Chapter 6: Waking Her With His Cock
The room was dark except for the blue glow of the phone screen and the neon wash of red and green bleeding through the cracked window. Somewhere down the hall, someone was playing music too loud—a bass line that thumped through the walls like a second heartbeat.
Danny lay still.
Mari's head was on his chest. Her breath was slow and even, her body curled against his like she belonged there. The silver rings on her fingers pressed cold against his stomach. A brand. A claim. A signature on a contract he hadn't signed.
He stared at the ceiling. The crack was still there, running from wall to wall, a fault line in the plaster that seemed to widen every time he looked at it.
His phone buzzed again. He didn't need to check it. He knew who it was. Jess, with her clinical curiosity and her library notes and her mouth wrapped around his cock in the stacks. Danvers, with her red pen and her research partnership and her cunt gripping him while she graded papers. Shelby, with her BMW and her fogged-up windows and her demand that he not fall in love with her.
And now Mari. Mari with her leather jacket and her combat boots and her absolute certainty that she owned him.
They were all the same. Every single one of them. They looked at him and saw a blank slate, a project, an experiment. They decided what he was before he got a say. They used him for their own reasons—data, distraction, dominance, desire—and called it connection.
His jaw tightened.
Mari stirred. Her hand slid up his chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his skin.
"You're awake," she murmured.
"Yeah."
"Thinking?"
"Always."
She propped herself up on one elbow. Her dark hair fell across her face, and she pushed it back with a lazy gesture. In the dim light, her eyes looked black, depthless.
"About what?"
He didn't answer. He was looking at her mouth—that burgundy-painted mouth that had been wrapped around his cock an hour ago, that had whispered commands and claimed ownership. She thought she'd won. She thought she'd figured him out, cracked the code, solved the puzzle of Danny Sterling.
She had no idea.
He moved fast.
One moment she was lying beside him, the next he had her on her back, his body covering hers, his hands pinning her wrists to the mattress. She gasped—a sharp, surprised sound that dissolved into something else when she saw his face.
"What are you—"
"Shut up."
Her eyes widened. But she didn't struggle. She didn't try to push him off. She just stared up at him, her chest rising and falling, her lips parted.
He released her wrists and slid down her body.
He didn't ask permission. He didn't wait for her to tell him what she wanted. He grabbed her thighs and pushed them apart, exposing her cunt—still wet, still swollen from earlier. The scent of her hit him, musky and sweet, and his mouth watered.
He dragged his tongue through her.
She jerked. Her hands flew to his head, fingers tangling in his hair. "Fuck—"
He didn't stop. He licked her slow and deliberate, from her entrance to her clit, then back down again. He circled her clit with the tip of his tongue, then sucked it between his lips.
"Oh god," she breathed. "Oh fuck, Danny—"
He slid two fingers inside her while he worked her clit. She was tight, hot, her inner walls fluttering around him. He curled his fingers upward, pressing against that spot that made her hips buck off the mattress.
"Right there," she gasped. "Don't stop, don't you dare—"
He stopped.
She made a frustrated noise. "What the—"
He pulled his fingers out and sat back on his heels. She was sprawled beneath him, her thighs spread, her cunt glistening. Her chest heaved. Her eyes were wild.
"Beg," he said.
Her mouth fell open. "What?"
"You heard me." He grabbed her ankles and flipped her onto her stomach. She yelped, her hands scrambling for purchase on the sheets. He pulled her hips up, positioning her on her knees, her ass in the air.
"What the fuck are you doing?" she demanded.
He leaned over her, his chest pressed against her back, his mouth at her ear.
"I'm taking what I want," he said. "For once."
She shivered. He felt it—the tremor that ran through her body, the way her breath caught in her throat.
"So this is what you want?" she said. "To fuck me from behind like I'm nothing?"
"No." He nipped at her earlobe. "This is what I want."
He pushed inside her.
She cried out—not pain, but surprise. He was deep, buried to the hilt, her cunt gripping him like a fist. He stayed there for a moment, letting her feel every inch of him.
"You're not my girlfriend," he said.
She tried to look back at him, but he pressed her face into the pillow.
"You're not my project. You're not my anything."
He pulled out slowly, then slammed back in. She gasped.
"I fuck who I want," he growled. "And right now, I want you to come on my cock and remember who's inside you."
