My heartbeat thunders in my ears.
My mouth is suddenly dry with my confession, and I fight the urge to cringe away from him. Because all my life, I’ve been told—urged—to be normal. To be the good girl, the straight-A student. To go along with the flow, to coast under the radar. To listen to my superiors, to those in power, even when they might be wrong.
And I never protested.
Never once rebelled.
But then my stranger’s face changes, excitement lighting his dark eyes. His lips twist in a way that sends shivers racing up my spine, the mirth falling away from his expression.
I really need to stop calling him my stranger.
But then he tells me to run in a cold voice, and every part of me comes alive. I didn’t even tell him all of the twisted depravities running through my head. Part of me wanted to, though. I have recurring dreams where I wake up from a sound sleep and someone’s on top of me. Pulling my shorts down. Sometimes there’s a gag in my mouth, sometimes it’s my hands that are tied.
It always ends too soon, my heart pounding out of my chest and seeming to echo in my ears. And then I’m left to try and calm down enough to get back to sleep.
I release the banister and inch to the side.
Two-minute head start. I glance around, considering going back inside. Every horror movie ever made steers me away from that decision, though.
Except, I’m not fit. I don’t run, I don’t do sports. I play the piano, I study, I read. My sisters, mother, and I would do the occasional hike—but that was more for them than me.
So, five seconds into sprinting across the lawn, heading toward a boathouse, I’m winded. My lungs burn, every part of me is jiggling. I should’ve worn a better bra, but I picked a cute lacy bralette instead. No support.
I get to the boathouse and throw open the door, stepping inside. There’s a boat—obviously—in its own little inside dock, and two more smaller ones lifted out of the water. A whole rack of kayaks.
The boathouse suddenly seems too obvious.
There’s another door, and I move quickly toward it.
I’ve only just grasped the handle when the other door flies open.
My heart jumps, and a squeak slips out of my mouth.
His chuckle answers me. It’s dark, low, curls right around my core and threatens to never release me.
There are those people who you just have a connection with immediately, and my stranger is one of them. In the most magnetic, damning ways.
Good girl falls for bad boy.
Cliche.
Avoid.
I leave the door ajar, not bothering to close it behind me in fear that he’ll hear it, and rush toward the woods. I manage to get to the tree line and duck behind one of the larger trees, pressing my back to it. My heart is pounding so loud, I almost miss the footsteps coming toward me.
Then past me.
Holy shit.
I let out a slow breath and creep around the tree, then take off back toward the lake house. The air has a bite to it that’s refreshing for mid-June. When I got the invite to this party, I leapt at the chance. I’m not living in Crown Point, but the drive over was easy enough. And getting my footing here has been rough.
Uncomfortable.
Mom’s been urging my sisters and me to get into a routine, to put down roots. I had only just finished two years at our local community college, and I’d been accepted into a few different universities.
I picked Crown Point University for its arts programs, not realizing I’d still be trapped close to my family.
Don’t get me wrong—I love them. But aren’t you supposed to find your independence in college?
My few high school friends immediately went off to the big, fancy schools right after graduation. Not a single one stayed in our hometown.
Because of that, I sank myself into my passions and let the rest rot.
Which is why my lungs are literally on fire when I reach the steps to the raised deck.
But I’m too late.
Hands wrap around my waist and yank me backward. My fingers slip off the handrail, and my feet slide in the grass. I’m towed around the side of the deck, into its shadow, and thrown to the ground on my back.
My stranger has a punishing gleam in his eye.
I crawl backward, fear and anticipation sweeping through me.
He grasps my ankle and drags me to him, his hands inching along my legs. He forces them apart, kneeling in the grass between them.
Fight.
I shove at him, batting his hands away from my shorts. He pulls his belt off with a snap of leather and catches one of my hands. Then the other. Without so much as a hesitation, he wraps the belt around my wrists and cinches it tight. He uses it to drag me into a sitting position.
“That’s it,” he growls in my ear. His teeth score my neck, his nose brushing my jaw.
When he pulls away, I throw my head forward.
My forehead cracks into his cheek, and he reels back.
Momentarily stunned.
I lurch to my feet and stagger away from him again, a small smile coming to my lips. My wrists are bound, making my run awkward, but I still do it. Still force myself to hurry away from him.
Picking the joker was a gamble. Erik, the host, had already confessed to me that he had picked the king. Like he expected me to choose it just for him, or something.
If you want to stay, you have to play the game…
I didn’t want to leave, so I picked a card. But I didn’t want Erik, so I avoided that second king like it was poison. Besides, my stranger gave me butterflies the first time we locked eyes. Well before I chose the card and sealed our fate.
