It had been three weeks.
Three weeks since Alec.
Three weeks since Quinn had been taken in the dark, pushed down and opened up like he wasn't the one who usually did the wrecking.
And he hadn't been able to stop thinking about it.
The way Alec had held him down. The way he knew Quinn's body better than Quinn knew it himself. The way it felt to let go- to be ruined and worshipped at the same time.
Now Quinn sat in the back of a club in different city, watching men with lazy eyes drink in one hand, smoke in the other.
He told himself he wasn't looking for it.
But he was.
He fucking was.
And then he saw him.
By the bar. Tall, broad-shouldered, buzzed hair, darker skin, sharp cheekbones. Leather jacket. Cold eyes. He wasn't looking at anyone. Not drinking. Just watching. Predator energy.
Quinn met his gaze. Held it.
The man tilted his head once, like: you coming or not?
And Quinn stood.
His name wasn't offered. Quinn didn't give his either.
They didn't speak in the alley. Not until the man shoved him against the brick, hand braced beside his head, eyes scanning his face like he was figuring out what made him tick.
"You look like you've been used up," the man murmured, deep voice like thunder, low and close.
Quinn finched- but not from fear. "You always talk like a creep?"
"I always talk like a man who knows when someone's hungry for more."
That shut Quinn up.
"You want it again, don't you?" the man said. "Whatever he did to you. You're chasing it."
Quinn swallowed, jaw tight. "Fuck you."
"Eventually," the man said.
Then he kissed him. Hard. Teeth. Tongue. A full claim.
Quinn melted into it.
They ended up at a dingy motel, neon lights flickering outside the window. It was ugly. Cheap. Dirty in a way that made everything feel raw.
The stranger shoved Quinn onto the bed like he weighed nothing.
"Take your clothes off," he ordered.
Quinn obeyed without thinking.
The stranger stepped out of his jacket. His shirt came next- thick muscles, a solid chest, ink curling across one side.
Quinn stared.
"You ever get on all fours for someone you don't even know?" the man asked, voice casual.
Quinn's breath caught. "No."
The man smirked. "You're about to."
Quinn's knees hit the mattress before his brain caught up.
His cheeks burned with humiliation and excitement.
He hated how fast his body gave in.
A warm hand slid down his back, slow possessive. "Look at you. Bent over for a stranger. Desperate little thing."
Quinn clenched his fists. "You talk toc much-ahh-!"
A finger slid in. No warning. Just need.
Then another.
The man opened him like he knew Quinn had done this before- like he knew whait Alec had left behind, what bruises he still craved.
Quinn moaned against the sheets, panting. Then the stretch. Slow, thick. The man slid inside with a low growl, gripping Quinn's hips like he was the only thing keeping him tethered.
Quinn arched back into it.
Fucking loved it.
"You take cock like it's your job," the stranger grunted, thrusting deep.
Quinn gasped, mouth open, drool hitting the sheets.
He hated how good it felt.
He was shaking. Sweat soaking his hair. The man pounded into him with a rhythm that bordered on brutal- but it was perfect Quinn wanted to be broken.
"You ever miss topping?" the man whispered in his ear.
Quinn could only moan in response, back arching as the man slammed into his prostate over and over.
"Didn't think so."
He came hard. Pathetically fast.
The man followed right after, groaning low, staying deep as Quinn collapsed onto the bed, boneless.
Quinn didn't speak when the man left. Didn't ask for his name.
He stared at the cracked ceiling, sweat drying on his skin, hole aching, mind fucked.
Again.
He was addicted now. And Worse?
He fucking loved it.