Rain soaked Anna's hair and slid down her face, cold and relentless. She didn't know how long she'd been standing on James's porch. Her arms hung limply by her sides, her fingers numb. Her eyes were swollen, lashes clumped, her skin blotchy and pale. The tears had stopped, but the exhaustion on her face made it clear she'd been crying for hours.

Her body trembled not just from the cold, but from the way everything had collapsed in one brutal night.

Six years, gone in seconds.

The man she was supposed to marry, the one she had stood beside through every high and low, had tossed it all aside like it never mattered. And the woman she called family, the one who knew every part of her, every scar and secret, had climbed into her fiancé's bed like it meant nothing.

They hadn't just betrayed her. They had torn her wide open and left her bleeding, like she was nothing, like she never meant a damn thing.

Anna's fingers curled into fists. The engagement ring she had waited three years for pressed into her palm. She looked down at it, her hands numb, then slipped it off and let it fall onto the rain-soaked steps.

When she noticed the rain had finally stopped, she wrapped her arms around herself and started walking into the cold night. Her heels clicked softly against the wet pavement, echoing in the empty street. Every step felt heavier than the last. She had no idea where she was headed. Her apartment was miles away, her phone was dead, she didn't have a car, and she couldn't stop shaking.

Anna continued walking down the street, her breaths unsteady and her arms still wrapped tightly around herself, until a cab finally came into view. She stopped, raised her arm and waved it down like her life depended on it.

The cab pulled up, its headlights slicing through the rain. Anna didn't say a word as she yanked the door open and slid into the backseat, her limbs heavy, her fingers stiff with cold. The leather felt cold against her skin as she leaned her head against the window, eyes blank as the street lights smeared across the glass.

Rain clung to the window like the tears she couldn't shed anymore. Her dress was soaked through, her hair plastered to her face, and her body shook with the chill. But none of that compared to the pain in her chest.

The driver glanced at her through the rearview mirror. "Where to?" he asked, voice flat.

Anna didn't answer right away. She didn't want to go home. Not to the empty apartment. Not to the silence. Not to the smell and memory of James still in the sheets. She swallowed hard, eyes fixed on the window.

Quietly, as if it hurt to speak, she gave him the only place she could think of. A downtown club her coworkers had dragged her to once. It was loud, dark, crowded, and perfect.

"Oblivion. 212 Mercer Street. Downtown."

The driver gave a small nod, pulled away from the curb with the tires hissing over the wet pavement, and the ride remained silent the whole way.

By the time the cab stopped outside the club, the streets were louder, darker, and slick with rain. Anna stepped out, handed the driver a few damp notes, and shut the door.

Outside, the club was filled with people laughing, stumbling, soaked and too drunk to care. Anna didn't stop or look at anyone. She just walked into the club as if her world hadn't just fallen apart.

Inside, heat and noise slammed into her. Lights flashed, bodies pressed close, the air thick with sweat and alcohol.

She went straight to the bar and dropped onto a stool like her legs had given out.

"Double vodka. Neat," Anna told the bartender.

He didn't ask any questions and just poured the drink. She downed the first in seconds. The second went down easier. By the third, the ache in her chest began to dull. Her dress clung to her damp skin, sweat slicked her thighs, and her head buzzed while her body burned.

Anna leaned on the bar, eyes half-lidded, lips parted and breath shallow. The fourth glass was already in her hand, half full, as her body moved with the club's rhythm, swaying without thinking, drunk and lost, until her gaze shifted and locked with the steady eyes of a man watching her.

He was sitting at the far end of the bar with his eyes locked on her. He was handsome, sexy and huge. A black shirt stretched tight across his chest, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Tattoos ran up both arms, his dark hair messy. His eyes were cold and unreadable, showing no emotion.

Two men stood on either side of him, broad-shouldered with faces unreadable in their tailored black suits. They were his bodyguards, the kind who wouldn't hesitate for a second when ordered to pull the trigger.

Anna stopped dancing and turned her head back, pretending not to notice, but her heart thudded harder when the man stood and started walking toward her.

He moved like he owned the place. Every step toward her felt deliberate, slow and powerful.

"Rough night?"

The man said as he approached her and leaned in, but Anna didn't respond. His cologne was dark and expensive, his voice deep and smooth, laced with a thick Italian accent.

"Drinking alone, cara? It doesn't suit you," he said again, his voice calm but direct.

Anna turned slightly, her eyes unfocused. The alcohol made everything slow and her tongue feel heavy as she replied to him. "Maybe I just don't want to be around people."

The man watched her carefully. "Or maybe you don't want to be alone, but you're trying to act like you do."

Anna didn't respond. Her eyes flicked to him, then dropped to her glass. Her fingers curled tighter around it, knuckles pale.

He leaned closer, his gaze moving over her without apology, from her bare shoulders to the way the dress clung to her body, and to how tired and puffy her eyes looked beneath the makeup.

"You've been crying," he said quietly.

Anna chuckled softly. "Is it that obvious?"

"Yeah... What happened?" he asked, his voice low but steady.

Anna stared at the bottom of her glass. "I just caught my fiancé cheating on me with my best friend. Then he broke up with me like I was the problem."