The football player who was hanging out with the girls I just met, too, seemed to think I’d be interested in picking what he did. He went so far as to show it to me, the nine of spades looking impressively dull in his palm.
But then my stranger scared him away, and my heart did some weird skip and jump.
When’s the last time anyone fought that hard for my attention?
He’s behind me now, running just slow enough to avoid catching me. And I wonder why until we hit the tree line again, and suddenly he’s on me. He crashes into me, driving me to the ground facedown.
My forearms hit first, then the rest of my body. The air whooshes out of my lungs. Before I can get my bearings, he has my shorts and underwear pulled down to my knees, and he straddles my thighs. I scramble at the ground, but all I manage to do is slide my bound hands forward. Over my head.
He grips the back of my neck, his fingers curling into my skin. He forces me harder into the dirt, completely stretched out underneath him. The cool air touches my bare ass.
A low groan slips past my teeth, and I feel him shift above me.
I give one more attempt to throw him off, and he presses more weight on my neck.
He leans down and bites my shoulder.
The pain is unexpected, blooming through me. It feels like he’s going to rip a chunk out of me. And then he thrusts into me, and I almost scream. I should’ve expected the intrusion. I should’ve been ready for it, because I asked for this to happen. And yet, everything about this has sent me spiraling.
“You’re soaked,” he says in my ear. “You’re a fucking slut for this, aren’t you?”
He pulls out and pushes back into me, my legs forced together making him seem too big, too thick. Each thrust stretches me wide, splitting me open. His pace increases, and the way he grinds into me has me moaning. The noises escape without my permission. I’m glad he waited until we had the cover of the trees to do this, especially after our public exploit earlier.
The spikes of pleasure are intertwined with pain. The rocks under my body, the bite mark on my shoulder that my stranger keeps returning to. His hand on the back of my neck. The undeniable pulse between my legs that keeps getting stronger.
“You gonna get off like this?” His voice is in my ear again, his weight bearing down on my back. “I want to feel you come knowing that I can twist you any way I want and you’re helpless to stop it. My cock sliding into you is the worst sort of intrusion. The one you want the most and the one you can’t fight off.”
Fuck. I squeeze my eyes shut, absorbing his words.
The pleasure is building, climbing toward the impossible.
Before I can get there, he stills inside me and comes. He hisses a breath out, pumping a few more times before pulling out. He doesn’t climb off me, though. He seems to hesitate, his weight on my thighs.
And then his finger runs up my center, and I shiver. Everything is sensitive. My skin, my core. My clit aches for him to touch me.
“I didn’t use a condom, sweetheart,” he says, his finger thrusting back into me.
“What?” I gasp.
I knew.
In the back of my mind, I knew.
“First time for everything,” he murmurs. “Are you on birth control?”
His finger stills inside me.
“What are you doing?” I squirm, trying to get away from him, but his weight keeps me immobilized. “I—”
“Quiet.”
He flips me over, my back hitting the ground hard. I bring my hands to cover my chest, protecting my shirt from being torn off me, but he doesn’t seem to care about that. Instead, he touches my lips. My arousal and his cum on the pad of his finger smears across my skin. My jaw automatically opens, and he pushes his finger inside, pressing down on my tongue.
I glower at him as he rubs his finger along my tongue, making sure I taste both of us. There’s a certain pleasure in not coming. It makes the ache between my legs all the sweeter. He smiles, then retracts his hand. He drags me up by the restraint on my wrists and undoes the belt, shaking his head slightly.
“What?”
“That was fun,” he says. “And now that you’ve shown me yours….”
I raise my eyebrow. “Your turn again?”
“Something like that.”
I rub my wrists. He pivots, shielding his body slightly to tuck his dick back in his pants. I get my shorts back into place, then stand and quickly assess the rest of my body. My hair feels gritty, like it has dirt in it… which it probably does. I finger brush out a few leaves and pine needles. There are new grass stains on my white shirt.
Once I’m somewhat put back together—although my heart refuses to calm down, plus that aching pulse between my legs that won’t go away—I follow him back toward the house.
There are a lot of questions on the tip of my tongue. His name, for one. Why he comes to parties like this. If he normally chases girls through the woods and fucks them, or if I’m special…
Yeah, right.
I push that last thought away, the one where I’m allowed to think I’m special or different or not like other girls, and obliterate it. Because when we’re taught to strive to be different, we’re also taught that we shouldn’t be. That there’s nothing wrong with being like everyone else.
