The city never slept, and neither did Club Raid, where Johan worked nights as a bar waiter. He’d long grown used to the buzz of music, flirtatious laughter, and tipsy touches. But there was one patron who made the world pause: Ryle.
Ryle came in every Friday with a pack of elite men and a new woman clinging to his side. He had the face of a fallen angel and a body sculpted like sin. Yet despite the flirtation thrown at him like confetti, Ryle never touched—never lingered. His cold eyes swept over the room as if bored of everything... and everyone.
Johan couldn’t help but notice. The girls always left frustrated, confused. Was he married? Gay? Or maybe allergic to affection?
One Friday, the bar was wild. A new bottle was opened—a strong aphrodisiac cocktail, exclusive to VIPs. Johan, rushing through orders, didn’t notice the label and accidentally took a sip from a glass meant for Ryle.
Heat bloomed. Not from alcohol, but from something deep, tingling in his veins.
Everything after blurred.
A hand gripped his wrist, firm and cool. Johan looked up—and met Ryle’s eyes. No coldness now. Just fire. Hunger.
“Come with me,” Ryle said, his voice low, rough.
He didn’t remember the ride. Only soft sheets. Ryle’s lips. Ryle’s hands—hot and possessive. Johan melted beneath him, body igniting like never before. That night wasn’t just his first—it was his. Claiming, devouring. He swore Ryle’s gaze never left him, not even once.
Morning came with bruised lips and shaky legs. Johan lay tangled in silk sheets, heart still racing.
Ryle sat at the edge of the bed, shirtless, golden in the light.
“I don’t touch women,” he said calmly, “because I was waiting.”
Johan blinked. “Waiting?”
Ryle turned to him, eyes soft now, but still burning.
“For you.”
***********************
Johan’s skin still tingled, his breath uneven as he reached for the silk sheet to cover his chest—but Ryle’s hand stopped him. Firm. Warm. Dominant.
“No need to hide,” Ryle murmured, his lips ghosting over Johan’s shoulder. “I’ve already seen everything. Tasted everything.”
Johan swallowed hard. “That... whatever I drank—was it really the drink, or...?”
Ryle’s laugh was low, sinful. “Maybe it loosened your restraint. But I’ve been watching you for weeks.”
Johan blinked. “You have?”
Ryle leaned in, lips brushing Johan’s jaw, trailing down to his throat. “You never noticed me watching when you bit your lip pouring drinks? Or how you blush when I look at you too long?” His tongue flicked over the spot beneath Johan’s ear. “Do you know how hard it was not to drag you over the bar counter and bend you over?”
Heat flared in Johan’s belly. His fingers gripped the sheet tighter, legs instinctively squeezing together.
Ryle pulled the fabric away with a quick motion, exposing Johan’s bare skin. “Don't hide from me,” he said, gaze dark. “Not after last night.”
Ryle pushed Johan back into the pillows, straddling his hips. Johan’s breath caught as warm hands slid down his chest, teasing, circling, until they found his waist.
“Let me make you feel it again,” Ryle whispered against Johan’s lips. “Every inch of it. Every inch of me.”
When he kissed him, it was slower this time—but no less intense. His hands explored like they were mapping territory he now owned. Johan moaned as Ryle dipped between his thighs, possessive and precise. Each stroke, each kiss, left him gasping, writhing.
“Ryle—please—” Johan’s voice broke.
“I know what you need,” Ryle said, sliding back up, his own arousal pressed hard between them. “Let me give it to you.”
He didn’t ask. He took—with lips, hands, and hips that rolled against Johan’s with maddening precision. The rhythm, the heat, the stretch—it was overwhelming, a fire that licked up Johan’s spine and exploded behind his eyes.
When Johan came undone, crying out into the sheets, Ryle followed, biting down on Johan’s shoulder with a growl that sounded more beast than man.
And even then, when their bodies collapsed into sweat and satisfaction, Ryle didn’t let go.
He kissed Johan’s temple and whispered, “You’re mine now.”
**********************
Johan's body ached in the best way possible. He should have felt embarrassed, lying naked beneath the man whose name had haunted his fantasies for months. But the way Ryle looked at him—like he was something rare, something his—made the shame melt into anticipation.
"You still want more?" Johan whispered, his voice husky, teasing.
Ryle's dark eyes glittered. "I haven't had enough of you. Not even close."
He flipped Johan onto his stomach with ease, his hand splaying between his shoulder blades to hold him there. Johan gasped, heart pounding, breath caught between fear and lust.
"You're going to beg me to stop," Ryle murmured, lips brushing the curve of Johan’s spine. "And then beg me not to."
Fingers spread Johan’s thighs, slow and deliberate. Ryle leaned down, tongue sliding over sensitive skin, kissing the base of his spine, lower, lower—until Johan was panting, gripping the sheets.
"You're already trembling, sweetheart," Ryle whispered against the heat of him. “So perfect like this—open, ruined.”
His mouth worked skillfully, tongue teasing, tasting, invading. Johan cried out, a raw, helpless sound, hips jerking against the bed. His body melted under the assault, dripping and desperate before Ryle even touched him properly.
Then he did.
One finger. Then two. Slow, scissoring, curling—just enough to have Johan rocking back, begging without words.
"Say it," Ryle ordered.
"P-Please…"
"Please what?"
"Please, Ryle, I need you. I need you inside. Now."
Ryle groaned, kissing Johan’s neck. "You don’t know what you’re asking for."
He pushed in slow—so slow—until Johan cried out, back arching. Ryle didn’t stop until he was buried to the hilt, hands gripping Johan’s hips like he’d fall apart without them.
Then he moved.
Rhythmic. Deep. Rough, but not cruel. Every thrust angled to make Johan moan louder, to make his vision blur. The sound of skin against skin filled the room, Ryle’s breath hot against his back.
"You take me so well," Ryle rasped. "So tight, so fucking sweet. I’ll never get enough."
Johan broke first, crying out, body clenching tight around Ryle as he came hard, seeing stars.
Ryle followed with a grunt, burying himself deep one last time before shuddering above him.
They lay there tangled, Johan’s body still twitching with aftershocks, Ryle’s lips ghosting over his shoulder.
"You’re mine," Ryle whispered again. "And next time, you ride me."
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