His jaw twitched. He reached out and touched her jaw gently, turning her face toward him. "How could he do that to a beautiful woman like you?"

She exhaled softly, her voice caught in her throat, leaving her silent and overwhelmed with sadness.

He leaned in close, his lips almost brushing against hers. "Forget about him. He's an idiot."

Before Anna could process what was happening, her lips were on his. Quick, impulsive, heat flaring in the space between them. She pulled back just as fast.

"Oh my God- I'm so sorry," she said, her voice shaky. "I didn't mean to. I guess I'm too drunk." She let out a breathy chuckle and ran a hand through her hair.

He didn't laugh. He just held her face in his hands steady. His gaze locked on hers.

"It's fine," he said. "You can go home and cry over your ex, or you can come with me."

She swallowed as her heart thudded hard in her chest.

"I'm not asking for anything you don't want," he added. "But if you want to stop thinking about him, I'll help you do that."

Anna wanted to say no, but she was too desperate to feel something other than betrayal. She needed something to help her forget everything that happened, even if it was just for a few hours.

She didn't speak. Just looked him in the eyes for a brief moment and nodded.

"How much is her drink?" the man asked the bartender, his deep voice cutting through the music.

The bartender glanced at Anna's glass. "Sixty-five dollars."

"Put it on my tab," he said without hesitation, his eyes still on her.

He took her hand. His fingers were warm and strong. He didn't pull. He just waited.

Anna slowly slid off the stool, took his hand and let him lead her.

He led her through the back, past the bathrooms and security, to a small, unmarked door. Behind it was a private elevator.

They stepped into the elevator. The ride was silent, tense. Her pulse thudded in her ears. His scent was clean, expensive, intoxicating. It wrapped around her like a noose. She didn't speak. Neither did he.

The elevator opened to a spacious suite bathed in soft golden light. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city skyline, reflected on sleek marble floors. A plush king-sized bed with crisp white linens sat center room. Velvet chairs remained untouched, and a stocked bar gleamed quietly. Above, a cold, perfect chandelier sparkled. The whole space was pristine, luxurious and expensive.

They stepped inside and the elevator doors closed behind them. The city burned beyond the glass, but in here, it was just him. Just them.

He moved closer to Anna, slow but sure, closing the space between them. His hand came up, firm and unhurried, gripping her jaw. His fingers were warm, slightly calloused. He tilted her face up, making her look at him.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, voice low and commanding.

Anna swallowed, her pulse racing as she replied. "Yes. I want you to fuck me so hard that I forget about my dickhead of a fiancé."

His mouth crashed into Anna's, hard and hungry, with his grip locked around her jaw, fingers digging in just enough to make her breath hitch. She didn't pull away. Instead, she leaned in, parted her lips and let him own her mouth completely.

His other hand moved down to her hip and yanked her close, making her feel the hard length of his cock pressing urgently against his pants. His tongue slid deep into her mouth, slick and commanding making her moan as her knees started to give beneath her.

Without breaking the kiss, he shifted her backward until her calves hit the edge of the bed. Only then did he pull back just enough to speak, voice rough and frayed with want.

"Take it off."

Anna didn't hesitate. Her hands trembled as they immediately reached behind, fumbling with the zipper of her dress. The fabric slid down slowly over her skin, damp with sweat and arousal, before pooling at her feet. She stood in nothing but black lace and heels, bare-chested and exposed.

He stared at her, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing every curve and every inch of her. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath.

Anna didn't flinch. She let him look. Let him want.

He went ahead and peeled off his shirt in one smooth motion, revealing his broad chest inked with dark tattoos, muscles carved and tight. When Anna tried to reach for his belt, he caught her wrist.

"Not yet."

He pushed her gently back onto the bed. The sheets were cool against her flushed skin, a contrast that made her pulse thunder.

He climbed over her, knees settling on either side as he nudged her legs apart with his. His mouth found hers again, but this time slower and more controlled, building tension with every movement. He trailed his slowly up her thigh to the edge of her panties.

"You're so hot, cara," he whispered against her lips.

He broke the kiss and slid down, pressing soft kisses to the inside of her thigh, closer and wetter. His warm breath ghosted over her panties, and she twitched beneath him. His eyes locked on hers as he slowly tugged her panties down her legs teasingly.

With eyes still locked on hers, he kissed her pussy, then slid his tongue from her entrance up to her clit, making Anna moan loudly. His mouth covered her with wet, determined attention, tongue flicking and sucking, every motion relentless. Her thighs shook and her hands clutched the sheets tightly.

"Fuck, you taste so sweet," he groaned against her. "So fucking wet for me."

Anna barely breathed as every nerve unraveled under his mouth. Each flick of his tongue sent heat coursing through her veins. Her hips bucked, desperate for more, but he held her still with his hands making his fingers dig into her thighs.

He lifted his mouth and slid one finger into her pussy making her whimper and arch her back off the bed. Wet sounds filled the room as his fingers stretched her open. Another finger pushed in, thrusting deep while his thumb circled her clit.

Anna's body tensed, tight and trembling.

"Come for me," he growled. "Now."

And she did.

