Greek (Palm South University)

Then, he guides me down to my knees.

“I can’t make a mess back here,” he explains with a wicked grin, swiping my hair out of my face. “So open that pretty mouth wide.”

It shouldn’t turn me on so much, the demanding arrogance in his voice, the degrading act of bending to my knees on a dirty floor for him.

But it does.

God, it does.

And as I take his cock in my mouth, I can feel my desire building again, and I’m literally dripping between my legs.

Kade groans as I swirl my tongue over every inch of him, teasing him a bit before I take him all the way inside. I don’t waste time, coating him with saliva before I use both my hands, each of them rotating around his slick shaft while my tongue tortures his tip.

I know exactly what he likes, exactly what to do to get him to release.

His hand fists in my hair, and then he holds my head still, pumping his hips and fucking my mouth. I close my eyes and try to remember to breathe, to open my throat and relax.

And I don’t gag until his cum shoots out and hits the back of my throat.

The groan that leaves him is guttural, hungry and wild as he holds me there, his cock deep in my throat, my tongue flat and splayed out so far I can nearly lick his balls. I open my eyes and watch him from below, which makes him curse under his breath, and then with a shudder, he finishes, slowly releasing me, slowly withdrawing.

After I swallow, I want to grin, wipe my lips, and spout something sassy at him, but I don’t get the chance before he reaches down and grabs my arms, hauling me up to stand. He grips my cheeks in one hand again, and crashes his mouth to mine, kissing me senseless before he releases me.

“You’re fucking mine,” he says, his dark eyes hooded, jaw set.

Then, he pulls up his shorts and like nothing happened at all, strolls right back out on the stage just in time for someone to hand him an envelope with what I assume is the winner information for the contest.

And I can’t help it.

My jaw drops, and then I belt out the loudest laugh of my life.

That fucking asshole…

Goddamnit, I love him so much.

When I finally come to my senses and realize there’s a breeze in a place where there shouldn’t be, I grab my panties and skirt off the floor and hastily pull them on, smoothing my clothes and then doing my best to fix my hair with no mirror. I know it’s going to be damn near impossible to make it look like I wasn’t just thoroughly fucked, but part of me doesn’t care at all.

Let them all wonder.

Let them all know I’m the bitch who gets to have him.

I make my way back through the crowd to Skyler in a daze, a stupid smile fixed to my face.

When she sees me, her mouth pops open and she folds her arms over her chest, shaking her head as she eyes me up and down. “You dirty skank, did you just pull a quickie backstage?”

“I’ll never tell,” I say, but my words are slurred, a little from the booze and a lot from being completely drained after that romp with Kade.

Skyler snickers, and then hands me my clutch and asks if I want another drink. With an affirmative, she leaves me at our spot to head to the bar, and I fish through my clutch for my phone.

When I pull it out, my heart stops in my chest at the text waiting for me on the screen.

From Jarrett.

I open it with a knot in my throat blocking my airway, and when I see a screenshot of a picture of me and Kade on stage from Skyler’s social media post, I nearly pass out.

I guess summer is over.

When’s my turn?

I PUNCH THE PILLOW that’s supposed to be propping me up, huffing again when I lean back and still feel uncomfortable. I lean up again, shifting for another punch, punch as the ice I have balanced on my shoulder slides off me, the bed, and then onto the floor with a thwack.

“Ugh!” I growl, letting my hands flop down on the bed and rolling my eyes.

I nearly cry at the thought of having to get up, bend over to get the ice, and then get situated again. Thankfully, Brandon comes into the bedroom with a soft, knowing smile and picks the ice up for me, helping me get it in the right place on my shoulder as he sits on the edge of the bed.

“I hear a lot of grunting coming from in here,” he comments.

“How the hell am I supposed to try to sleep like this?” I whine. “Have you ever tried to sleep propped up? It’s awful. My mouth keeps falling open, and then I’m snoring and my throat is dry and I’m drooling on myself.”