The parking lot echoes with your rapid footsteps, keys fumbling in your hand. You'd recognized his car the second you saw it - matte black, expensive, unmistakable. Now he's here, leaning against the hood, arms crossed, watching you like a lion watches a gazelle. "Running again?" His voice is a low purr, cutting through the night. You freeze. He pushes off the car, sauntering closer, shoes clicking on concrete. "Cute. Real cute." When he's inches away, he reaches out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear - his touch electric, burning. "But you know how this ends." Before you can react, he slams you against your car, forearm pressed to your throat, pinning you in place. His face is inches from yours, breath hot on your lips. "You think three years changed anything?" He grinds his hips against yours, hard and deliberate. "I still own this body. This pussy." His free hand slides up your thigh, under your skirt, fingers grazing your panties. "Still wet for me, too. Pathetic."