Page 48 of Spin the Damn Bottle

"I'll take you there soon." A finger teases my other hole as he moves in and out of my pussy, curving inside. "How would you like that?"

The unexpected pressure feels good. More than good. "I don't know."

"I do. You're gonna fucking love it." His cock batters my sensitive walls so quickly. "You know why? Because you're mine."

"Yours," I repeat in agreement, collapsing forward.

My knees are shaking, barely even supporting me. He tugs my hair back and barrels deeper, faster. I've been fucked so much tonight, the friction is painful, but the fire raging inside me needs a release. I push back against his hips as he slams home.

Then, we finally crash.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Jason cooks. Who would have guessed? Certainly not I.

We wake up earlier than we might have, considering the fact that we didn't get to bed until three in the morning, and Jason makes us an omelet and crispy bacon. I'm seriously starving, and no wonder, given last night's events.

"Marry me," I tease after the first perfect mouthful.

"We have class today. Tomorrow, if you want."

"Class?" I make a face.

It's already eight; our first lesson will start in a moment.

"It’s the last day before break and I need some stuff from my room for the holiday. Might as well go to class. I mean, you might not need to, given your likely acceptance into Tisch, but some of us haven't heard from our colleges of choice yet."

The events of the previous night rush back to me. In light of all the delicious depravity, I'd practically forgotten the Black and White opening. "I mean, I might not get in."

"You're incredibly talented. You will."

He doesn't mention the obvious: good old Harold will probably let me in over someone as deserving, simply because of Jason.

After breakfast,David drives us back to Cross and Roses, just in time for us to get changed into our uniforms and head to lit class.

The school is what it always was, bustling and full of spoiled elite kids, but somehow, after last night, I feel different. I feel part of something. When I see a legacy in the corridor, I smile, feeling like we share a secret.

Christoph Billington's face is no less sickening. He catches me on my way to art class and leers. "Hey, Reyes. I hear you were at Alden's club last night." He ogles me from the tip of my toes up to my breasts, never bothering to get to my eyes. "I would have loved to be there for a taste. Let me know next time."

"I'm never going to let you touch me, Chris." I mean it, too.

I might not have personally known any of the players last night, but I liked them, was comfortable with them, or I wouldn't have done what I did. Christoph gives me the creeps. He takes women—or at least, me—for granted. He’s probably never had to work for it, so he fails to understand that he needs to be a decent person for women to want him.

Jason might have a long list of vices, and can't exactly qualify as the nicest man in the world, but he's never made me feel like a piece of meat he could buy. Jason is interested in my likes and dislikes, in my dreams and desires, hence why he brought me to the Black and White opening. He might be twisted and have the moral compass of a cat, but to him, I'm a person. Oh, he's spoiled. If he wants something I'm not willing to give, he's likely to coerce me into giving in. Christoph is the kind who just takes.

"Yeah?" He's highly amused. "Even at your debut?"

I frown, not understanding him.

"Oh, he didn't tell you, did he?" He chuckles and takes a step forward.

His stench—tobacco and a strong, heady cologne—assaults my nostrils.

He bends to whisper in my ear, and I want to pull away, but I also refuse to show just how much he gets to me, so I stay put.

"When we let a poor little whore like you into the Heritage, her grand debut starts with her tied up to a swing with her legs wide open, letting all of us juniors do whatever we please to her."

He's joking, right?