The air in my house was heavy, a thick silence broken only by the ticking of the clock in the kitchen. I had met him on an app, a couple of brief messages and a photo that didn't leave much to the imagination: a defined torso, thick beard, eyes that said everything without promising anything. When I opened the door, there he was, in the flesh, with a black shirt that clung to his chest and a smell of leather and tobacco that hit me immediately.

We didn't talk. His eyes scanned my body as I closed the door, and before I could think, he had me against the living room wall. His hands were large, rough, slipping under my shirt, claiming skin. There were no kisses, just the brush of his beard against my jaw, a gentle bite that made me gasp. My body responded before my mind, arching against him, asking for more.

He took me to the bedroom, a blurry journey of hands and stumbling steps. The bed creaked under my weight as he pushed me onto the mattress, face down, my hands grasping the sheets. He was behind me, unfastening his belt with a sound that cut through the air. My jeans were already on the floor, and his fingers, cold at first, explored without delicacy, preparing me with an urgency that made me moan.

"Give it to me" I murmured, my voice broken.

He didn't respond. He entered me with a slow, deep movement that filled me until it took my breath away. Each thrust was precise, rough, his body colliding with mine with a rhythm that gave no quarter. My moans filled the room, mingling with his low, almost animalistic grunts. The heat of his skin, the weight of his hands on my hips, everything was a current that swept me away.

I don't know how long it lasted. The pleasure was blinding, a knot that tightened inside me. His rhythm accelerated, his fingers digging into my skin, and then I felt it: an intense heat, liquid, pouring inside me. His body tensed, a deep gasp escaped his throat, and I knew he was finished. He had marked me, given me something that might take root.

He pulled away without a word. I felt the emptiness, the heat dripping between my legs. I turned, still trembling, but he was already gathering his clothes. He walked to the door, his silhouette outlined against the hallway light. He didn't look at me. He didn't say anything. The front door closed with a click, and the silence returned, heavy, as if nothing had happened.

I stayed in bed, the sheets tangled, my heart beating hard. His smell still floated in the air, and in my body, a new sensation, a possibility. I smiled, knowing that something of his was staying with me.