His body moves with controlled force, every thrust a warning to the men crowding us. He doesn’t shout. He doesn’t have to. The message moves through the room anyway. A few of them flinch. Others hesitate.
Some finish too fast. Filth splashes on my sleeves, my hair, the front of my sweatshirt. Anyone who drifts too close to my legs gets snapped at. A sharp bark. A sudden shift of weight.
Ayan doesn’t interrupt. He must be loving someone else using me, waiting for the others to tear me apart. Before he finishes the job.
“Dude! You’re taking too long!” one of the brothers yells from the back of the room.
“Sorry! It takes me a while!” Apollo shouts back, but it’s flat. Sarcastic. Like he’s toying with them and wants them to know.
Half the room empties before he pretendsto be done. Men peel away, frustrated, spent, already looking for their next target as the fog thickens around our knees.
The condom covering Apollo’s huge cock has already ripped at the tip, exposing his piercing. But he still doesn’t enter me.
Why didn’t he justtakeme like all the others?
Why the condom?Noneof the men in Greek life wear them. We’re all regularly tested for sexually transmitted infections. If he had something, why wouldn’t he tell me before I was with him at the tattoo parlor?
“Come on. We can get more points. The smoke is almost to the top.” The ones already spent head out into the hall.
I gag on the thick mist covering our faces. Turning my head to the side, I spit on Ayan’s shoes as he creeps closer.
“You’re out of time,” he snaps, stepping up.
Apollo doesn’t even look at him.
It seems Apollo’s goal is to outlast them all. Some are flaccid. It’s difficult to tell who’s still ready to go in the haze that surrounds us, creating a curtain of privacy.
Screams ripple down the hallway. I clutch Apollo, digging my nails into his back. He stiffens, then tightens his hold on me.
His mask lifts toward the noise, and I look behind me.
A group of women sprint past the open doorway, not caring who may be around them as they flee for safety. Only two men follow them, but in their hurry, they flush the rest of theBetasfrom the room who were already done.
Now, there are only three men left. Three, aside from Ayan. And Apollo.
And me.
Apollo’s sweating so much, his shirt soaks my hands.
The fog climbs higher, swallowing faces, turning the room into a half-lit void.
Apollo’s…gentle. His pace isn’t hurried or frantic. It’s almost as if he were actually inside me, and we were anywhere else, maybe I’d enjoy it.
The way his piercing keeps tapping my clit sends a jolt of pleasure through my lower back. Down my legs. And the way his caring rhythm, so steady and slow, pulses through me? I could?—
Fuck me! I’m going to come.
My hands tighten into the cotton fabric to tug him closer to me, my thighs spreading wider.
Low, under his mask, he asks, “You…okay?”
“Y-Yeah.” Oh my god! I’msonot okay! What iswrongwith me?
My body betrays me. Heat coils low in my stomach, sharp and humiliating and wrong. The steady friction, the illusion of care, the way he shields me without explaining—it scrambles everything inside me.
A guy laughs. “She’s into it.”
I’m covered in cum. Drenched with Apollo’s sweat. On a dirty mattress. Surrounded by lecherous, disgusting men. And my cheating ex.