He set a brutal rhythm. His hips slapped against her ass, the sound echoing off the walls. The bed creaked. The headboard hit the wall—bang, bang, bang—a metronome of pure, unfiltered sex.
Her hands twisted in the sheets. Her moans were muffled by the pillow, but he could hear them—low, desperate, hungry.
"You thought you owned me," he said. "You thought you could walk in here and claim me like I was a piece of territory."
He grabbed her hips and pulled her back to meet his thrusts. She was so wet he could feel it dripping down his balls.
"You're not the first person to try that."
He leaned over her, his teeth grazed her shoulder. She whimpered.
"You're not even the fifth."
He fucked her harder. Faster. The bed was shaking, the frame groaning, the mattress sliding across the floor. He didn't care. He didn't care about the neighbors, about the RAs, about anyone who might hear.
"You're just another one," he said. "Another person who decided what I was before I got a say."
He reached around and found her clit with his fingers. She jolted like she'd been electrocuted.
"But here's the thing, Mari." He rubbed tight circles. "I'm not a blank slate. I'm not a project. I'm not yours."
She was shaking. Her thighs trembled. Her cunt clenched around him.
"I'm Danny fucking Sterling. And I take what I want."
She came—hard.
Her body convulsed around him, her inner walls milking his cock in waves. She screamed into the pillow, her fingers clawing at the sheets, her ass pushing back against him.
He didn't stop. He rode her through it, his rhythm never faltering, his hand still working her clit.
"Keep going," he said. "I'm not done with you."
She was sobbing now—not from pain, but from overstimulation. Every thrust sent a fresh shock through her nervous system. Her cunt was slick with her own juices, and he could feel her starting to tighten again.
"Please," she gasped. "Please, Danny, I can't—"
"You can." He grabbed her hair and pulled her head back. "You wanted to claim me. Now you get to take everything I give you."
He fucked her without mercy. Without pause. Without anything but raw, animal need. His balls drew up, his spine tingled, his vision went white at the edges.
"Look at me," he demanded.
She turned her head, her eyes meeting his. Her mascara was smeared, her lips parted, her expression a mix of exhaustion and something close to worship.
"Say my name."
"Danny."
"Louder."
"Danny."
"Tell me who owns you."
"You do." Her voice broke. "You do, Danny. Please—"
He pulled out.
She collapsed onto the mattress, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Before she could react, he grabbed his cock and stroked twice—three times—and came across the small of her back.
Ropes of semen painted her skin, hot and white against the faint sheen of sweat. She flinched when it hit her, but she didn't move. She didn't speak. She just lay there, trembling.
Danny caught his breath. His heart was hammering. His hands were shaking.
He looked at her—sprawled on his bed, her ass still in the air, his cum cooling on her back. She looked wrecked. Destroyed.
And for the first time since he'd met her, she was speechless.
He climbed off the bed and grabbed the blue blanket. He tossed it over her, covering her body.
"Door's right there," he said.
She turned her head, her eyes finding his. There was something in her expression—not anger, not hurt, but something else. Something almost like respect.
"You're not what I thought you were," she said.
"No." He walked to the mini-fridge and pulled out a bottle of water. "I'm not."
She pushed herself up, wincing as she moved. The blanket fell away, revealing her body—the curve of her spine, the marks his fingers had left on her hips. She didn't bother covering herself as she collected her clothes.
"So what now?" she asked.
"Now you go home." He twisted the cap off the water and took a long drink. "And we both remember what happened here."
She pulled on her jeans. Her t-shirt. Her jacket. She didn't look at him while she dressed.
"I don't lose," she said quietly.
"Neither do I."
She walked to the door. Her hand was on the knob when she turned back.
"This isn't over."
"It is if I say it is."
She stared at him for a long moment. Then she smiled—a small, crooked smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"We'll see."
She left.
The door clicked shut behind her. Danny stood in the middle of his room, alone, the water bottle cold in his hand. His phone buzzed again—Jess, Danvers, Shelby, all of them clamoring for attention.
He picked it up. He scrolled through the messages. And then he typed a single reply.
To all of them:
Not tonight.
He put the phone on the nightstand and sat down on the edge of his bed. The sheets smelled like sex and Mari's perfume. The blue blanket was tangled at the foot of the mattress.
His body ached. His mind was clear for the first time in weeks.
He didn't know what was going to happen tomorrow. He didn't know if Mari would come back, if Jess would keep taking notes, if Danvers would fail him out of spite, if Shelby would key his car. He didn't know if the gymnastics team would want an encore.
