Chapter 16: Unspoken Desires
Briana stood before her attic mirror, smoothing the soft fabric of a cream cashmere sweater over her jeans. She looked like a beautiful preppy princess, her caramel skin glowing against the pale wool, her dark hair pulled into a sleek, low ponytail. The sharp memory of the women from last night—Mina, Tracy, the others—flitted through her mind, but she didn't get mad; they were all willing, all playing the same sprawling, complicated game. She felt a strange, protective love for all her frat brothers, these chaotic, entitled boys who had, in their own brutal way, protected her. With a final deep breath, she headed downstairs.
The kitchen was quieter now, just Simon leaning against the island and David rifling through the stainless steel fridge. "Off to class?" Simon asked, his usual warm smile in place.
"Yep. See you guys later," Briana said, offering a small wave. She thought of them as big brothers, flawed and fierce. They nodded, their eyes tracking her as she slipped out the side door into the crisp morning.
The moment the door clicked shut, the air in the kitchen thickened. Simon's warm eyes darkened, his gaze locking with David's across the island. "Fuck, that dress last night," David groaned, shaking his head as he cracked open a protein drink.
"Was nothing compared to the sweater today," Simon replied, his voice low. "Makes you want to just… ruin it a little."
David snorted, a sharp, humorless sound. "You’re fucking transparent, Hayes. You’ve been puppy-dogging her since she arrived."
"And you’re not looking?" Simon shot back, pushing off the counter. "I saw you watching her walk away. Don’t pretend you’re above it just because you’ve got someone back home."
"She’s different," David stated, his athlete's physique tensing. "Not some sorority girl you can charm and forget by dawn."
"That’s the point," Simon said, a raw edge cutting through his typically easy tone. "You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t lay awake thinking about how her mouth would taste?"
David drained his protein shake, crushing the carton in his fist. "Keep dreaming," he muttered, tossing it into the sink with a wet thud. He brushed past Simon, their shoulders connecting with a hard, deliberate bump.
They filed into the sitting room where the low hum of post-mortem was already underway. Grant was holding court, swirling brandy in a heavy crystal glass as Lee lounged on the arm of his chair.
“She practically begged for it,” Grant was saying, a lazy smirk on his face. “Kept going on about my father’s merger, like that was the turn-on.” He took a sip. “I fucked her right there on the billiard table. Her ass left a perfect chalk mark.”
Tristan, cleaning his glasses with a precise cloth, didn’t look up. “The one with the vocal fry,” he stated flatly. “She came in under forty-five seconds. It was efficient.”
Simon dropped into a leather wingback, his pleasant mask back in place. David remained standing by the mantel, a brooding statue.
David remained standing by the mantel, a brooding statue. The creak of the floorboards announced new arrivals before they appeared—Tracy and Carissa padding into the room, wearing nothing but long, borrowed fraternity tee shirts that barely skimmed their thighs. Their hair was damp from shared showers, their skin flushed.
“Sorry, left my fucking pants in Lee’s room,” Tracy announced, hoisting herself onto the arm of Grant’s chair without an ounce of shame. Her bare leg brushed his arm.
Carissa curled into Simon’s lap, nuzzling his neck. “Hope you don’t mind the impromptu wardrobe.”
“We were just reliving the highlights,” Lee grinned, his eyes roaming openly over Tracy’s body beneath the thin cotton.
Tracy laughed, a low, smoky sound. “My highlight was getting bent over that ugly antique desk in the study. Felt the wood grain imprint on my palms.” She stretched, the shirt riding up. “Came so hard I saw stars.”
“Mine was the library ladder,” Carissa purred into Simon’s ear, though her gaze flicked to David. “Simon pinned me against the rungs. Every thrust shook the whole damn thing. Thought it would collapse.”
A charged silence settled, heavy with shared memory. Grant’s fingers traced idle patterns on Tracy’s knee. Simon’s hand rested on Carissa’s hip, his thumb stroking her skin through the fabric.
David watched from his post, his jaw tight. “And no one’s talking about the other feed,” he stated, the words cutting through the salacious haze. “The one from the sunroom attic.”
All movement ceased. Tracy and Carissa exchanged a sharp, knowing look.
Grant’s playful smirk faded into something colder, more proprietary. “That’s a private viewing,” he said, his voice devoid of its usual teasing lilt.
