My Ex Rode Me Hard to Apologize Last Night

"Hey, man, you’re not gonna believe what happened last night."

I was slouched over a sticky bar table, nursing a beer, spilling this to some random dude I’d just met. I don’t even know why I’m telling anyone, but I’ve been holding it in all day, and it’s eating me up. My ex, Jenna, showed up at my buddy’s wedding. Yeah, that Jenna. The one I swore I’d never speak to again after she tore my heart out two years ago. I thought I was over it, over her. Turns out, I’m a damn liar.

So, I’m at this wedding, right? Fancy venue, open bar, everyone’s half-drunk and laughing too loud. I’m trying to blend in, sipping whiskey, avoiding the dance floor like it’s a minefield. I hadn’t seen her yet, but I felt this weird buzz in my chest, like I knew something was coming. And then, there she was. Black dress, tight as sin, hugging every curve I used to know by heart. Her hair’s shorter now, choppy and dark, framing her face in a way that made my throat go dry. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t. She caught me staring, and her lips curled into this little smirk. Like she knew she still had me.

"Hey, stranger," she said, sliding up to the bar next to me. Her voice was all honey, smooth and low, like she hadn’t ghosted me for some other dude back then. I grunted, barely nodded. Didn’t trust myself to speak. She ordered a gin and tonic, her fingers brushing mine as she reached for it. On purpose, I’m sure. "You’re not even gonna say hi?" she teased, leaning in just enough that I could smell her perfume. Something floral, sharp. Same one she always wore. Hit me like a punch.

"Jenna, don’t," I muttered, gripping my glass tighter. "I’m not doing this with you."

"Doing what?" she asked, all innocent, but her eyes were sharp, cutting through me. "I just wanted to say sorry. For... everything."

I laughed, short and bitter. "Yeah, now? Two years too late, don’t you think?"

She didn’t flinch. Just kept looking at me, her gaze heavy, like she was peeling back every wall I’d built. "I mean it, Nate. I messed up. I’ve been wanting to tell you for so long."

I should’ve walked away. Told her to screw off. But I didn’t. I sat there, letting her words sink in, letting her presence drag me under. We talked—well, she talked. About how she regretted it, how she’d been a mess back then, how she’d thought about me more than I’d ever know. I didn’t say much, just listened, feeling the old ache twist in my gut. And the other thing, too. The heat. The want. I hated myself for it, but it was there, clawing at me.

We’d had a few more drinks by then, the bar emptying out as people drifted to the dance floor or stumbled to their hotel rooms. She was closer now, her knee brushing mine under the table. I could feel the warmth of her through my jeans, and it was driving me up the wall. "Nate," she said, softer now, her hand resting on my thigh. Just a light touch, but it burned. "Can we just... talk somewhere else? Somewhere quiet?"

I knew what she meant. Knew I should say no. But my body wasn’t listening. "Fine," I growled, standing up too fast, almost knocking over my glass. "But don’t think this changes anything."

She led the way, her hips swaying in that damn dress as we slipped out of the bar area and down a hallway. Found an empty coat closet or something—didn’t care what it was. Just a small, dark space with a lock on the door. The second it clicked shut, she was on me. Her hands on my chest, pushing me back against the wall, her mouth so close I could feel her breath. "I’ve missed you," she whispered, and I wanted to argue, to shove her away, but then she kissed me.

Hard. Hungry. Her lips were soft but insistent, tasting like gin and something sweeter, and I groaned into it before I could stop myself. My hands found her waist, gripping tight, pulling her against me even as my brain screamed to stop. She pressed herself closer, her body flush with mine, and I could feel every inch of her through that thin dress. My jeans were already too tight, straining, and she noticed. Laughed against my mouth, this low, wicked sound that made my blood boil.

"You’re still mad," she murmured, her fingers sliding down to tug at my belt. "But you want this. Don’t you?"

"Shut up," I snapped, but I didn’t stop her. Couldn’t. Her hand slipped inside, wrapping around me through my boxers, and I hissed at the contact. She stroked slow, teasing, her thumb brushing over the tip just to make me jerk. I was losing it, fast, and I hated how easy it was for her to unravel me like this.