But for the first time since he'd transferred to this school, he felt like he was the one making the decisions.
He finished the water and tossed the bottle in the trash.
Then he lay back on the bed, pulled the blue blanket up to his chin, and closed his eyes.
The neon glow leaked through the window. The bass from down the hall still thumped. The crack in the ceiling still ran from wall to wall.
But Danny Sterling slept—and he didn't dream of any of them.
But Danny Sterling slept—and he didn't dream of any of them.
The knock came at 9:47 the next morning.
Danny surfaced from unconsciousness like a man dragging himself out of deep water. His mouth tasted like copper and stale air. His head throbbed with a dull, persistent ache that had nothing to do with alcohol.
The knock came again. Faster this time. More insistent.
He groaned and rolled over. The blue blanket was tangled around his legs, smelling faintly of Mari's perfume and something else—something that made his stomach tighten with a complicated mix of satisfaction and regret.
"Hold on," he called out. His voice cracked.
He pulled on a pair of sweatpants and shuffled to the door. When he opened it, he found three girls standing in the hallway.
They were young. Too young. Freshman young—the kind of young that still had baby fat on their cheeks and uncertainty in their eyes. They wore matching sorority pledge shirts, and they were all holding Starbucks cups like shields.
The one in front was blonde.
Not just blonde—blonde the way a shampoo commercial imagined blonde. Pale gold hair that fell past her shoulders in nervous waves. Wide blue eyes that looked like they'd been crying recently. A face so fresh it hurt to look at.
She was shaking.
"Hi," she said. Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Are you Danny?"
He leaned against the doorframe. "Depends who's asking."
"I'm Cassie." She swallowed hard. "Cassie Whitmore. I'm a freshman. And I... I lost a bet."
Danny blinked.
The two girls behind her—a brunette and a redhead—giggled nervously. They were nudging each other, their eyes darting between Danny and Cassie like they were watching a car crash in slow motion.
"What kind of bet?" Danny asked.
Cassie's face went crimson. "My friends... they said I had to... they said if I lost, I had to..."
She couldn't finish. Her voice cracked. Her eyes welled up with tears.
The brunette stepped forward. "She has to fuck you," she said bluntly. "That was the bet. She lost. So here she is."
Danny stared at them.
The redhead shrugged. "We didn't think she'd actually do it. But she's... she's committed."
"To a bet," Danny said flatly.
"It's a thing," the brunette said. "It's a whole thing. We have a list. You're on the list."
"What list?"
"The list of guys who..." The brunette trailed off, suddenly aware she'd said too much.
Danny's jaw tightened. Of course there was a list. Of course he was on it. He'd been on campus for less than a semester, and he'd already been catalogued, categorized, reduced to a name on a piece of paper.
He looked at Cassie. She was trembling. Her hands were wrapped so tight around her Starbucks cup that her knuckles had gone white.
"Go home," he said.
"What?"
"Go home. The bet's off."
"No." She shook her head. "I can't. They'll... they'll never let me live it down. I'll be the girl who chickened out. I'll be a joke for the rest of college."
"You'll be a lot worse if you do something you don't want to do."
"I do want to." She said it too fast. Too desperate. "I mean... I don't not want to. I just... I've never..."
The redhead leaned in and whispered something in her ear. Cassie's face went from crimson to white.
"Never what?" Danny asked.
Cassie looked at the floor. Her voice was so quiet he almost didn't hear it.
"I've never done it before."
The hallway went silent.
Danny stared at her. At the two girls behind her, who were suddenly looking very interested in their shoes. At the whole absurd situation—a virgin freshman, a bet, a list, a campus that operated by rules he was only beginning to understand.
"You're a virgin," he said slowly.
"Yes." She was crying now. Silent tears that streaked down her cheeks. "And I know that's pathetic. I know it's lame. But I just... I wanted my first time to be with someone... experienced. Someone who knew what he was doing. And you're the guy everyone talks about."
"What do they say?"
"That you're..." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "That you're good. That you don't judge. That you just... take care of people."
Danny exhaled slowly.
The list. The bets. The experiment. The dance with Becca. The gymnastics team. Jess and her notes. Danvers and her research partnership. Shelby and her fogged-up windows. Mari and her claims of ownership.
And now this.
A blonde freshman virgin who had lost a bet and was standing in his hallway, crying, because she thought he was her only option.