Her legs clamped around his wrist as a choked cry tore from her throat. Her body jerked, back lifting off the bed as her pulse slammed through her head.

He didn't stop. He slipped in a third finger and kept fucking her through every wave, dragging her deeper until she was shaking, limp, wrecked, and barely breathing.

And then Anna squirted, soaking his hand as her body gave out beneath him.

He didn't flinch, he just watched, letting her come down from her high.

When Anna was done, he leaned in and cleaned her with his mouth. When he was done, he rose.

"You're not done," he said, voice low and wrecked.

He unbuckled his belt, letting it fall with a sharp clink, then shoved his pants and boxers down in one motion. Her breath hitched, but she didn't look away.

His cock was thick, hard, and already leaking. He smirked, knowing exactly the effect he had on her.

His hand moved to his cock, gripping it at the base. He stroked it once slowly. "You're going to take all of this," he said. "Every inch."

Anna nodded without hesitation.

He positioned himself over her, hooking her knees over his arms to spread her wider. The blunt head of his cock pressed to her entrance, thick and hot. He didn't wait. He pushed in.

The stretch burned, Anna just a little making her breath catch in her chest. He didn't stop, he kept going slow and steady until he was buried to the hilt, full and deep inside her. Her nails dug into the sheets, mouth falling open.

"Fuck," he hissed, still. "You feel even better than I imagined."

He didn't move at first. Just held there, letting her adjust to his cock.

Then, after a beat, he pulled back, just barely inside, like he wanted her to feel every inch, before slamming into her in one brutal thrust, forcing her to take it all at once. She cried out, voice high and guttural, her back arching off the bed as he pounded into her.

"Fuck," he growled, watching her face twist in overwhelmed pleasure. "This tight pussy was made for me."

Anna's legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, her heels dig into the small of his back, pulling him deeper and closer. His hips slapped against her ass, hard and fast, the sound obscene and raw in the quiet, high-ceilinged hotel room.

"Say it," he snarled against her neck, teeth grazing her skin. "Say you needed this. Say you needed to get used."

"I-fuck- auhhh," Anna's voice broke with a moan. "I needed this. I needed to get used."

His palm came down hard against her ass, the slap loud and sudden.

"Louder."

Anna gasped, breath caught in her throat. "I needed to be fucked."

He grinned darkly. "Good girl."

Leaning back on his knees, he dragged her hips up with him so her ass barely touched the mattress. Both hands gripped her thighs as he pounded harder, ruthless and deep into her pussy, like he wanted to ruin her for anyone else.

The base of his cock glistened with her arousal every time he pulled out, and he watched it disappear inside her again and again. The sight was obscene and addictive. Her pussy clung his cock tight, slick and needy, taking every thrust with wet sounds that only made him rougher.

"Goddamn, look at this wet pussy," he muttered, more to himself than her. "Swallowing me like you've been starving for cock."

Anna shook beneath him, mouth open in a silent cry, one hand clutching the headboard and the other clawing the sheets. Her breasts bounced with every thrust, nipples tight and sensitive.

He leaned in, one hand braced beside her head as his mouth closed over her left breast, sucking her nipple deep into his mouth, making her gasp.

His thrusts didn't stop, he reduced his pace, thrusting into her slow but hard, hips grinding with ruthless precision, each movement hitting the spot that made her eyes roll back.

He scraped his teeth across her nipple, then licked it, the heat of his mouth in sync with the deep thrust of his cock. Her hands flew to his back, nails digging in, desperate to hold on as her body spiraled.

"Fuck," she whimpered, legs wrapping tighter around his waist.

He groaned low and ragged. "That's it. Take it."

And she did, taking every thrust, every flick of his tongue, until her body shook, climax rising like a wave ready to drown her.

His fingers found her clit, rubbing hard with the flat of his hand.

Anna convulsed.

"Come again," he said, voice low and filthy. "Soak my fucking cock."

Anna came, shattering with a scream, legs trembling as her pussy clenched him so tight he nearly came.

"I'm not done," he growled against her breast, pounding her pussy faster, cock pistoning into her slick heat. "I'll stop when you can't remember your name."

He rose, flipped her onto her stomach, grabbed her hips, and slammed into her from behind.

Anna sobbed into the pillow, wrecked but arching her back anyway, letting him pound her pussy deeper.

He bent low, chest pressed against her back, one hand slipping under her to choke just enough to make her moan instead of scream.

He slammed into her harder, deeper, chasing release with rough, relentless thrusts. Breath ragged, chest heaving, his rhythm faltered.

Then he buried himself to the hilt.

A guttural groan ripped from his throat as he came inside her, pulse after pulse spilling deep. His fingers dug into her hips, holding her still while he emptied every last drop of his cum inside her.

She felt it, the heat of him, the way his cock twitched inside, the possessive way he stayed buried, like he couldn't let go.

After he came, he didn't move. Just hovered over her, breath unsteady, hands roaming her sides and waist, tracing the shape of her wrecked body.

Anna lay wrecked, panting, soaked in sweat and cum, and for the first time all night, she wasn't thinking about James.

She wasn't thinking about anything.

Just him.

And the way he'd ruined her.