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The timer. I’d been so focused on what I was going to do that I’d forgotten about it. With the way things have been going, the way Royer zeroed in on me, I have no doubt I’m the one that will have to drink the cocktail. The thought propels me, and I lean against the wall and push my pants over my hips. I fumble with the boxer briefs, removing the rolled-up sock.

“You need me to hold your cock?”

“Fuck you.”

His eyebrow jolts up. “Happily.”

I throw the socks at him and ignore it when he holds them up to his nose and sniffs. The warm rush of humiliation burns against my cheeks as I push my hand down my lower belly and beneath the waistband. I reach between my legs, feeling the warm heat. I’m not wet though. Not after the last hour of being surrounded by the spank wall and a dozen unappealing cocks. I close my eyes and push aside everything else, the photos, the cum cup and Miller’s watchful gray eyes.

Well, maybe not the eyes. I think about them, how intent they are, how they spark to life when he’s fucking around. How they’re right above his sharp, slanted cheekbones and soft lips. The lips that worked me into a frenzy. The heat of his tongue.

The rush of heat surprises me, and my fingers slide easier, spreading moisture across my clit.

Come on, I think.You can do this.It’s not my first solo mission, after all.

I try to focus but I’m too aware of him, and I sense his movement from the chair. I open my eyes and he’s standing in front me.

“Let me tell you what, kitten,” he says, running his fingers down the column of my neck. “Royer is going to make you drink that cocktail, if you don’t beat the clock.” A sharp flash of pain, followed by the rush of warmth, runs through me as he tweaks my nipple. “But I’m not going to let that happen,” he continues, making a circle around the hard peak of my breast.

The slick heat builds between my legs, his touch adding fuel to my smoldering fire. I catch a rhythm, the rhythm of his touch, and thighs spread. “Why do you care?” I ask, forcing out the words. I’m close to the edge, teetering really. Inching closer with every flick of my click, every circle of my nipple. “I’d think you’d want me humiliated.”

He drops his mouth next to my ear. “The only cum going in your mouth is mine.” He nips my earlobe. “Do you understand that?”

My hips buck forward just as dark fear twists in my belly, spreading out across my nerves. It mingles with the buildup in my core, the bundle of energy in my clit. This is more than a game for Miller. It’s an obsession. A possession. If I thought he was being nice or working with me, I was foolish and wrong.

He grabs my chin and forces me to look at him. “Do you understand?”

I stare into the molten steel of his eyes and do the only thing I can. I whisper, “I understand.”

“Repeat it.”

I swallow, hating myself, but hating the idea of the alternative worse. “The only cum going in my mouth is yours.”

“Good girl.” He runs his nose along the side of my face. “Let go, kitten, I’ve got you.”

I open my eyes and his are right there, boring into mine. He moves his hands to my hips, holding me up. The rush trickles over me, starting low and burning, rising as it spreads. Miller’s lips part, mimicking my shallow breaths, as though he’s going through this with me. I ball my fist between my legs and moan, allowing him to hold me up as I shatter into a million pieces.

“Beautiful.” He strokes my side, providing a strange soothing motion as I come back to my senses. “I knew you could do it—just needed a little help.”

He pinches my nipple again and straightens, walking over to grab the cup. I watch him, trying to regain my senses, level my breathing, as he walks out the door, leaving me with my pants and dignity on the floor.

15

Reagan

I know everyone thinks I’m a spoiled, entitled brat, but I can be grateful.

Today I am thankful simply for the fact I didn’t have to drink a cup of fratboy cum.

If that doesn’t say everything about my life right now, I don’t know what does.

I see him as I walk across campus, his tall, lanky body and mussed up hair. He catches my eye and jerks his chin toward the academic building.

I triple check the hallway before I enter the same closet we met in last time. Grayson is there, dressed in those work clothes that don’t make him look completely stupid, holding a cup of coffee. His eyes dart to my hair and his jaw drops.

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah.” I rub my hand over the bristles. He hadn’t seen it yet. “Cutting edge, right?”