He should send her home. He should close the door and go back to bed and pretend this whole morning hadn't happened.
But there was something in her eyes—something desperate and determined and achingly vulnerable. She wanted this. Not because of the bet, not because of her friends, but because she was terrified of being the only one who hadn't done it. The only one who was left behind.
He knew that feeling. He'd spent the last two years of his life feeling exactly that way.
"Come in," he said.
Cassie's eyes went wide. "Really?"
"Really." He stepped aside. "But your friends stay out here."
The brunette and redhead exchanged glances. Then they shrugged and settled against the wall.
"Have fun," the brunette said. "Don't break her."
Danny closed the door.
The room was still a mess—the bed unmade, the blue blanket tangled, the energy drinks sweating on the desk. The window was cracked, letting in the dull gray light of a hungover morning.
Cassie stood in the middle of the floor, clutching her Starbucks cup like a lifeline. She looked around the room with the wide-eyed terror of a tourist in a foreign country.
"I like your room," she said.
"No, you don't."
"I do. It's..." She paused. "Authentic."
"That's a nice word for messy."
She laughed—a nervous, jittery sound that died almost immediately. Then she started crying again.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm crying. I just... I'm scared."
Danny walked over to her. Gently, he took the Starbucks cup out of her hands and set it on the desk.
"Scared of what?"
"Everything." She looked up at him. Her eyes were red-rimmed and watery. "Scared of doing it wrong. Scared of being bad at it. Scared of you telling everyone."
"I'm not going to tell anyone."
"Everyone says that."
"You don't know everyone." He tilted his head. "You don't know me."
"I know what I've heard."
"What have you heard?"
She bit her lip. "That you're... that you do this a lot. That you're with a lot of people. That you don't get attached."
That was fair. That was accurate. That was exactly what he'd been doing since he got here—fucking his way through campus like it was a checklist.
"Do you want to leave?" he asked.
"No." She shook her head firmly. "I want to stay. I want to... I want to get it over with."
"That's the worst reason to have sex."
"I know." She laughed again—that brittle, nervous laugh. "But it's the only reason I have."
Danny studied her. The way she stood—shoulders hunched, hands clasped in front of her like she was praying. The way she couldn't quite meet his eyes. The way her breath hitched every time she inhaled.
She was terrified. But she was here. She was choosing this.
"Okay," he said. "Sit on the bed."
She walked to the bed and sat down. Her hands went immediately to her lap, fingers twisting together. She looked small. Smaller than she had in the hallway.
Danny sat beside her. Not close—close enough to touch, but not touching. Not yet.
"Rules," he said.
"Rules?"
"First rule: you tell me if you want to stop. Any time. Any reason. No questions."
She nodded.
"Second rule: you don't do anything you don't want to do. I don't care about the bet. I don't care about your friends. If you're not into something, you say so."
Another nod.
"Third rule." He paused. "This is about you. Not me. Not your friends. Not the bet. You."
She looked at him then. Really looked at him. Her eyes were still wet, but there was something else there now—gratitude, maybe. Or surprise.
"Okay," she whispered.
"When's the last time someone touched you?"
"What?"
"Touched you. Anywhere. Skin to skin."
She thought about it. "I don't know. My mom hugged me goodbye when I moved in. That's... that's probably it."
"That was months ago."
"Yeah."
Danny felt something twist in his chest. Something that felt dangerously close to tenderness.
He reached out and took her hand.
She flinched. Then relaxed. His fingers were warm against her cold ones—cold from nerves, cold from the morning, cold from a life that hadn't touched her the way she needed.
"Close your eyes," he said.
She closed them.
He leaned in and kissed her.
It was gentle. Soft. Not the rough, demanding kisses he'd given Mari. Not the calculated, controlling kisses he'd given Danvers. Just a kiss—a first kiss—the kind that said I see you and I'm not going to hurt you.
She didn't know what to do. Her lips were stiff, uncertain. But after a moment, she started to relax. Her hand came up and rested on his chest.
He pulled back.
"Better?" he asked.
"I don't know." Her voice was shaky. "I don't know what I'm supposed to feel."
"You're not supposed to feel anything. You just feel."
She opened her eyes. "That sounds like something from a movie."
"So does losing your virginity on a bet."
She laughed—a real laugh this time, surprised and bright. "Fair point."
