The storm outside raged. Wind lashed the windows, and the sky cracked open with thunder. Maya clutched her oversized sweater tighter around her chest, staring at the glow of her laptop. Her hair was still damp from the shower, dark strands clinging to the flushed curve of her cheek. She didn’t expect company—not tonight.

Ding dong.

Her head snapped toward the door. Her heart ticked faster. She wasn’t expecting a delivery. Hesitating, she tiptoed barefoot across the wooden floor and peeked through the peephole.

A man stood there—tall, dripping wet from the rain, his black shirt clinging to his chest like a second skin. Tattoos peeked from under rolled-up sleeves. His jaw clenched like he was holding something back.

He raised a brow at the door. “Package for Maya,” he said, his voice deep, casual—teasing.

She opened the door an inch. “I… I didn’t order anything.”

He tilted his head. “Maybe someone ordered you something. Mind if I step in? It’s pissing rain out here.”

Before she could answer, a gust of wind shoved the door wider. Maya instinctively stepped back, letting him enter. The heat from her apartment clashed against the wet scent of rain on him. He looked around slowly, then down at her—his gaze catching on the generous swell of her breasts pushing against the damp fabric of her sweater.

“You cold?” he asked, smirking.

She nodded without meaning to. He stepped closer. She stepped back.

“You always open the door in just a sweater, no bra, nipples poking through like they need attention?”

Her cheeks flamed. “I—I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

“No,” he murmured, “but maybe you wanted someone.”

He dropped the package onto her counter without looking. Then he reached out, brushing the back of his knuckles down the line of her jaw.

“You ever get told how pretty you are when you’re nervous?”

She swallowed. “You should go.”

“But you don’t want me to, do you, Maya?” He stepped even closer. “You’ve been waiting for someone to come knock. Maybe not with a box in hand—but something else hard.”

Her breath caught.

“You can say no,” he said, voice low, hand trailing down to her waist. “But if you don’t, I’ll take that as a yes. And I won’t be gentle.”

She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just let her lips part as he touched the curve of her hip through the sweater.

“Last chance.”

“…Don’t go,” she whispered.

He smiled darkly. “Good girl.”

With one sudden move, he gripped her hips and pinned her against the wall. The thud of her back hitting it made her gasp, but the gasp turned into a moan when his mouth crushed against hers—rough, hungry, claiming. One hand tangled in her hair. The other slid up under her sweater.

“No bra,” he growled. “Fuck, these tits…”

His palm cupped one—warm, firm, greedy. Her nipple was already hard, sensitive from the cold, but now it ached. She gasped again when he thumbed over it, then pinched.

“Look at this…” He tugged her sweater up, baring her breasts. Her skin was flushed, her dark areolas wide and puckered, nipples stiff and leaking just a drop of milk. “Leaking for me already?”

Maya whimpered. “I—I just weaned…”

He licked slowly over the tight bud, tasting her. She cried out. He sucked, hard, making her body jolt.

“You’re mine now,” he rasped, “Every soft part. Every drop. Understand?”

She nodded breathlessly, mouth open.

“Say it.”

“I’m yours…”

He picked her up, arms under her thighs, and carried her to the couch like she weighed nothing. Her sweater was gone in a second. He yanked her shorts down, dragged his fingers between her thighs.

“Already soaked.”

“I—I’ve been alone…”

“Not anymore.”

He pulled his belt free with one loud snap.

What followed was heat and rain against the windows, her soft cries muffled by his hand over her mouth as he filled her deep and hard, taking her over and over until her legs trembled and her throat was hoarse.

He didn't stop when she came. He made her beg, cry out his name, and shudder through a second. A third.

Only when she was boneless and panting did he press his mouth to her ear and whisper, “Next time, don’t wait for a storm to let me in.”

---

The next time he came to her door, Maya didn’t pretend to be surprised.

She was already waiting—naked beneath her robe, pacing with nerves and heat in her blood. Rain tapped the windows again, just like last time. The storm had become their rhythm, their trigger. Something about the thunder made her ache.

Ding dong.

Her fingers trembled as she opened the door.

There he stood, soaked again—black T-shirt, wet hair slicked back, and that look in his eyes. Possessive. Knowing.

He shut the door behind him and didn't say a word. Just stared her down until she looked away, blushing.

“No panties,” he said, nodding toward her robe. “Good girl.”

Then, without warning, he grabbed her by the chin, forcing her gaze up.

“You’ve been thinking about me, haven’t you?” he growled. “Touching yourself like the needy little randi you are.”

She gasped. Her thighs clenched. The name shouldn’t have made her wet, but it did—more than she’d admit.

“Yes,” she whispered.

He pulled the robe open. Her full breasts bounced free, already sensitive, nipples hard and begging.

“Look at you,” he muttered, circling her like a predator. “These big tits leaking like they’re made for me. That’s what you are. A whore with milk to offer, and no shame about it.”

He moved behind her, hand wrapping around her chest to lift and squeeze both breasts roughly. She cried out, arching.

“Say what you are.”

“I’m your randi,” she breathed, face flushed. “Your whore.”

He shoved her forward toward the couch, her hands catching the cushions.

“You want to be used, Maya?”

She nodded, moaning as he shoved his pants down, hard length springing free.

“Then take it.”

He stepped behind her and dragged the tip of his cock between her breasts, then over her nipples, making her gasp at the contact. Then—slap. He smacked one breast with it. The soft flesh bounced, milk beading again. He did it again, harder.

She whimpered, moaning, body shaking. “Please…”

“You like that, huh?” he taunted. “You like your tits slapped like a toy?”

“Yes… please…”

He growled low, gripping her hair, pulling her head back.

“Then beg me.”

“Please… use me. Hit me again. Slap them, mark me, I want it—”

Slap—again, harder this time, the wet sound echoing through the room. She cried out, not from pain, but from heat. Humiliation had never felt like power until he gave her permission to fall apart.

Then he bent her over, grabbed her hips, and plunged inside—deep and punishing.

Every thrust made her moan louder. Every slap of his hips against her body made her remember who she was when he touched her like this: his.

“Say it again,” he growled in her ear. “Who do you belong to?”

“You,” she sobbed. “I’m yours—your randi, your whore, your everything—”

He came with a deep grunt, biting her shoulder, hands gripping her milk-slicked breasts like handles.

When he was done, he didn't leave right away.

He cleaned her up, pulled her into his lap, and kissed the top of her head.

“You were perfect tonight randi,” he whispered. “Next time? You’ll beg before I ring the bell.” he says...

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