The quiet click of Ibrahim's belt buckle broke the silence as he undid it with quick fingers. Ava heard the rough sound of fabric sliding as he pushed his pants and underwear down. He lifted her hips just enough to tug them free, then pulled her back down onto his lap - now completely bare beneath her.
The moment her bare skin met his, she felt it - the hard, thick heat of his dick pressing insistently against her stomach. Her eyes dropped down to see the size of his arousal. It never failed to surprise her, that first glimpse, making her throat go tight with a mix of nervousness. There was no pretending she didn't feel how much he wanted her.
"Now turn around and ride me."
"What?? Me?"
"Yes, you," Ibrahim confirmed, "I want to see your beautiful ass bouncing while I fuck you. Reverse cowgirl."
"Reverse... what does that even mean?" Ava asked, her mind struggling to process his explicit demand.
"Reverse cowgirl is when you sit on me facing away. You can put your hands on my knees for balance and ride up and down. In this way you'll feel me so deep inside you in that position, baby girl." He punctuated his explanation with a soft kiss on the tip of her nose.
Ava mumbled something under her breath but the rain drumming on the roof made it inaudible to Ibrahim. He gently used his knees to guide her legs wider apart, positioning her so she straddled him, facing the front of the car.
His hands gripped Ava's waist, lifting her slightly as he positioned himself behind her properly. One hand stayed wrapped around her hip to keep her steady, while the other guided his hard dick toward her dripping entrance. He teased her first, rubbing the thick head against her slick folds, spreading her wetness in slow circles—just enough to make her shiver. Then, with a low groan, he pressed forward, pushing into her tight heat inch by inch.
A broken sound escaped her — half moan, half whimper as her body struggled to adjust. Her fingers clawed at his thighs, nails biting into his skin as she tried to steady herself. When he was fully inside, they both froze for a breathless second. Her body squeezed around him, like it was trying to pull him even deeper.
It felt as if every inch of him had been claimed by her body. Her rounded buttocks pressed intimately against his pelvis. "God knew what He was doing when He made you for me," he growled and then—suddenly—his hand shot up and locked around her throat, yanking her back hard against him. Ava gasped, her body jerking in shock.
Her eyes flew open, wild and startled, as her spine arched against his chest.
"Did I scare you?" His grip tightened just enough to make her pulse jump under his fingers. "Good. Now move faster for me."
Ava tried to sit up more, her hands pressing against his hips for support. "I... I don't have the energy," she panted, breathing fast and uneven. His rough handling had shocked her too much.
"Then prepare to be hurt. Because I won't be slow and gentle like the first time. I will be... thorough. And I'm going to make sure you remember this night." Ibrahim didn't give her time to react. His hands left her neck and wrapped completely around her narrow waist. He lifted her up like she weighed nothing - her body rising helplessly in his grip - then dropped her back down onto his hard length with a force that knocked the breath from her lungs.
"Ah-!" The sound punched out of her before she could stop it.
Ibrahim didn't pause. Again he raised her up, then brought her crashing back down. Again. And again. The wetness between her thighs did little to ease the rough treatment - instead, the relentless friction started to burn. It hurt. Not just the stretch —but the way he did it without caring if she could take it.
Tears blurred Ava's vision as she gripped the front seat for balance. Her legs trembled with the effort of keeping up with his brutal pace. Every time her body came down, she could feel him deeper, harder, more in control. The car's interior felt like it was shrinking - the roof too close, the doors trapping her in this nightmare of pleasure and pain. The windows completely fogged up from their pounding bodies and quick breaths. Outside, the world moved on like nothing was happening. But inside? There was only this. Only Ibrahim's rough hands on her, his harsh grunts in her ear, and the brutal way he moved her body like it belonged to him.
"Why... why are you being so rough? Is this—some kind of revenge?"
He slowed instantly, his body stilling inside hers. For a few heavy seconds, all she heard was his ragged breathing. Then, he flipped her onto her back, making her sink into the leather seat. The sudden movement left her dizzy, her legs falling open as he loomed over her.