He kissed her again. Deeper this time. His hand slid up her arm, over her shoulder, into her hair. She tasted like vanilla latte and toothpaste. She smelled like lavender and laundry detergent and something faintly sweet.
She kissed him back. Clumsy. Uncertain. But trying.
He pushed her backward, gently, until she was lying on the bed. He hovered over her, his weight on his elbows.
"Still okay?"
"Yes." She nodded. "Yes. Don't stop."
He pulled her shirt over her head.
She was wearing a plain white bra—no lace, no frills, nothing designed to seduce. Just cotton and a small bow in the center. He unhooked it with one hand and pulled it away.
Her breasts were small and pale, the nipples a soft pink. She moved to cover herself.
"Don't," he said. "You're beautiful."
"I'm not."
"You are."
He lowered his mouth to her nipple.
She gasped—a sharp, startled sound. Her hands flew to his head, fingers gripping his hair. He licked and sucked, slow and gentle, and she writhed beneath him.
"I don't—" she gasped. "I don't know what to do."
"You don't have to do anything."
"But I want to—"
"Then just feel."
He moved to the other breast. Same slow, gentle attention. Same gasping, shuddering response. She was learning her own body in real time—what she liked, what made her arch her back, what made her breath come faster.
He kissed down her stomach. She flinched when his lips crossed her belly button.
"Ticklish?"
"A little."
He kept going. He unbuttoned her jeans and pulled them down her legs. She was wearing plain white underwear to match her bra. He hooked his fingers under the waistband.
"Last chance," he said.
She looked at him. Her eyes were wide, but there was no fear now. Just anticipation.
"Do it," she said.
He pulled off her underwear.
She was bare before him—pale and pink and trembling. Her cunt was neat, trimmed, glistening with a nervous sheen. He could see her pulse fluttering in her thigh.
He settled between her legs.
"Have you ever touched yourself?" he asked.
"Sometimes."
"Did you come?"
"I don't know." Her face flushed. "Maybe. I think so. I don't really know what it's supposed to feel like."
"You're about to find out."
He spread her lips with his fingers and dragged his tongue through her.
She jolted like she'd been shocked. "Oh my god—"
He licked her again. Slower this time. Learning her rhythm, her taste, the way she responded to pressure and speed and suction.
"Oh," she breathed. "Oh, that's... that's..."
He found her clit and circled it with his tongue. Her hips bucked. Her hands tangled in the sheets.
"I don't... I can't..." She was panting. "Something's happening."
"Good."
"I think I'm... oh god—"
She came with a strangled cry, her body arching off the mattress, her thighs clamping around his head. It was quick—faster than he'd expected—but he didn't stop. He licked her through it, gentle and steady, until she collapsed back onto the bed, gasping.
"What was that?" she whispered.
"That was an orgasm."
"Was it supposed to feel like that?"
"Better than you expected?"
"Different." She was staring at the ceiling. "I didn't know it could be like that."
He crawled up her body and kissed her. She tasted herself on his lips.
"Now," he said. "The real thing."
He pulled off his sweatpants. His cock was hard, heavy, leaking at the tip. She looked at it and her eyes went wide.
"That's not going to fit."
"It will."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure."
He reached for a condom on the nightstand. He rolled it on.
"Legs open," he said.
She opened her legs. Slowly. Nervously. He positioned himself between them, the head of his cock pressing against her entrance.
"Look at me," he said.
She looked at him.
"This might hurt. Just for a second. Then it'll feel better."
"Okay."
"You tell me if you want to stop."
"I won't."
He pushed inside.
She gasped. Her nails dug into his shoulders. Her whole body tensed.
"Breathe," he said. "Just breathe."
"I'm trying—"
"Breathe, Cassie."
She took a shaky breath. Then another. Slowly, her body began to relax. Her grip on his shoulders loosened.
"Okay," she whispered. "Okay."
He pushed deeper.
She winced. But she didn't tell him to stop. She just held onto him and breathed and let him fill her.
When he was all the way in, he stopped. He waited. He let her adjust to the sensation of being stretched, being filled, being fucked for the first time.
"You okay?" he asked.
"I think so." Her voice was small. "It feels... weird."
"Good weird or bad weird?"
"I don't know yet."
He kissed her forehead. "Take your time."
He started to move. Slow, shallow strokes. Gentle. Letting her feel every inch of him without overwhelming her.
She made a sound—not pain, not pleasure, but something in between. Her eyebrows were knitted. Her lips were parted.