Tristan finally looked up from his glasses, meeting David’s challenging stare. “For me and Grant only,” he confirmed, his tone leaving no room for debate. “The only copy.”
Simon’s arm tightened around Carissa. “Good,” he muttered, his eyes fixed on the cold fireplace, a protective anger there that surprised even him. The unspoken rule now hung in the air, a barbed wire boundary around Briana and Lily. No one else would ever speak of it.
No one else would ever speak of it. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable, until Lee cleared his throat. “So,” he said, his voice deliberately loud, “the championship game is Friday.”
It was a lifeline, and everyone grabbed it. The mood in the room shifted, the sexual tension evaporating into a more familiar, competitive energy. “We win, and this place needs to be rocking,” Grant declared, setting his brandy glass down with a decisive click.
Tracy slid from the chair arm, her earlier bravado now channeled into party planning. “Full open bar. No well shit. We break out the Pappy.”
“Done,” Grant said. “I’ll handle the liquor. Tristan, you manage the security roster and the tech.” Tristan gave a single nod, already pulling out his phone.
Simon’s hand was still on Carissa’s hip, but his focus had sharpened. “I’ll get the sound system wired through the whole first floor and garden,” he offered.
“Good,” David said from the mantel, his competitive drive overriding the earlier tension. “And we need to clear all the downstairs furniture into the ballroom. Make space.”
“I’ll get the pledges on that Thursday night,” Lee grinned. “They can earn their letters.”
Carissa shifted in Simon’s lap, her voice a playful purr. “I’ll handle the guest list. Sigma Beta will bring at least thirty girls.”
“Make it fifty,” Grant corrected, a familiar, commanding gleam returning to his eyes. “And tell them to dress for the aftermath.”
“And tell them to dress for the aftermath.” The planning continued, a blunt logistics of hedonism, until Tracy and Carissa padded off to retrieve their real clothes.
The week passed normally. Lectures blurred into library sessions, the fraternity house humming with pre-game anticipation. On Wednesday, a guy from Briana’s Poli-Sci class, Kevin, fell into step with her outside the lecture hall. He was a sophomore, broad-shouldered with a clean-cut nervousness. “A bunch of us are going to the championship game Friday,” he said, shifting his backpack. “You should come with me.”
Briana offered a polite smile, adjusting her own bag strap. “That’s really nice, Kevin, but I’m already going with Lily.” His face fell just a fraction before he nodded, a teammate’s resilience kicking in. “Cool, cool. Maybe I’ll see you there.” He was one of David’s teammates on the team, and she watched him walk away, another thread in the tightening web.
Friday night arrived, a palpable current in the house. Briana stood with Lily in the foyer, a curated fortress of calm amidst the brewing chaos. “Kevin asked you, didn’t he?” Lily said, applying a final stroke of blood-red lipstick in the gilded mirror. “His tells are pathetic.” Briana just nodded, smoothing the deep green silk of her dress.
From the top of the stairs, Simon watched her. The dress was a sin, clinging to every curve before flaring at her knees. He’d been half-hard since seeing her in it. Carissa, beside him in a barely-there sequined bandage dress, followed his gaze. “Forget it, Simon,” she whispered, her hand snaking possessively around his bicep. “She’s not for you.”
He didn’t answer, just shrugged her off and descended the stairs, a plan coiling in his gut. The game was a roaring, distant storm they returned from victorious, David carried on the shoulders of shouting teammates including a subdued Kevin. The party exploded. Bodies packed the pulsing downstairs, a sweat-slicked, shouting organism.
Simon found Carissa by the shattered remains of the punch bowl, her eyes glazed with vodka and victory. He didn’t speak, just took her hand and led her through the thrashing crowd, up the back staircase to the relative quiet of the second-floor hall. He backed her against the wall next to a grim portrait of some founding father.
His mouth crashed onto hers, all tongue and teeth, a performance of hunger. His hand shoved the tiny sequined dress up her hips, his fingers finding her soaked through her thong. “You’re fucking dripping,” he growled against her neck, biting the skin. “Always so ready for it.”
He ripped the flimsy fabric aside and shoved two fingers inside her, curling them hard. Carissa’s sharp cry was swallowed by the bass thumping through the floorboards, her body buckling against the wall as she came, a hot gush coating his hand. Carissa’s cum ran down Simon’s fingers, slick and warm.
