Okay, so this is gonna sound crazy, but last weekend, I did something I’ve never done before. And I don’t know if I should feel guilty or just embrace it, but honestly? It was hot as hell.

It started when I went out with some friends to this bar. I wasn’t even planning to go, but they basically dragged me out, saying I needed to "have some fun for once." Anyway, we’re there, and it’s loud and packed, and I’m just sipping on this cheap vodka soda, minding my business, when he walks in.

He wasn’t like the usual guys I see around. He had this rough, messy vibe. Like, he didn’t try too hard, but he knew he could get what he wanted. And holy hell, the way he looked at me—I felt it everywhere.

At first, I tried to ignore him. I was like, "Lucy, don’t even go there." But he wasn’t ignoring me. Every time I glanced over, there he was, just staring like he could see straight through my clothes. And let me tell you, I was feeling it.

He finally comes over, leans in close, and goes, "You don’t look like you’re having much fun." I shrugged, trying to play it cool, but my heart was already racing.

"You don’t look like you belong here either," I shot back, which made him smirk. That damn smirk.

"Maybe not. Wanna get out of here?"

I should’ve said no. But I didn’t.

Next thing I know, we’re outside, and he’s pulling me into this dark little corner. His hands were everywhere, running down my sides, gripping my hips, pulling me so close I could feel how much he wanted me. His lips were on my neck, my collarbone, and I swear I’ve never been kissed like that before.

"Tell me to stop if you want," he murmured against my skin, his voice all low and rough.

I didn’t tell him to stop.

We stumbled back to his place—it wasn’t far—and as soon as we were through the door, it was like all hell broke loose. Clothes were flying off before I even saw his bed. His hands were on me, his mouth teasing, biting, kissing every inch of my skin.

And oh my god, the way he touched me… It was like he knew exactly what I wanted without me saying a word. His fingers slid down, slow at first, making me gasp, making me squirm, before he went all in.

"I want to hear you," he said, and I didn’t even care if the whole damn building heard me.

It didn’t stop there. He flipped me over like I weighed nothing, pinning me down, his breath hot against my ear as he whispered things that made my whole body burn. His hands were rough, gripping my thighs, my waist, leaving marks I’d see the next day.

And the way he moved… god, I can’t even put it into words. Fast, hard, like he’d been waiting for this as much as I had. My nails dug into his back, and I swear I could feel him smiling against my neck.

When we were done, I was a mess—hair everywhere, makeup smudged, body aching in the best way possible. He looked down at me, that stupid smirk back on his face, and said, "You’re dangerous."

"Me?!" I laughed, still catching my breath. "You’re the one who ruined me tonight."

I left early the next morning, my legs still shaking and my mind still spinning. I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again, but damn… I don’t think I’ll ever forget him.

So yeah, that’s the story of how I let myself lose control. And honestly? No regrets.