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TWENTY

DAYTON

E arly October in Ashen Grove is as dreary as ever, the sky a blanket of dark clouds that turns the morning into an extended dusk. The kind of weather that seeps into your bones, making everything feel a little heavier, a little slower. The lamps lining the path from Greek Row to Cromwell Hall flicker on automatically.

I’ve walked this path a thousand times, having spent my freshman and sophomore years at Cromwell. Most students move off campus after their first year, the appeal of more freedom outweighing the convenience. But there’s something about the walkability, the proximity to everything, that makes staying on campus almost worth the exorbitant price tag.

Sable is tucked under my arm, her body warm against mine as we walk through the quad. The looming rain has everyone else hurrying, heads down, pulling their jackets tighter around themselves, eager to get to their destinations. But not us. Not today. We move in our own little bubble, the world around us just a blur. I can feel the curious glances, the people whispering as they pass by, but I couldn’t care less. After last night, Sable is ours. There’s no going back from that now.

We step into Cromwell Hall, the acrid smell of industrial-strength cleaning products hitting us like a wave. The smell pulls me back—flashes of late-night cramming sessions, sneaking girls past security, and all the things that come with being a part of Delta Sigma Nu. There’s a certain nostalgia here, even though I’d never want to live in this dump again.

Sable leads the way up the familiar stairwell to her dorm, her footsteps lighter than mine. She pushes the door open, stepping inside and tossing her keys onto the dresser. The room is small, standard for dorms, but it’s cozy. Well, Sable’s side is.

“Huh,” she mutters, shrugging off her leather jacket and tossing it onto the bed. “Looks like Heather is still staying with her friends.”

I glance at Heather’s side of the room—the neatly made bed with its pastel throw pillows and artfully arranged trinkets. Everything perfectly curated, like something out of an Instagram post. I suppress a scoff. Alpha Sigma Luna girls are the epitome of what’s wrong with this place—obsessed with appearances, desperate to fit into their superficial world. The fact that Sable has to share a space with one of them feels wrong.

If Sable ever got it in her head to join, we’d shut that down fast. Those girls are crazy in all the worst ways.

Sable points to the pennant flag above Heather’s bed, the pink ‘ASL’ letters embroidered on a green background, with Heather Sinclaire’s name stitched below. I raise an eyebrow, suppressing a scoff. Typical. The ASL girls wear their sorority like a badge of honor, but I’ve seen firsthand what goes on behind closed doors. The drama, the backstabbing, the desperation to fit in. They’re toxic, every last one of them.

Sable’s side, on the other hand, is a little more chaotic. Messy, lived-in, authentic. A stack of books teeters on her nightstand, jackets thrown over her chair, and a half-finished canvas leans against the wall, propped up in the corner. It’s real. It’s her.

But then, something catches my eye, something that makes my blood run cold. “What the fuck is that?” I snarl, shoving past her to get a better look at the desk.

Resting on the edge, glaring back at us, is a bloodied knife. The blade is smeared with dried crimson, and droplets are scattered across the desk, like little splatters of a gruesome work of art. The message carved into the wood beside it feels like a punch to the gut.

“Do you think she’s safe from me?”

Sable gasps, her eyes wide with shock as she backs up, her hand flying to her mouth. My fists clench at my sides, every muscle in my body tensing. I’ve seen plenty of threats, dealt with enough shit to know that this isn’t some prank. It’s real. Too real.

Sable picks up the business card resting beside the knife. Her fingers tremble as they trace over the embossed, crested symbol. The fucking dagger through the book. She turns it over, her face pale, lips parted in silent disbelief.

Before I can even process what to do next, Sable rushes into my arms, burying her face against my chest. Her whole body trembles, and her breaths come out ragged, uneven. “What the fuck is happening?” she cries, her voice muffled against me.

“I don’t know, babygirl,” I murmur, kissing her temple, trying to soothe her even as my own heart races with fury. I pull out my phone, snapping a photo of the bloodied knife, the carved message in the desk, and the business card. This isn’t something we can brush off. Not now. The stakes have just gotten a hell of a lot higher.

The Four Horsemen GC

Me

So... we may have a problem.