I shoved her dress up, rough, my hands on her thighs, finding the lace of her underwear. She gasped when I yanked it aside, not gentle, and slid my fingers against her. She was already wet, slick under my touch, and it made my head spin. "Fuck, Jenna," I muttered, my voice raw, barely mine. She whimpered, rocking against my hand, her nails digging into my shoulders.

"Don’t stop," she breathed, her eyes half-lidded, dark with need. I didn’t. Kept going, working her with my fingers until she was trembling, her breath coming in sharp little pants. But I wasn’t gonna let her finish like that. No way. If we were doing this, it was gonna be on my terms.

I pulled my hand away, ignoring her frustrated whine, and spun her around. Pushed her against the wall, her palms flat against it, her ass pressed back against me. I fumbled with my jeans, shoving them down just enough, and she arched her back, inviting. Begging without words. I didn’t bother with more teasing—couldn’t wait. I lined up, gripping her hips, and pushed in. Slow at first, just to feel her stretch around me, hot and tight, until I was buried deep. She moaned, loud, and I clapped a hand over her mouth. "Quiet," I hissed. "Someone’s gonna hear."

She nodded, muffled against my palm, but her body was shaking, urging me on. I started moving, hard and fast, each thrust slamming her against the wall. The sound of it—skin on skin, her stifled gasps, the creak of the wall—it was filthy, reckless. I didn’t care. Just needed more. Needed to feel her break apart under me.

Her hands braced harder, pushing back against every thrust, meeting me halfway. I could tell she was close—her breathing ragged, her body tightening around me in a way that made my vision blur. I leaned in, my mouth against her ear, growling low. "You gonna come for me? After all this time?"

She nodded, desperate, and I felt it—the way she clenched, shuddering, her moan barely contained under my hand. It tipped me over. I couldn’t hold back, didn’t want to. Thrust harder, deeper, until I was spilling into her, my grip bruising on her hips. We stayed like that for a second, panting, stuck together in the dark.

But she wasn’t done. Of course she wasn’t. Jenna pulled away, turning to face me, her cheeks flushed, eyes wild. "My turn," she said, voice hoarse, and before I could process it, she was pushing me down. There was some old chair or stool in the corner—I don’t know, didn’t care—and she shoved me onto it. Climbed on top, straddling me, her dress bunched up around her waist. She didn’t even bother taking anything off, just reached down, guided me back inside her, and sank down hard.

"Fuck," I groaned, my hands grabbing her thighs as she started to move. She rode me like she had something to prove, rolling her hips, taking me deep with every grind. Her hands were on my shoulders, nails biting into my skin through my shirt, and I couldn’t look away from her face. The way her mouth parted, the little sounds she made—half moan, half curse. It was too much, too soon after the first time, but I was already hard again, aching.

"You feel so good," she gasped, leaning forward, her lips brushing my jaw. "Always did."

I wanted to snap at her, tell her to stop talking, but all I could do was grunt, my hands sliding up to grip her ass, urging her faster. She laughed again, breathy and smug, like she knew she’d won. And maybe she had. I was a mess under her, letting her take control, letting her use me however she wanted. The chair creaked under us, probably ready to snap, and at one point I slipped, almost lost my balance. We both froze, then burst out laughing, this weird, shaky moment before she slammed down again, wiping the grin off my face.

It built fast after that. Her pace got sloppy, desperate, her breaths hitching as she chased it. I was right there with her, my hands tight on her, feeling every shift, every clench. "Come on," I growled, my voice rough, barely holding it together. "Give it to me."

She did. Shattered on top of me with a cry she couldn’t muffle, her body locking up, trembling. I followed right after, groaning through gritted teeth, emptying into her again like I had no damn control. We stayed there, slumped against each other, sticky and spent, the air thick with the smell of us.

She climbed off slow, wincing a little, and I just sat there, trying to catch my breath, my head a mess. I wanted to hate her still, wanted to walk out and never look back. But when she smirked at me, fixing her dress, I knew I was screwed. "Don’t pretend you didn’t need that," she said, voice low, daring me to argue.

I didn’t. Couldn’t. Just stared as she unlocked the door, glancing back one last time. "See you around, Nate."

And fuck me, as she walked out, I was already half-hard again, muttering under my breath, "Next time, you’re gonna scream my name so loud everyone hears."