She had been warned about cutting through that part of the city after dark, but the shortcut was too tempting. Her heels clicked on the wet pavement, the thin red dress clinging to her curves, the night air cool against her dark skin. Then the hands came out of nowhere—strong, rough, yanking her into the shadows between two brick buildings.
He was bigger than her, taller, his body pressing her back against the wall before she could scream. One hand clamped over her mouth, the other already shoving up her dress. "Quiet," he growled against her ear, voice low and commanding. "You came looking for this."
Her heart hammered, fear and something hotter twisting in her gut. She struggled, pushing at his chest, but he was immovable. His knee forced her legs apart. Fingers tore at her panties, ripping the thin fabric away. She felt the cool air on her exposed pussy, then the blunt head of his cock rubbing against her folds.
"No," she tried to say through his hand, but it came out muffled. He didn't stop. He pushed inside her in one hard thrust, stretching her open, filling her completely. She gasped, body jerking, the sudden invasion burning and deep. He held her pinned, hips grinding, taking what he wanted with relentless force.
Her struggles only seemed to excite him more. He fucked her with heavy, punishing strokes, each one slamming her against the wall. Her breasts spilled from the top of her dress as he yanked the fabric down, his free hand squeezing and twisting her nipples until she moaned despite herself. The wet sound of his cock driving into her filled the alley, her body betraying her with slick heat.
He pulled out just long enough to spin her around and bend her over a stack of crates. Her ass was up, pussy dripping and vulnerable. He drove back in from behind, deeper this time, one hand fisted in her hair, the other gripping her hip hard enough to bruise. "Take it," he ordered. "This is what you get for walking alone."
She came with a choked cry, walls clenching around him, the orgasm ripped from her against her will. He didn't slow. He used her through it, pounding harder, chasing his own release. When he finished, he stayed buried deep, flooding her with hot pulses, marking her inside.
He left her there, dress twisted, thighs sticky, the echo of his footsteps fading. She stayed bent over the crates for long minutes, breathing hard, the ache between her legs a raw reminder of how completely he had taken her. The fear lingered, but so did the throb of unwanted pleasure. She would never take that shortcut again. Or maybe she would.
