I feel his slow, deliberate stare in every vein and nerve ending. I’m frozen under his gaze, until he turns and walks away, slipping into the crowd.
I’m rooted to the spot, confused and disappointed to be left behind again.
Caty wakes me up with a swift swat to my arm. “Go, you idiot!” she hisses, then smacks my ass so hard I jump and lurch forward.
“Fuck it,” I say, and walk towards the crowd that Brody—or who I think (hope) is Brody—disappeared into.
I push through sweaty bodies, trying not to be too obvious. I try to act like I’m on my way to the bathroom, hoping I won’t be stopped by anyone when my pulse is hammering like my life is in danger. Or about to do something I shouldn’t.
People shout greetings as I push by, but no one tries to stop me. I barely register the chaos of a college Halloween party, counting on most of my teammates, classmates, and other athletes to be drunk enough not to notice I’m on a mission and follow me. I keep my eyes scanning the crowd, catching glimpses of a black hoodie and broad shoulders weaving through the party. His sure-footed, purposeful posture and gait give him away more than anything else.
He disappears around a corner, out of sight. My breath catches and my legs move faster to catch up. Behind the corner is a smallstairwell, which makes my lips quirk up, expecting that this would be the place he’d most want to harass me. But it’s empty.
The echo of a door clicking shut comes from the basement, and I quickly follow. I burst into a corridor that leads to the laundry rooms, and the lights go out. I’m swallowed by darkness, broken only by the glowing exit sign that leads to an outside courtyard and the glow of several vending machines.
The music of the party is much quieter down here, but the bass can still be felt. It seems to sync with my heartbeat, ramping up my nervous energy as I move through the dark space. I half expect Brody to jump out at me any second. It has my senses on high alert and the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.
“Brody?” I whisper, feeling stupid and reckless. How would I explain looking for him when everyone thinks I hate him? Because I do, obviously. So what excuse could I give for following some rando down a dark hallway on the off-chance that it’s him?
There’s nothing but silence.
Hands seize my shoulders from behind, making me gasp loudly. My back hits the wall hard enough to knock some of the breath from my lungs.
Fear sparks through me momentarily, then the masked man is in my space, pressing a hand to my shoulder to pin me against the wall. His scent and the heat of his body are familiar and comforting. Which, really, should freak me out. But all the fear, fight, and critical thinking drain out of me like air from a balloon., and I sag in his grip.
He doesn’t speak. He just stares silently for a long moment, as if considering what he might want to do to me now that he has me here.
He must decide quickly, because I’m suddenly flipped around, chest pressing against the wall. His hands grip mine and guide them up against the wall, spreading my fingers wide. His grip rearranges me like I’m nothing more than pliant clay for him to play with. He nudges my hips, and I tilt them automatically, curving my spine to push my ass out like I have any business doing so.
The position feels obscene and humiliating but somehow also so natural. Like his hands and my body know what I need and how to move to accomplish it.
His breath brushes the back of my neck as his hands move around my hips and undo my belt. He unzips my pants and pulls them down over my ass with clinical precision.
Cold air hits my skin, reminding me just how exposed I am. I try to straighten, to turn towards him and say something—anything—but he presses me forward until my cheek is flat against the cold cinderblock wall.
SMACK
Fire streaks across my right ass cheek, the sound reverberating down the corridor, sharp and loud. My knees almost buckle, breath leaving me in a state of confused paralysis.
I don’t fight him. I can’t. My body stops pretending it’s in charge and lets go. Lets him take over.
A warm hand smooths over the throbbing flesh of my ass before he’s suddenly not behind me anymore. He’s not at my back.
He’s gotten to his knees behind me.
I can feel his breath on my cheeks as he brushes a light kiss over the spot where he smacked me. Then his hands are on me, caressing and kneading my ass cheeks like they’re modeling clay.
Brody spreads me open, his fingers firm on my skin. I’d be embarrassed if I had any dignity left, but I’m pretty sure my last bit of dignity was drowned in that ice bath yesterday.
I flinch as his tongue swipes through the cleft of my ass and over my hole.
What the actual fuck was that?
I choke on a moan, high and desperate, not knowing what this is or how to react to it. It feels weird. Weird and foreign, and wet and soft, and so fucking delicious.
His tongue slides over me again, and my body bows forward, hips twitching involuntarily. The sensation is slippery but so damn good, setting off forbidden nerve endings that tingle and shoot sparks of pleasure from my asshole to my spine. He taps his tongue against my hole, and I feel it in my balls. They draw up against my body, and I pant to hold myself back, not wanting to come from nothing but Brody’s tongue on my asshole.
I can’t compute how out of this world it feels. It’s filthy and intimate and so far beyond anything I’ve ever let someone do that my brain can’t compute which way is up. I mean to ask him to wait, to hold on, to give me a moment to breathe, but all that comes out is a desperate moan.
