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Hollowing my cheeks, I pull up, lips gliding over his hot shaft.

His knee jumps. “Fuck.” The curse is soft but pointed, and the men around him react with silence. Clearing his throat, I hear him say, “Just remembered I forgot my jacket in the locker room.”

I wait for the conversation to resume before tightening my grip around his base, gliding my mouth back down. Pace’s cock is familiar to me by now. There were the pictures and videos he sent me years ago, and then all the hours I’ve clocked feeling and watching it. It’s thicker than Wicker’s and uncut, made all the more intimidating by how complicated it looks.

But it’s not complicated at all.

One firm suck is enough to make Pace’s whole body jolt.

I can feel panic in the sudden clench of his fingers in my hair, scalp stinging with the force of his grip as he stalls me. The cock between my lips surges with precum, salty and warm on my tongue, and the balls against my thumb are drawn up tight.

He’s close.

I squeeze my own thighs together, telling myself that it’s natural to indulge in this. Pace is a man. An attractive man. A strong man. A man who smells nice as he cradles the back of my neck, feeding me his cock.

If I can make him come in my mouth, wasting his seed, thenhe’llbe punished.

My next attempt–a hard jerk of my fingers, accompanied by a sweep of my tongue against his tip–ends in a wince, saliva dripping from the corners of my mouth as he grips my hair. In front of me, I can see his abs tighten and flex with the effort of staving off his orgasm.

As Lex drones on about some issue with behavior at the townhouse complex, I work my tongue faster over Pace’s tip, rhythmic, looping around the swollen head in much the same way Wicker had eaten me out a few nights ago. Pace grips my hair tighter and tighter, but I spent two years as a cutslut. Hair pulling is nothing to write home about.

My scalp is basically bulletproof.

By the time they all begin standing, someone’s shiny loafer slamming into my calf, I’m sore and soaked, Pace’s cock still hard as steel between my lips. If his brothers know I’m down here, then they don’t show it, content to leave the room with the rest of the frat.

The moment I hear the door close, Pace is wrenching me off his cock and clambering back in his seat. “Get up,” he growls, reaching down to haul me, gasping, to my feet. No sooner am I upright than he’s pushing me up against the table, prying my legs open and yanking my panties aside.

He enters me with a brutal thrust.

The stretch is expected, as is the almost immediate surge of his release.

But the look on his face isn’t.

Pace is always so controlled when we’re doing this in his room, face schooled into various masks, but masks all the same.

Right now, he looks desperate, wild-eyed and strung tight, the tendon in his jaw twitching as his shoulders lurch with a seized, “Ah, fuck!” His brows crash together and he looks down, watching as his cock pumps into me.

I recline back on my palms and wait, eyes flicking to the window.

The weather’s nice today. Maybe I’ll visit the solarium.

“You fucking bitch,” he seethes, grabbing my chin. His eyes are full of fire when he forces my gaze to his. “Do you have any idea what you almost–oh, goddamn…” His cock keeps surging. Pace always ejaculates a river of the stuff.

I’m getting used to it. Used tothis.

He reaches up to palm my breast in a loose, idle gesture. His eyes are unable to hold that fire as he keeps coming, mouth parted in ecstasy. “So fucking tight,” he says, rocking into me with short, choppy motions. “God, you’re wet.”

I could blame it on his cum.

I don’t.

He never got me to the edge–never asked me to say the words. In truth, it’s the first time with him I’ve really felt like the victor.

My spoils arrivethe next morning in the form of a collar.

Technically, it’s a golden choker composed of a stack of small links. It’s elegant and pretty–or would be, if not for the fact that it’s from Pace.

It’s definitely a collar.