My stranger takes my hand, threading his fingers with mine, and I try not to let out a noise. Like something between a whimper and a gasp.
He pulls me close and grasps my chin, lifting it so I meet his eyes.
They search mine for a moment, but I couldn’t begin to guess what he wants. Or needs.
“You’re not from around here, are you, sweetheart?”
I wet my lips. “No.”
“You don’t go to Crown Point University.”
“No.” Well, that’s a small lie. The decision of whether or not I’ll show up for the first day of classes is still wavering on a razor-sharp edge, waiting for a strong breeze to push me in one direction or the other.
Give it a month, my mother said.
I’m holding out hope for my top school. To see if I’ll be taken off the waitlist. Even though it’s months past when I should find out, and far too long to be holding on to it.
Two long years of community college, of getting perfect grades and suffering through too many extracurriculars, all to be considered for the best of the best. And then I got waitlisted, and my summer seemed to crash and burn.
So I’m enrolled at CPU, but the wishful thinking part of my brain wants me to believe I’m not actually going there.
Instead of explaining all that, though, I let my stranger take the no at face value. And it seems to be the correct answer, because his grip on my hand tightens.
“Stay quiet,” he says in a low voice.
He waits for my nod, then we slip into the house. Down the corridor to the stairs that lead up to the second floor. We go up and pause outside of the first bedroom. The door is open, and there’s a couple on the bed.
Having sex.
He leads me into the room and pushes me against the wall, leaning against it beside me. His dark eyes watch the couple, who seem oblivious.
But they must be okay with it, if they left the door open?
Anyone could walk by…
I shift on my feet. It doesn’t matter who the couple is. I don’t know them, don’t recognize either of them in the darkness.
The guy is on top of the girl, thrusting into her and grunting with every movement. Her eyes are closed, her arms stretched above her so she can hold on to the headboard.
My nose wrinkles.
“Not your scene?” my stranger whispers in my ear.
“Too vanilla,” I whisper back.
“Amateur hour,” he agrees, smiling.
“We can hear you, jackass,” the guy calls.
He tugs me back out into the hall and to the next room. There’s rope and candles and a mess of wax, and I back out before I can even register that the girl is writhing in pleasure, not pain.
“Door number three,” he chuckles. “I’m gonna bet this is Erik.”
We step inside the room. The primary bedroom, judging by the size of it. I recognize Erik as he leans over the bed, the girl lying on her back with her head hanging off it. It takes me a second to realize he’s fucking her mouth.
But there’s someone else, too. Someone between her legs…
I shudder and back up, but I bump into my stranger’s chest. And he wastes no time slipping his hand around my waist, dipping into my shorts.
My gasp is blocked by his other hand, which clasps my mouth with surprising surety. The noise is lost in the girl’s pleasure, which she voices around the cock in her mouth… loudly.
But my stranger’s fingers stroking along my clit has me squirming again, bringing back our own escapade with vivid clarity. And as the girl on the bed arches her back, gripping the hair of the guy’s head between her thighs, my stranger’s cock stiffens against my thigh.
Holy shit.
I don’t know what to make of it, but no one seems to register that we’re in the room. It’s dark, and I have a feeling no one gives a shit anyway. Not about us watching.
This is his thing.
I glance over my shoulder, but his gaze isn’t on them… He’s locked on me.
“Get out of here, asshole,” Erik says suddenly. The sound is muffled, through his teeth. He grunts a second later, and the girl swallows around his cock and makes porn star noises.
I’m equal parts horrified and curious.
A bad combo.
My stranger is still staring at me, unmoving. I try to get free of him. His hand on my mouth, his other between my legs, gives me nowhere to go. The feeling of being trapped doesn’t hinder my climax… it speeds it on.
I squeeze my eyes shut, but he pinches my clit hard, and I immediately open them again. Staring at him while pleasure sweeps through my body like a bomb going off.
“That’s my girl,” he whispers in my ear.
My knees almost give out.
And then he’s pulling free and urging me out the door. Erik stalks toward us, his dick out and saluting us, and we almost fall into the hallway.
The door slams, ringing in my ears, and my stranger grins.
“That was fucked up,” I breathe.
He lifts one shoulder. I follow him back downstairs, but it seems like he’s done. With me, with the party.
My brows furrow. He snatches a set of keys from the drawer and goes out the front door. To one of the cars on the lawn.
I stand in the doorway until he’s backed out of his spot and turned the car around, and it disappears down the long drive. I let out a breath as soon as he’s gone.
What the fuck just happened?