One of his knees pressed into the seat beside her hip, holding his weight. His other foot stayed planted on the car floor, keeping him steady. The dim blue lights made the sweat on his chest glisten as he hovered above her.
His hands pinned her wrists beside her head, fingers locking tight—not enough to hurt, but enough that she couldn't move. "Is it really hurting? Or…" He thrust deep, cutting off his own words, and Ava's back arched off the seat.
A broken noise escaped her throat.
Ibrahim smirked, "You can't possibly believe, that it feels this good being fucked by the one you claim to hate the most." Then he moved—harder, faster. And she screamed his name in response. The car rocked violently and the vehicle's movements made loose pebbles skitter down the steep drop just inches from their tires. The cover of night hid them completely - no streetlights, no passing cars, just the rain and them inside.
Ava's back arched shamelessly off the seat, her legs locking around his waist as if her body had a mind of its own, "I guess... (hard thrust) before we... (deeper push) started... (another rough snap of hips) I should've said... (breathless moan) I don't actually... (his hand gripping her thigh) hate you..."
There was no tiring him—his stamina was endless. And she loved this.
No—
She hated him.
...Didn't she?
Then why was her body shaking, clinging to him like he was oxygen? Why did every thrust erase another piece of her anger? She was supposed to be pretending. But the way her hips lifted to meet his, the way her breath came in desperate gasps—none of it felt like an act anymore. Mind said hate, body said more.
As if he could hear her thoughts, Ibrahim's mouth returned to his favorite home—her nipple, sucking hard until his name escaped Ava's lips. When he finally pulled away, his lips glistened with her taste.
"You should hate me, babygirl. Cause I'm the demon who stole your sleep... the reason your smiles never reach your eyes anymore." His tongue flicked over her chest again, cruel and teasing, before sealing his mouth back on her nipple with a possessive groan.
He released it...
"I'm the one who took your innocence and fucking liked it."
Another punishing suck, her skin reddening under his mouth.
"The monster who craves your tears as much as your moans."
Ava moaned, her body trembling— from the awful truth ringing in her skull. He was right.
Of course he was. Ibrahim wasn't just a man. He was a walking nightmare—one she couldn't wake up from.
His hips stuttered—a rough and uneven rhythm—before he buried himself deep inside her one last time. A broken groan tore from his throat, his entire body locking up like a live wire. Ava felt it—the sudden, scorching heat flooding into her, pulse after pulse, so thick and warm it made her gasp.
For a moment, neither moved, like he needed to hold her completely still while he spilled into her. She could feel his fast heartbeat. The sound was wild, matching hers.
Ibrahim's forehead dropped. She could feel him throbbing inside her, each twitch sending another trickle of his cum leaking out around him. It dripped slowly, lazily—down her inner thighs, onto the leather seat beneath them. The mess was undeniable. His mess.
Then, slowly, Ibrahim's grip loosened. His body sagged over hers, heavy and spent—but he didn't pull out. Like even now, he couldn't stand to separate from her. He tilted his head just enough to press a single, soft kiss to her cheek.
...
Farah was lounging on the living room sofa, her legs curled up as a dramatic daily soap played on the TV. The bowl of nuts beside her was almost empty—she was popping them into her mouth one after another without really realizing it. Her laptop was open in front of her, her assignment half-done, and every few minutes she tried to type a few lines, only to get distracted again by the TV.
The wall clock ticked softly in the background, its long hand pointing straight at nine. Her fingers paused over the keyboard. Why is Ava still not back? Farah clearly remembered telling Ibrahim to drop her in one hour. But now, it had been almost two. She started to worry. If Elara come back before Ava, he would definitely ask questions. And not the soft kind. He might even get mad at her for letting Ava go with Ibrahim in the first place.
She let out a small sigh, tapped a few keys on her laptop without much purpose, and just then — buzz — her phone lit up with a message.
Samir : Hey there, cutie pie. When are you free for that chat? Still counting on your help, you know.
