It started as a secret.
A kiss in the kitchen. A blow job on the cold tile floor. A groan into the crook of his neck that sounded too close to love but was just lust—wild, poisonous lust.
But it didn’t stop there.
It couldn’t.
After that first time, Eli didn’t try to convince himself it was a mistake. He didn’t even feel guilty—not really. Natalie’s name barely crossed his mind anymore. She was a shadow in the background, a pale echo of what he used to want. Because now, every inch of him ached for something bigger. Stronger. Crueler.
For him.
For the man who kissed like he owned him, f****d like it was punishment, and whispered filth into his ear like it was the only truth that mattered.
⸻
Eli started finding excuses to come over when she wasn’t home.
The man never texted. Never
