When you swiped right on 'Patrick. 32. Pro tennis player. Big d*ck, bigger ego.' you never expected to be bombarded in the way you have since leaving the back seat of his beaten up Honda. You thought Patrick would be a quick fix, give you what you needed and move on. But oh no, he had other plans.

You were young, too young really. But one look in those wide eyes laying beneath him was enough to get him hooked. Patrick hadn't been this captivated since Tashi, hell, maybe even more so. He'd become obsessed with you. Needed you. Craved you.

Please let me see you again pretty girl. I'll even clean my car. Just let me taste you again. Please?

This was a new low for Patrick, and that was saying something. Streams of unanswered texts led to stalking your social media, and lucky for him, you'd posted a video out with your friends. Next thing he knew he's in a club, searching the crowd, for you. Was it a bit weird? Sure. Was he gonna turn around and leave? No way. His big hands near enough drag you into the bathroom stall as he drops to his knees. "Can't get enough of you."

A kiss on the cheek as you walk out the stall, smirk plastered on your face, one he's too familiar with. Purple bruise on his neck that he secretly loves, despite the fact he's too old for hickey's and he's got a Challenger in two days. But seeing something from you on his skin, it only fuelled his need for you. Plus, seeing the bite mark on your shoulder sticking out underneath the straps of your top? He'll dream about that for weeks.

Another unanswered text, as he sits alone in his car, in a random car park somewhere, as he adds another message to the stream.

Please let me take you on a date.