Rough Edges and Tender Bruises

**Chapter 1: Playground Power Play**

The gravel crunched under Riley’s heavy boots as she strutted across the empty lot behind the old warehouse. Her ripped jeans clung to her muscular thighs, and her tank top barely contained the raw power of her broad shoulders. She was a force of nature, a tomboy with a chip on her shoulder and a smirk that could cut glass. And right now, her eyes were locked on her favorite target—Elliot.

Elliot was everything Riley wasn’t. Soft, delicate, with long lashes framing his wide, doe-like eyes. His pastel sweater hung loose on his slender frame, and his skinny jeans did little to hide how small and vulnerable he looked. He was leaning against a rusted chain-link fence, sketching in a notebook, oblivious to the storm heading his way.

'Hey, princess,' Riley called out, her voice dripping with mockery as she closed the distance. 'Whatcha doodling? More of your little fairy dreams?'

Elliot flinched, his pencil skidding across the page. He looked up, cheeks already flushing. 'R-Riley, I’m just—'

'Just what? Wasting space?' She snatched the notebook from his hands, flipping through it with a sneer. 'Look at this crap. You’re such a damn crybaby, you know that?'

His lip trembled, and his eyes welled up. 'Please, just give it back. I didn’t do anything to you.'

Riley stepped closer, towering over him. She could smell the faint lavender of his shampoo, and it pissed her off how much it stirred something in her. 'Didn’t do anything? You exist, don’t you? That’s enough.' She shoved him against the fence, not hard enough to hurt—yet—but enough to make him gasp. Tears spilled down his cheeks, and her gaze dropped instinctively, scanning for any sign of defiance, any hint of a bulge that might betray his fear as fake. Nothing. Just flat, trembling vulnerability.

And damn if that didn’t do something to her. Her chest tightened, her nipples hardening under her thin tank top. She could feel the heat building, an ache she couldn’t ignore. 'You’re pathetic,' she growled, but her voice had an edge of something else—hunger. 'Crying already? I haven’t even started.'

Elliot sniffled, wiping at his eyes. 'Why do you hate me so much? I’m not—I’m not trying to be anything to you.'

'Shut up,' she snapped, grabbing his wrists and pinning them above his head against the fence. Her biceps flexed, and she saw the way his gaze flickered to her muscles, a mix of fear and something else she couldn’t quite place. 'You don’t get to ask questions. You just get to take what I give.'

His breath hitched, and she felt a thrill shoot through her. She leaned in, her lips brushing his ear as she whispered, 'You’re gonna be bruised up real pretty by the time I’m done with you.' Her grip tightened, and she pressed her body against his, feeling the heat of his trembling frame. Her own pulse was racing now, her mind a haze of want. She wanted to mark him, to make him hers in a way that went beyond taunts and shoves.

'Riley, please,' he whimpered, but there was a crack in his voice, a thread of something that made her smirk widen.

'Please what?' she purred, her free hand sliding down to grip his hip, her fingers digging into his soft flesh. 'You want me to stop? Or you want me to keep going until you can’t stand straight?'

His eyes widened, and she felt the shift—the air between them crackling with unspoken tension. Her body was on fire, and she knew he could feel it too. She was done playing. She was ready to take.