She sighed, tossing her head back against the sofa cushion. Cutie pie? That man had no chill. But yeah, the whole Jessica thing was too serious to ignore now. Of course she had to help—she had said she'd help, and backing out now would feel wrong. She was just about to type a reply—
Ding-dong.
The doorbell echoed through the apartment. When Farah opened the door, she froze.
Ava stood there, completely soaked—rainwater dripping from her hair, her clothes clinging to her skin, and her body visibly trembling.
"What the actual heck, Ava?" Farah asked, stepping aside. "Didn't you find any shelter?"
Ava quietly walked in, heels squelching against the floor. "It started raining all of a sudden…" she said, brushing her wet hair back. "We got drenched."
Without another word, she headed straight for her room. Farah followed her with a raised eyebrow but stopped when Ava walked onto the balcony instead.
From there, she looked down at the parked car on the street—where Ibrahim was still sitting behind the wheel. She raised her hand gently, gave a small nod, and mouthed something like you can go now. Ibrahim, relaxed behind the wheel, gave a slow wave in return before driving off into the night.
She turned around—only to find Farah standing right there with crossed arms and the most confused expression on her face.
"Wow," Farah said, "Someone told me two hours ago she doesn't want to talk to a certain guy named Ibrahim ever again. And now? She's waving goodbye to him like it's a K-drama finale. Do I need popcorn or tissues for this story?"
Ava rolled her eyes and pushed past Farah, muttering, "Let me change first, I'm freezing."
"Sure, go ahead. But from the way you were nodding and waving at the man down there, it looks like someone already started working on my plan."
Ava pulled open her wardrobe and grabbed the first hoodie she saw—ironically, one that had "ANTI-LOVE CLUB" written across the chest—and a track pant. "Yeah, yeah, assume whatever you want. I just never thought it'd be that easy to make a man fool."
"Good job then," Farah chuckled from the living room, grabbing a mop and heading toward the little trail of wet footprints. "You keep fooling him—I'll clean up your puddles."
Ava stepped into the washroom and locked the door behind her, leaning back against it as she closed her eyes and took a deep, shaky breath. Her body still felt the echoes of what happened just an hour ago. Her legs trembled slightly, not just from the cold, but from the memory of being too close—too exposed—to a man she once thought she had walked away from.
And acting normal in front of Farah had been harder than she expected.Her legs ached, her body sore in ways that made walking difficult. Ibrahim had really taken away her ability to move normally, and now she had to hide it.
With trembling fingers, she peeled off her soaked clothes, letting them drop to the floor. Standing in front of the mirror, she froze.
Marks. Everywhere.
Faint bruises on her collarbone. A deeper shade just above her chest. A few on her wrist, and others further down—ones that would never be seen unless someone looked too closely. Heat rose to her cheeks.
She turned a little and checked her back in the mirror. And yes… there was his handprint too. Clear as day. No matter how many times she told him not to leave marks on her neck, Ibrahim still did. A soft, flustered murmur left her lips, "He never listens to me."
And then..
"Aichoo!" she sneezed, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand. Great. Rain, cold, and now the ache crawling through her muscles like she'd run a marathon in heels. She turned the shower on, waiting for the steam to rise and ease the tension in her limbs.
Ava didn't say it aloud, but this time—it ached more. Much more than it did the first time.
Ohh God... Help. She ran her fingers over the faint mark near her collarbone, tracing it like it held an answer. Was this the imprint of obsession? Or the release of desire he'd locked away for too long? The way his touch had devoured her, it didn't feel casual. It felt like hunger. A hunger that had been starved for days, maybe longer—
The soft rush of the shower filled the room, but it couldn't quiet the noise in her head. Maybe he had craved her like that. Maybe… she did too. A little. No. What was she thinking?
She pressed a palm against the cold tile, grounding herself. This wasn't love. It was strategy. She told herself that again. She needed to rebuild his trust, manipulate him back to vulnerability. He had to believe she was his again.
And yet, doubt crawled into the corners of her mind. Would she be able to pretend properly? To act like this meant nothing when her body had memorized him?
He didn't just touch her—he studied her.
Like her body was his favorite book, and tonight… he read every page again...