*Sends picture*

I wait for the others to respond; I feel my fists curl at my sides, my nails biting into my palms. My breaths come out in harsh, controlled bursts as I struggle to keep my composure. Every instinct screams at me to find the bastard who did this—who left this threat, who dared to fuck with us, with her—and make them regret the day they were born.

I glance down at Sable, her face pale, her eyes wide with fear. The sight of her like this—scared, vulnerable—only intensifies my rage. The need to protect her, to shield her from whatever this is, burns in my chest like a fire I can’t put out.

She looks up at me, her wide eyes searching mine for reassurance—answers I don’t have yet. My hand moves on its own, cupping her cheek. She leans into my touch like she belongs there, like I’m the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

I lean in, drawn to her, needing to feel her, taste her, to ground myself in something other than this seething rage. She tilts her head slightly, exposing her neck, the soft throb of her pulse visible beneath the delicate skin. It’s intoxicating, the way her body responds to mine. I bury my face in her scent, my lips brushing the curve of her neck. My tongue darts out instinctively, craving more—more of her, more of the warmth only she can give me.

“Day, there’s literally a threat on the table,” she breathes out. “Blood. We can’t do this here.”

The anger twists inside me, and a dangerous grin spreads across my face. “Blood makes me kind of horny,” I admit, my voice low and wicked. But it isn’t the blood, not really. It’s the overwhelming urge to claim her, to show her that she’s safe in my arms—that she’s mine, that she belongs to me and the others. That no matter what happens, no one can touch her but us.

She’s ours.

Before she can respond, I bare my teeth and pull her bottom lip between them, biting down just hard enough to make her gasp. The sound is like gasoline on a fire. My mouth crashes into hers, the kiss bruising and desperate. My tongue sweeps into her mouth, taking, devouring. She tastes like sweet desperation, and it’s addicting—too addicting.

She doesn’t resist. Instead, she lifts her arm and delicately weaves her fingers through my hair, pulling me nearer. The sensation sends a jolt of arousal straight to my core, and I can feel myself swelling, straining against her abdomen.

I pull away just long enough to catch my breath, the devilish sneer never leaving my face. Her chest heaves, her lips red and swollen from the force of our kiss, and I can see the lust swirling in her eyes.

“I want you to make me feel,” she murmurs, her voice low, breathy, full of need. “Make me feel safe.”

Her words hit me like a challenge, one that I’m more than willing to accept. Grip her chin firmly between my thumb and forefinger, forcing her gaze to meet mine. The intensity in my voice is unmistakable as I growl, “We are the Four Horsemen, Sable. No one messes with us. No one messes with what’s ours.”

Before she can respond, I crash my lips back down onto hers, fierce and demanding. Her hands fly up again, pulling me closer, our mouths moving together in a frenzied dance of need. My hands roam her body, exploring every familiar curve. When I grip the soft flesh of her ass, she gasps into my mouth, and I lift her effortlessly, her legs instinctively wrapping around my waist.

I carry her to the bed, never breaking the kiss, my entire body aching to be inside her, to lose myself in her. When I lay her down on the mattress, her hair fans out across the pillow like a halo. I take a step back, admiring the way she looks beneath me.

“Is this what you want, babygirl?”

I unbutton my shirt slowly, savoring the way her eyes track every movement. She nods eagerly, her hands already moving to strip off her jeans, tossing them aside in a frenzy.

Her pussy sits pink and swollen, and all I want to do is eat her for every fucking meal. She spreads her legs wide, her fingers dipping into her folds as she lets out a soft moan. My cock throbs painfully at the sight of her touching herself, her eyes closing in pleasure.

“Fuck,” I groan, barely holding onto the last threads of my control. I undo my pants in one swift motion, freeing my aching cock. The need to claim her, to be inside her, overwhelms everything else. But just as I’m about to move forward, a thought crosses my mind, bringing me up short.

“I don’t have a condom,” I mutter, glancing around the room in frustration. I don’t want to stop. Not now. Not when she’s lying there, begging for me.

“Don’t bother. I’m on the pill. Silas came inside me.”

The casual way she says it, paired with the sight of her fingers swirling the bud of her clit, makes my blood boil with a mix of anger and lust. My cock pulses in my hand as I turn back to her, the need to erase the thought of Silas from her mind, to make her only think of me for right now.

