Red: 1000 Ways to Sin

My bully and I 4

Nothing else mattered anymore.

School blurred into white noise—lectures droning like static, assignments piling up unread, teachers’ voices fading the second Miles walked past her desk and let his knuckles brush the back of her hand. Friends stopped asking why she was always “busy.” Futures—college applications, graduation parties, the whole scripted next chapter—felt like someone else’s life. Jessica’s world had narrowed to the next time she could feel him inside her. That was it. That was everything.

They stopped pretending caution existed.

One Saturday night the house party was loud enough to rattle windows three streets over. Bass thumped through the walls like a second heartbeat. Jessica slipped away from the crowd mid-laugh, found Miles already waiting in the upstairs hallway, eyes dark and impatient. He didn’t speak—just grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the nearest bathroom. Door slammed. Lock clicked. Her back hit the wood so hard the frame groaned.

He hiked her dress up with one rough yank, shoved her panties aside, and thrust into her in a single brutal stroke. She gasped—too loud—and his hand clamped over her mouth, fingers digging into her cheeks. “Quiet,” he growled against her ear, hips snapping forward, relentless. The door rattled with every thrust. Someone knocked once, laughing, thinking the room was occupied by someone else. They didn’t stop. Jessica bit down on the meat of his palm to muffle her moans while he f****d her standing, deep and punishing, the mirror fogging from their heat. She came clenching around him, thighs shaking, eyes rolling back behind fluttering lids. He followed right after, grinding through it, swallowing her whimper with his mouth when his hand finally slipped away.

They left separately. No glances. No words. Just the sticky ache between her legs and the faint red imprint of his fingers on her face.

Another night—his apartment building, roof access door propped open with a brick. City lights glittered below like scattered diamonds. The air was cool, carrying the faint salt of the river. Miles spread his hoodie on the concrete for her to lie back on. She expected fast and rough like always. Instead he went slow—agonizingly slow—peeling her clothes off piece by piece, kissing every inch of skin he uncovered like he was mapping her. His mouth between her thighs until she was arching, begging. Then he slid inside her, inch by torturous inch, eyes locked on hers the whole time. It felt almost tender. Almost sweet.

Until it wasn’t.

She wrapped her legs around him, heels digging into his ass, urging him deeper, faster. He obliged—thrusts turning savage, hips slamming into hers. Her nails raked down his shoulders, drawing thin lines of blood that glistened under moonlight. He hissed at the sting, f****d her harder for it. She came undone with a broken cry that echoed off the rooftop vents, body convulsing, nails digging deeper. He buried his face in her neck and followed, spilling inside her with a low, guttural groan that vibrated through both of them.

They lay there afterward, tangled under the stars, sweat cooling on skin, hearts hammering in ragged sync. No one spoke. They didn’t need to.

The final time—if there even was such a thing—happened in a nowhere motel on the edge of town. Cash slipped under the glass, keycard in hand, door barely closed before clothes hit the floor. Sheets already twisted when she pushed him onto his back and climbed on top.

She set the pace this time. Slow at first—rolling her hips in deep, deliberate circles that made his breath hitch and his hands flex on her thighs. Then harder. Faster. Grinding down until he bottomed out with every stroke, the wet slap of their bodies loud in the cheap room. His fingers bruised her hips, holding her exactly where he wanted her, but letting her lead. She rode him like she was trying to burn him out of her system—or maybe burn herself into his.

Their eyes locked.

No smirk. No taunt. Just raw, stripped-down intensity. His pupils blown wide, lips parted on harsh breaths. Hers stinging from biting them to keep from saying something stupid. She leaned down, palms braced on his chest, nails digging in just enough to mark. He surged up to meet her halfway—mouth crashing into hers, tongues tangling, tasting sweat and desperation.

She felt him thicken inside her, felt the telltale flutter low in her belly. She ground harder, chasing it, thighs burning. He gripped her ass, lifting her just enough to thrust up into her—sharp, perfect strokes that hit exactly where she needed. She shattered first—back arching, a sob tearing from her throat as she pulsed around him, wave after wave ripping through her. He followed on the next downstroke, hips jerking, spilling deep with a choked sound that might have been her name.

They didn’t move.

She stayed on top, forehead pressed to his, both of them trembling through the aftershocks. His hands slid up her back—slow, almost reverent—fingers tracing her spine while hers clutched his shoulders like anchors. Hearts slammed against each other, gradually slowing, syncing. Sweat cooled between them. Breath evened out.

No “I love you.”

No “this can’t keep happening.”

No promises. No threats.

Just the heavy, sated silence of two people who’d torn through every wall between them and still found only more hunger on the other side.

Jessica shifted slightly—enough to feel him still half-hard inside her, enough to spark a fresh ache low in her belly. His fingers flexed on her hips in response, instinctive, possessive.

She lifted her head just enough to meet his eyes again.

The corner of his mouth twitched—not quite a smirk. Something darker. Hungrier.

She felt it too—the slow, inevitable stir. Already building again. Already pulling.

Their hands stayed locked together—fingers threaded, palms slick—while the room filled with nothing but their breathing and the faint hum of the air conditioner.

The fire hadn’t gone out.

It never would.

It was them now.