“Fuck, yes, just like that,” she panted, her head lolling.
He didn’t wipe his hand; he used it, the sticky wetness, to fumble open his fly, shoving his pants down just enough. He took her to his room to fuck, hauling her down the hall by her wrist, her sequins scratching his palm. He kicked the door shut, locked it, and pushed her onto the bed, her dress a ruin around her waist.
He entered her in one brutal thrust, her gasping moan a reward. “You think about her while you’re doing this?” Carissa slurred, her legs locking around his back, her heels digging into his ass. He drove into her, harder, punishing them both, the headboard slamming a furious tattoo against the wall. “Shut up,” he grunted, his vision hazy with the image of green silk.
Downstairs, the sorority girls arrived invigorating the guys again, a fresh wave of perfume and shrieking laughter cutting through the beer-and-sweat haze. Tracy, now in a neon mesh top, was on the marble island pouring tequila directly into Lee’s mouth, most of it splashing across his grinning face. Grant watched from the archway, a cool curator of chaos, but his eyes kept flicking toward the staircase.
Briana and Lily were in their own world, a still point in the swirling mess, sharing a blunt by an open window in the den. The cool night air couldn’t reach the heat between them, their shoulders touching, Briana’s earlier laughter still fading from Lily’s whispered comment. They spoke in low tones, a private frequency, the party just a dull roar beyond their bubble.
Kevin watched Briana’s hips transfixed from a distance, from across the crowded room where he stood clutching a warm beer. He tracked the sway of green silk as she turned to head to lily the fabric pulling taut for a second. His teammate’s girlfriend giggled into his shoulder, but he didn’t feel her; he only saw the curve of Briana’s lower back, the dip of her spine, and he swallowed, his throat dry.
The bass-heavy thump of the music seemed to amplify the stifling heat. "I'm melting in this silk," Briana murmured, fanning herself with a cocktail napkin that disintegrated in her damp fingers.
Lily’s eyes, glinting with a conspiratorial heat, scanned the sweaty, heaving room. "Then let's evaporate," she declared, taking Briana’s wrist. Her touch was electric, a current cutting through the fog. She led her through the pulsing crowd, a path clearing as boys turned to watch their progress, a silent, hungry audience.
The procession began as a rumor, then a rallying cry. "Pool! Everybody, fucking pool!" Lee’s shout cut through the music, a primal command. A wave of bodies, drunk on victory and vodka, surged toward the french doors. Tracy, laughing wildly, peeled her neon top off and tossed it into the crowd, her bare breasts gleaming under the patio lights before she cannonballed into the deep end. Others followed, a cacophony of shrieks and splashes, denim and lace abandoned on the wet concrete in hurried, desperate piles.
Lily pulled Briana up the back staircase, away from the animal noise. The attic was a sanctuary, the roar below softening to a dull hum. "We are not getting naked for that zoo," Lily stated, throwing open Briana’s closet with a curator’s focus. She produced two small parcels of fabric from her own bag. "We are, however, making an entrance."
The swimsuits were weapons. Briana’s was a slash of emerald green that plunged dangerously in front and disappeared into a high-cut thong at the hips, tying at the neck and lower back with delicate strings. Lily’s was a stark, backless black halter that left her sides completely bare, fastened by a single clasp between her shoulder blades. They changed in silent, efficient synchrony, the air between them thick with a shared, defiant understanding.
Briana looked at their reflection in the dark window, two sleek silhouettes against the chaos. "An entrance to what, exactly?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Lily finished tying the final knot at Briana’s nape, her fingers lingering on the sensitive skin. "To whatever happens next," she breathed, her lips close enough for Briana to feel the warmth. Then she stepped back, a feline smile playing on her mouth. "Let's go watch them drown."
They descended the staircase, a slow, deliberate procession. The roar from the pool deck surged up to meet them, a wall of wet noise and frantic energy.
At the threshold, Briana paused. She turned to Lily in the shadowed hallway, the green strings of her suit stark against her skin. “Lil,” she said, her voice soft but clear under the chaos. “Thanks for being you.”
She leaned in and kissed Lily on her lips again, a brief, warm press that was becoming a normal exchange. It meant the world to Lily, who felt the simple words lodge deep in her chest, a secret anchor.