"Tell me what you're feeling."
"Full." She exhaled. "So full. And... warm."
He moved faster.
Her hips started to move with his. Tentative at first, then more confident. She was learning. She was responding. Her body was waking up.
"That's it," he said. "Just like that."
"I don't..." She moaned. "I don't know what I'm doing."
"You're doing fine."
He drove deeper. Her back arched. Her mouth fell open.
"Faster," she said. "Please."
He fucked her faster. Not rough—not yet—but faster. Steady. Rhythmic. The bed creaked beneath them.
"Oh," she gasped. "Oh god. Oh god, that's—"
"That's what?"
"That's so good. That's so... I didn't know..."
He reached down and found her clit with his thumb. Rubbed tight circles while he fucked her.
She screamed.
Her body clenched around him—tight, hot, convulsing. Her orgasm ripped through her like lightning, leaving her shaking and gasping and sobbing his name.
"Keep going," she gasped. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."
He didn't stop.
He fucked her through it, harder now, his own release building in his spine. She was still coming when he let go—his hips stuttering, his balls drawing up, his whole body shuddering as he emptied into the condom.
He collapsed on top of her.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. Their breathing was ragged, synchronized. Her heart beat against his chest like a trapped bird.
Then she started to cry again.
"Hey." He lifted his head. "Hey. What's wrong?"
"Nothing." She was smiling through the tears. "Nothing's wrong. I just... that was..."
"That was what?"
"That was everything." She laughed—a wet, hiccuping laugh. "That was everything I thought it would be and nothing like I thought it would be."
He pulled out and disposed of the condom. Then he lay beside her, pulling the blue blanket up to cover them both.
"What happens now?" she asked.
"Now you go home. You tell your friends you did it. And you never let them talk you into a bet again."
"You're not..." She hesitated. "You're not going to ask me to leave right away?"
"Do you want to stay?"
"I don't know."
They lay in silence. The room was still gray, still messy, still smelled like stale beer and last night's regret. But something had shifted. Something had changed.
"I liked it," she said quietly. "I know I wasn't supposed to. I know it was just a bet. But I liked it."
"There's nothing wrong with liking it."
"I feel like there is. I feel like I'm supposed to feel guilty."
"Guilt is overrated."
She turned her head to look at him. Her eyes were still red, her hair was a mess, her lips were swollen from kissing. But she looked different than she had in the hallway. Calmer. More settled.
"Thank you," she said.
"For what?"
"For being..." She searched for the word. "Kind."
"Don't tell anyone."
She laughed. "I won't."
A knock came at the door. Three sharp raps.
"Cassie?" It was the brunette. "You alive in there?"
"I'm coming!"
Cassie sat up. She looked around the room like she was seeing it for the first time. Then she started gathering her clothes.
Danny watched her dress. The nervous trembling was gone. Her movements were slower, more confident. She was different. He'd changed her.
That thought should have scared him. It didn't.
She pulled on her jeans, her shirt, her shoes. She ran her fingers through her hair and checked her reflection in the dark screen of his laptop.
"Okay," she said. "I'm ready."
He walked her to the door.
"Cassie."
She turned.
"Your first time should have been with someone who cared about you. I'm sorry it wasn't."
She smiled—a real smile, warm and sad and grateful all at once.
"It was with someone who was honest. That's almost as good."
She stepped into the hallway. Her friends immediately swarmed her, peppering her with questions. She laughed and waved them off and they disappeared down the stairs.
Danny closed the door.
He stood alone in the middle of his room, the blue blanket still tangled on the bed, the smell of sex still hanging in the air.
On the nightstand, his phone buzzed.
Jess: Skipping class? Want to meet at the library?
Danvers: I need your notes by tomorrow. Don't be late.
Shelby: You're still ignoring me. Bold move.
Mari: We're not done.
He looked at the messages. Four women. Four demands. Four versions of the same thing—someone wanting something from him, someone deciding what he was, someone trying to claim him.
He typed a single response to all of them:
I'm busy.
Then he put the phone in a drawer and closed it.
The room was quiet. The crack in the ceiling stared down at him. The neon glow flickered through the cracked window.
For the first time since he'd transferred to this school, Danny Sterling felt like he was waking up.
He didn't know what came next. He didn't know who would knock on his door, who would demand his attention, who would try to take what they wanted without asking.
But he knew one thing.
He wasn't going to let them decide what he was anymore.