And Jess?
She didn’t deny it.
Because there was no pretending anymore.
She had just exploded for a man who wasn’t her boyfriend.
And her body wanted more.
Jess’s breath came in broken gasps.
She wasn’t sure how much time had passed. Seconds? Minutes? Hours?
Her cheek was pressed against the rough wood of the workbench, her thighs trembling, legs threatening to collapse beneath her. Her grey thong hung uselessly around one ankle now, soaked and forgotten. Her body was shaking.
And still—Dylan didn’t stop.
His cock slammed into her again, again, again, deep and ruthless. Every thrust punched a helpless sound from her lips. Her throat was raw from moaning, crying, screaming.
“Please…” she whimpered.
Dylan leaned over her, lips brushing the back of her neck, voice a dark growl.
“Please what, Jess?”
She didn’t answer. She couldn’t.
Her body was wracked by another orgasm—sharp, hot, and devastating.
Her knees gave out.
But Dylan caught her. Bent her forward harder. Kept fucking her through it.
“Don’t you dare run from it,” he snarled into her ear. “You wanted this.”
She choked out a sob—half denial, half surrender.
“I c-can’t…” she gasped.
But her pussy clenched him tighter with every thrust.
“You are,” Dylan growled. “You’re gonna take every inch of this cock until I say you’ve had enough.”
Jess screamed as her next climax detonated inside her—messy, wet, uncontrollable. Her body thrashed, hips bucking against him, squirting again as she soaked both his jeans and her own inner thighs.
She’d never been used like this.
Never been wrecked like this.
She didn’t even know this kind of pleasure existed.
And still—Dylan wasn’t finished.
“Look at this pussy,” he groaned. “Begging for more even while your brain’s telling you to stop. This is what you were made for.”
Jess could only moan, wrecked and teetering on the edge of complete submission.
He gripped her waist harder, slamming in deep—so deep—until he bottomed out, holding himself there.
Then?
He growled.
And he came.
His cock throbbed inside her, pulsing wave after wave of thick heat into her clenching cunt. Jess whimpered as she felt him fill her, her body still trembling from the storm he’d just dragged her through.
Neither of them moved.
Not at first.
She lay there, used, dripping, overflowing, her pussy twitching around the man who had just conquered it.
Dylan leaned over her, lips at her ear.
“You’re not his anymore,” he murmured. “You never were.”
And Jess?
She didn’t argue.
Because her body had just been claimed.
And she liked it.
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