I line myself up with her dripping entrance; the heat radiating off her body pulling me in like a magnet. The sight of her beneath me, so ready, so desperate, makes my breath hitch. For a second, it’s almost surreal—how easily I’ve slipped back into this. The control, the power. But it’s different now. She’s different. It’s not about just getting off anymore; it’s about making her feel safe, wanted, and cherished.

With a guttural moan, I press into her, the tight heat of her body enveloping me inch by inch. My hands grip her thighs as I bury myself deeper, her walls clenching around me, pulling me in like she can’t get enough.

“Fuck, Sable,” I groan, the sensation of being inside her nearly overwhelming. Her body arches beneath me, her back lifting off the bed as she takes me in, her fingers digging into my shoulders, pulling me closer, deeper. It’s almost too much—how good she feels, how perfectly she fits around me.

Her nails rake down my back, sending a shiver through me, her breath hot against my ear as she whispers, “More, Dayton... harder.”

I comply without hesitation, my hips snapping forward, my thrusts harder, faster. The bed creaks beneath us, the sound mingling with her breathy moans as I lose myself in her.

“Fuck, yes,” she whimpers, her legs wrapping around my waist, pulling me even closer, locking me in as I drive into her with everything I have. Her moans rise in pitch, filling the room, her fingers clutching the sheets, twisting them as I thrust deeper, the head of my cock brushing that perfect spot inside her over and over again.

“You’re pussy was made to choke my cock, babygirl,” I growl, my voice raw with need. Her mouth forms a perfect O as I press my thumb against her clit, circling it with just the right amount of pressure. “You feel that? Feel how she greets me?”

Her response is a breathless gasp, her body tensing beneath me. She’s close—teetering on the edge. I can see it in the way her eyes flutter shut, the way her lips part with every ragged breath. I throw my head back, my thrusts growing more frantic, more desperate. The thought of Silas touching her in this bed, violating her trust, only fuels my anger, my need to erase every trace of him from her body.

“D-Day-ton,” she pants, her voice breaking as my thumb continues to work her clit, pushing her closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy.

I lean down, my lips brushing against the shell of her ear, my breath hot against her skin. “I’ve got you, babygirl,” I murmur, my voice a low growl. “Let go. Come for me.”

“I’m gonna come.” Her moans are louder, erratic, and pure bliss to my ears. Her skin is damp with sweat, glistening under the dim light as I pull her torso up, capturing one of her nipples in my mouth, sucking hard. The combination of sensations sends her over the edge, and she cries out, her body convulsing as she comes on my cock, the tightness of her orgasm milking me until I’m right there with her.

“Fuck, yes,” I groan, my own release surging through me as I slam into her one last time, my cock pulsing inside her, filling her with everything I have. My chest heaves, my breath ragged as I pull out slowly, watching as a single trickle of cum flows out of her swollen pussy.

A slow, satisfied grin spreads across my face as I collect the milky liquid on two of my fingers and push it back into her wet cunt. “You’re mine,” I whisper, my voice dark and possessive. “You’re ours. And you’re going to walk around with my cum dripping out of you until I tell you otherwise.”

She looks up at me, her eyes wide, full of submission. “Yes, sir,” she whispers, her voice barely audible as she leans on her elbows, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of her orgasm.

Without thinking, I push her down into another bruising kiss, my lips crashing against hers as I devour her, needing more. My cock twitches with the urge to fuck her again and again, to remind her that she belongs to us now—only us.

Dear god, I think I’m already in love?

Before I can get lost in her again, my phone buzzes from where I dropped it on the floor earlier. Reluctantly, I pull away, grabbing it, only to be assaulted by a flood of text messages. My stomach tightens as I read them.

The Four Horsemen GC

SourSilas

What the fuck is that?

Where are you?

Where is she?!

Mala-Kaiser roll

Dude, Si is going nuclear. Day, you need to answer. Now.

LemmelickLevi

Why am I being bothered during my studio hours?

Me

She’s with me. We are heading back now.

SourSilas

WHAT THE FUCK DAYTON PAUL HUGHES.

Me

... We were at her dorm.

Mala-Kaiser roll

And it took you 37 minutes to respond because...?

LemmelickLevi

He probably fucked her.

Me

We are fine, Si.

SourSilas

I’m meeting you both there. Don’t move.