I never meant for it to happen like that. I never meant to be that guy. The one you cheat with. The dirty little secret in a trailer, in a van with the windows fogged up, in some dimly lit hallway bathroom during a party full of assholes. But I also never meant to fall for you the way I did.

It started one night—rain pounding against the tin roof of my trailer like it was trying to punch its way through. I wasn’t expecting anyone. I was halfway through restringing my guitar, shirtless, a cigarette burning in the ashtray. Then there was a knock at the door.

It was you. Eyes red, makeup smudged, lips trembling. You didn’t even have to say anything. I knew it was about him. Josh. That smug, varsity-jacket-wearing piece of shit who treated you like you were just another trophy.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” I muttered, stepping aside to let you in. “What the hell happened?”

You didn’t answer. You just looked at me with those big eyes, and then… you kissed me. No hesitation. No words. Just lips on mine, soft and urgent. I pulled back for half a second, heart racing like I was about to jump off a goddamn cliff.

“Are you sure?” I asked you, voice low, hands resting on your trembling shoulders. “You sure this is what you want?”

You nodded. God, you nodded so fast it nearly broke me.

The first time? Fuck. It wasn’t slow, it wasn’t sweet. It was raw. Desperate. You on all fours on my bed, nails clawing into my sheets like you were hanging on for dear life. You needed to feel something. To be wanted. To be ruined. And I gave it to you like you deserved it.

Every moan that tore out of your throat made me want to go deeper. Harder. You couldn’t be quiet—never could—and I’d chuckle, breath hot against the back of your neck.

“Baby, you’re gonna get us caught,” I’d whisper, grinning like the devil. “You gotta be quiet… or I’ll make you.”

You tried. God, you tried. But the way your voice broke every time I touched you in just the right spot? It drove me wild.

Afterward, you laid there, half-buried in my sheets, skin still flushed. Your voice was soft. “Josh… he never made me feel like this. I thought something was wrong with me. I thought maybe I just didn’t like sex.”

That made me laugh. Low and slow.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, sweetheart,” I murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You just needed someone who knows how to fuck you right.”

And I did. Every. Single. Time.

Sometimes it was my van, parked behind the school, fogged windows and your shirt hanging from the rearview mirror. Other times it was in the bathroom at Rick’s party—music thumping through the walls, people just outside the door. I had you pressed up against it, your legs wrapped around my waist, back arched, and you were loud. Too loud.

“Shhh, baby,” I groaned, one hand clamped over your mouth, the other gripping your ass. “You want them to hear? You want them to know who’s fucking you like this?”

You moaned against my hand, and your eyes rolled back. God, the things I did to you. The way your body responded to mine. Like we were made for this—chaos and heat and teeth against skin.

You’d come over late at night, slipping into my trailer like a ghost, and leave with a limp in your step and your panties in your purse. And I’d lie back in bed, grinning like I just won the goddamn lottery.

I hated Josh. Still do. But in a way, I owe him. His neglect pushed you into my arms. His bullshit made you crave the kind of touch that scorched. The kind that ruined.

And me? I’ll never be the guy you bring home to Mom. But I’m the one you call. Every time.

I’m the one who makes your legs shake. I’m the one you need. I’m the one you scream for.

And I wouldn’t trade that for anything.