Then they pushed through the doors into the electric humidity of the pool area. The boys’ jaws hit the floor. All motion seemed to stutter for one suspended second. Both of them were the most beautiful girls there, a fact beyond opinion, a sudden shift in the room’s gravitational pull. The reality was the orbit here was mostly white, Asian, and Indian girls; Black and bi-racial were very rare, making their presence not just noticeable but disruptive, a live wire thrown into the chlorinated water.
Grant, holding a bottle of vodka, stopped pouring mid-stream. Tristan’s analytical gaze shattered into pure, stunned absorption. Simon, who had just emerged from the house, felt his gut clench with a possessive ache so sharp it hurt. David’s competitive scowl melted into something much rawer, his eyes tracing the cut of Briana’s suit with a jarring intensity.
David’s competitive scowl melted into something much rawer, his eyes tracing the cut of Briana’s suit with a jarring intensity. Briana and Lily sat in pool chairs watching the scene unfold, a tableau of controlled observation amidst the frenzy. Fully naked girls played in the pool, their shrieks slicing the steamy air as they splashed and wrestled in the chlorinated water.
Guys lined the perimeter, watching them, bottles of beer and glasses of amber liquor clutched in loose hands. Their drinking and cheering formed a brutish chorus to the splashing. “Take it off, Tracy!” someone yelled, a disembodied voice from the shadows.
Tracy, surfacing from the water with her blonde hair plastered to her skull, just laughed and flipped them off. Carissa, also nude, climbed onto Lee’s shoulders in the shallow end, her bare breasts glistening under the patio lights. “Fuck yeah!” Lee shouted, swaying under her weight before tumbling them both backward into a chaotic splash.
Simon watched this from the doorway, his gaze drifting from the watery chaos to where Briana sat, a composed silhouette in green. The sight of her, clean and untouchable on the sidelines, made the crude display in the pool seem suddenly pathetic. He turned and found Carissa emerging from the water, dripping and seeking his attention with a hungry look.
He didn’t smile, just took her wrist and pulled her, still naked and wet, through the sliding door into the empty, dark game room. He backed her against the felt of the poker table, the green baize cold against her skin. “You’re so fucking desperate for it,” he muttered, not kissing her, just unbuckling his jeans.
He shoved into her without preamble, her gasp sharp in the quiet room. Her wet body slid on the table as he drove into her, the only sound the wet slap of his hips against her thighs and the distant, muffled party. He fucked her with a hard, rhythmic precision, his eyes open and fixed on a distant point, seeing only the ghost of emerald silk and a quiet, observing smile.
His rhythm faltered for a second, his breath hitching as that ghost of a smile—Briana’s smile—flashed behind his eyes. Carissa felt the shift, the mechanical detachment in his thrusts. "You're somewhere else," she slurred, her nails digging into his shoulders, trying to claw him back into the room. He didn't deny it, just finished with a grim, final push before pulling away, leaving her sprawled and steaming on the felt.
Outside, the pool lights cut through the misty chlorine air, etching the scene in sharp relief. Briana watched a girl she didn't know vomit quietly into a potted fern, her bare shoulders heaving. "Charming," Lily muttered, sipping flat champagne, her observant eyes missing nothing.
From his perch on the diving board, Grant tracked Briana's gaze, then the sick girl. "Someone's done," he announced, his voice carrying a bored authority. He didn't move to help, just watched two pledges scramble over, their expressions panicked as they hauled the girl away. Tristan stood apart, leaning against the house's stone exterior, the dampness seeping into his shirt. He wasn't watching the chaos in the water. His focus was a laser on the two dry, untouched figures in the lounge chairs, a protected island in the soggy, screaming mess.
"This is depressing," Briana said finally, the words barely audible over the thumping bass. Lily followed her line of sight to where Simon had disappeared, then back to the raw need on the faces of the boys circling the pool. "It's product testing," Lily corrected, her voice flat. "And we are not the product."
Briana stood up, the emerald suit a stark declaration against the pallid, waterlogged flesh around her. That simple movement snapped a dozen hungry looks in their direction. "Let's get out of here," she said, and Lily was already rising, a synchronized retreat. Grant saw them move, saw Tristan push off the wall. He set his bottle down with a sharp crack on the table.