"A double cheeseburger. Extra cheese. No pickles. And..."
He paused.
His voice drifted through the intercom like smoke—low, deliberate, edged with something that didn't belong here, not in this dead-end drive-thru surrounded by flickering fluorescents and the stench of fryer oil.
"...when do you get off work?"
For a second, I froze, unsure if I'd misheard him. My fingers hovered above the touchscreen. This wasn't one of the usual drunk college boys with a fake bravado. His tone was too sharp. Too quiet. Like a man who already knew the answer.
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me."
God, I hated that kind of certainty. The slow, unshakable cadence. The kind of voice that didn't ask—it declared. The way he pronounced pickles like it disgusted him, like it didn't belong on his food—or in his life.
"Ten o'clock," I replied, trying to sound bored, even though something inside me had already tightened.
"Then wait five minutes longer. I'm picking you up."
He pulled around the corner, and that's when I saw it—matte black Mustang, tinted windows that swallowed the neon lights whole. When the glass slid down, I caught my first real glimpse of him.
A tailored suit, no tie, the collar open just enough to show a hint of throat and something more dangerous beneath the fabric. He looked expensive—like his money came soaked in sin and silence.
His gaze didn't linger on my face. It dropped, slow and shameless, tracing my name tag, my lips, the way my chest rose beneath polyester. And when his eyes finally met mine, he didn't blink.
"Lexa," he said, like he wasn't just reading it—like he'd already filed it away somewhere deep.
Then, after a deliberate pause: "Cassian."
Not a pickup line. Not an introduction. A verdict.
"What do you want from me?" I asked, not because I really wanted to know—but because it was easier than admitting that I was already shaking.
"Ten minutes."
And somehow, even before I realized it, I knew I would give them to him.
10:07 PM
I sat beside him in that coffin-dark car, the leather cold against the back of my thighs. The air conditioning was still running, blasting against my skin, but the chill that crawled down my spine came from something else entirely. Something older. Something I didn't have a name for yet.
"Take off your seatbelt."
I obeyed without thinking.
His hand was already on my thigh, warm, claiming.
Then came the command, like a knife slid across silk:
"Kneel."
He didn't look at me. Just stared straight ahead as if this was nothing out of the ordinary.
"You mean...?"
"I mean get on your knees. Right now. Or get the fuck out."
There was no room for interpretation in that voice. No softness. No patience.
So I slid down—slowly, nervously—until my knees pressed against the cold rubber mat, hands braced on his thighs. Even through the fabric, I could feel him. Hard already. Waiting.
"Open your mouth. Show me how badly you want out of your pathetic little world."
I parted my lips. My heart slammed against my ribs.And then he gripped my hair and thrust himself into my throat with no warning. No buildup. Just the raw, brutal truth of what he wanted.
I gagged, my eyes watering instantly, but he didn't pause. He held me there, deep, unmoving, letting me choke on the reality of him.
"No teasing. No games. Just swallow. That's all you're good for right now."
Saliva spilled from my mouth, dripping down my chin in messy strings as my throat burned, but I didn't stop. I didn't pull away.Because somewhere, between the humiliation and the heat, I realized I wanted it.
He kept me still, only his hips moving now—slow at first, then rougher, faster, until every thrust turned into punishment. His breath barely changed, but I was panting around him, desperate for air, for control, for more.
"Look at you," he murmured, voice breathless and cruel. "So fucking greedy. What is it, baby? Never had a cock this deep before?"
My body trembled violently. I was flushed, dizzy, my thighs pressing together in instinctive desperation.I nearly came just from the pressure in my throat, the way his dominance cut through me like a drug.
And then—he pulled out.
My mouth hung open, swollen and slick, as I gasped for breath.
"Turn around. Over the seat."
I crawled onto the leather cushion, knees digging into the upholstery, arms trembling as I braced myself over the headrest. I heard the shift of fabric, the unmistakable sound of a zipper. But no crinkling foil. No condom.
"Cassian, wait—"
"I said shut the fuck up. I'm clean. You're already filthy enough for the both of us."
His fingers shoved my panties to the side like they were an inconvenience.And then he was inside me.
One savage thrust—no warning, no tenderness, just pure, brutal possession.
I screamed, forehead hitting the windshield hard enough to see stars, but he only grabbed my hips tighter.
"Count."
"What—?"
"Every. Fucking. Stroke."
His thrusts came hard and fast, slamming into me with ruthless rhythm. My hands slipped along the seat, my cries turned into moans, my body arching to meet every brutal movement. I wasn't thinking anymore. I wasn't even trying to hold back.
"You don't come unless I say. Got it?"
I nodded, but it was a lie.
I came. Clenching around him, biting my lip, body shaking like I was coming apart at the seams.
And he laughed. Not cruelly. Not kindly. Just... amused.
"Already done? Damn, baby—I'm just getting started."
He pulled me back onto him, pace unforgiving, hips slamming against mine like he was trying to fuck the breath out of me.
At some point, I stopped being a girl with a name, a past, a thought in her head.
I was just his.
A toy. A mouth. A hole.
And I fucking craved it.
"Now," he growled behind me. "Come for me again. Loud. Messy. Let them hear it."
And I did.
I shattered around him, harder than before, my voice raw and wrecked as I gave in completely—my body no longer mine, my mind lost somewhere between heaven and hell.
He groaned low, then filled me—hot, thick, deep—and stayed buried inside me for a heartbeat too long before finally pulling out.
I collapsed over the seat, my whole body trembling, slick and used.
He tugged my panties the rest of the way down, pocketed them like a thief with a prize, and said just one word as he zipped himself up:
"Souvenir."