First Taste of Her Bull

Felix sat rigid on the edge of the leather sofa, palms slick against his thighs, watching Bianca pace the living room in restless circles. At forty he still looked after himself, but nothing about his trim frame or careful manners carried the raw edge she had confessed craving for months. Bianca, thirty-eight and all sleek confidence in her short black dress, stopped at the window for the tenth time, smoothing the fabric over her hips. The conversations had been honest, sometimes brutal: her need to be taken hard by a man who would not ask permission, his reluctant vow to watch her reclaim every suppressed moan. Tonight the vow became flesh.

The doorbell rang once, sharp. Bianca’s cheeks flushed deep rose before she even crossed the room. Felix’s stomach dropped as she opened the door.

Hugo stepped inside like he owned the place. Twenty-nine, personal trainer’s body packed into a simple black T-shirt that clung to heavy shoulders and a chest that made Felix feel suddenly narrow. Dark hair cropped short, jaw shadowed, eyes that flicked over Bianca with open hunger then landed on Felix with calm assessment. He didn’t offer a handshake.

“You both look ready,” Hugo said, voice low and certain. He shut the door himself. “Good.”