Chapter 4: Five on the Floor
The bedroom emptied slowly.
Derek went first, because Derek always went first—shouldering through the doorway with the trophy still in his hands, that stupid grin plastered across his face like he'd just scored the winning goal all over again. Ty followed, quieter, his eyes cutting sideways at Logan as he passed. The two freshmen came next, stumbling over each other, faces pale and sweaty under the hallway light. None of them spoke.
Logan didn't move.
He stood in the doorway like a man rooted to the floor, his chest rising and falling in short, jagged bursts. His knuckles were white where they hung at his sides. His eyes—red-rimmed, wet at the corners—stayed fixed on Hailey as she rose from the bed.
She didn't look at him.
Not yet.
She grabbed a hoodie from the back of her desk chair—old, faded, some high school track team logo peeling off the front—and pulled it over her head. It hung past her hips, soft and worn. She didn't bother with underwear. Didn't bother with anything else.
Marcus was still on the bed. Still naked. Still watching her with those steady, unreadable eyes.
"You coming?" she asked.
He didn't answer right away. Just swung his legs over the side of the mattress and stood. His body caught the lamplight—broad shoulders, narrow waist, the kind of build that came from years of running and lifting and pushing himself past the point of reason. He didn't reach for his clothes. Just grabbed a trench coat and then walked past Logan without a word and disappeared into the hallway.
Logan made a sound. Something small. Something broken.
Hailey finally looked at him.
"You wanted to watch," she said.
"What?"
"You heard me." She walked past him. "You wanted to watch. So watch."
- - -
When they arrived back at the party house, it was in even worse condition than when she had left the party. The living room was more messy than she remembered. It was her house- a place she had shared with Logan - but she barely recognized it now.
The coffee table had been shoved against the wall at some point during the night—she didn't remember doing it, but there it was, wedged between the TV stand and the window, one leg bent at a weird angle. Empty beer bottles clustered on every surface like mushrooms after rain. A pizza box sat open on the floor, three slices congealing into something that looked like leather.
The sectional couch was pushed back against the far wall, leaving a wide, empty space in the middle of the room. The carpet was sticky in places. Someone had knocked over a neon glow stick, and it bled green light across the fibers like radioactive spill.
Derek was already on the couch. Ty had claimed the armchair. The freshmen hovered near the kitchen counter, looking like they wanted to bolt but couldn't figure out how.
Marcus stood by the window. Arms crossed. Still naked beneath the trench coat. Still calm.
Hailey walked to the center of the room. Her bare feet made soft sounds against the carpet.
"Get up," she said.
Derek blinked. "What?"
"Get up. All of you." She pointed at the couch. "Move this. Push it back."
Nobody moved.
"I said move it."
Ty stood first. Then Derek. They shoved the sectional against the wall, grunting with the effort, and when they were done there was nothing in the middle of the room but open floor and green light and the weight of everything that was about to happen.
Hailey crossed to the hall closet. Pulled out a blanket—big, gray, the kind you kept for picnics and movie nights and nothing else. She spread it across the carpet. Smoothed it down with her palms.
Then she stood and looked at them.
"Strip," she said.
Derek laughed. It came out nervous. "What?"
"You heard me." She tugged the hoodie over her head and dropped it on the floor. Stood there in nothing but her skin and the green glow of the broken glow stick. "Every last one of you. Strip."
The room went quiet.
Ty looked at Derek. Derek looked at the freshmen. The freshmen looked at each other. Nobody looked at Logan, still standing in the hallway like a ghost who'd forgotten how to haunt.
Marcus didn't move.
"I said strip," Hailey repeated. "Or get the fuck out."
Derek moved first.
He always did.
His shirt came off in one pull. Then his jeans. Then his boxers, kicked across the room with a flourish that was almost defiant. His body was stockier than Marcus's—thick through the chest, softer at the middle, the kind of build that came from beer and burgers and too many nights celebrating. His cock was already half-hard, rising against his thigh.
"Happy?" he asked.
"Not yet."
Ty undressed slower. Careful. Folding his clothes into a neat pile on the armchair like he was at a goddamn laundromat. His body was leaner than the others—wiry, runner's legs, the kind of frame that looked fast but not strong. He kept his eyes on the floor.
The freshmen took forever.
The taller one went first, peeling off his hoodie like it was made of glass. The shorter one followed, fumbling with his belt, his face the color of a fire hydrant. They were both soft—still boys, really, not yet grown into their bodies. But they were here. They were doing it.
When they were done, Hailey turned to Marcus.
He hadn't moved. Still leaning against the window frame. Still watching her with that same steady expression.
"You too," she said.
"I'm already naked."
"Take off that stupid coat and get on the blanket,” Hailey commanded.
He pushed off the window frame. Walked to the center of the room. Knelt on the gray blanket without being asked.
Hailey looked at Logan.
He was still in the hallway. Still dressed. Still watching.
"You can stay there," she said. "Or you can leave. I don't care which."
Logan didn't move.
"Fine."
She turned to Derek.
He was grinning now—that same stupid grin from the party, from the lap dance, from every moment he'd ever pushed things too far. His cock was fully hard, jutting out from his hips like a challenge.
"You first," Hailey said.
"Why me?"
"Because you're the loudest." She stepped closer. "And I want you quiet."
She dropped to her knees.
The carpet was rough through the blanket—scratchy against her shins, but she didn't care. All she cared about was the way Derek's breath hitched when she wrapped her hand around the base of his cock.
He was thick. Thicker than Marcus. Not as long, but heavy in her palm, the skin hot and velvety, a bead of precum already glistening at the tip.
"Fuck," Derek whispered.
Hailey leaned forward.
She took him slow at first—just the head, her lips stretching around the ridge, her tongue pressing flat against the slit. He tasted like salt and sweat and something bitter underneath, like he hadn't showered since the game. She didn't care. She sucked him deeper.
Derek's hand found her hair.
"Shit," he breathed. "Shit, Hailey—"
She pulled off. Looked up at him.
"Hands to yourself."
"Come on—"
"I said hands to yourself."
He dropped his hand. His cock twitched against her lips, slick with her saliva.
She took him again.
Deeper this time. All the way to the back of her throat, until her nose pressed against the coarse hair at his base. She held it there—counted to three—then pulled back, gasping, strings of spit connecting her lips to his cock.
Derek groaned.
She did it again.
And again.
Until his knees started shaking. Until his hands were fisted at his sides, nails digging into his palms. Until he was making sounds she'd never heard him make before—high, thin, desperate.
"Fuck," he gasped. "Fuck, I'm gonna—"
She pulled off. Wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
"Not yet."
"What?"
"I said not yet."
She crawled past him. Moved to Ty.
He was sitting on the edge of the armchair, half-hard and terrified. His cock was thinner than Derek's—longer, maybe, but delicate, the kind of cock that looked like it belonged to someone who spent more time studying than scoring goals.
"Stand up," Hailey said.
Ty stood.
She took him in her hand. Stroked once. Twice. Watched him twitch and swell under her fingers.
"You ever had head before?" she asked.
Ty swallowed. "Yeah."
"From who?"
"My—my girlfriend."
"Does she swallow?"
Ty's face went red. "I—"
"Answer the question."
"No."
"Then watch."
She took him in her mouth.
Ty was easier than Derek—thinner, smoother, fit better in her throat. She worked him slow, methodical, one hand cupping his balls while the other twisted up and down his shaft. She could feel him trembling. Could hear the small, broken sounds he made every time she pulled back.
Behind her, Derek was still standing there with his cock in his hand, stroking himself slow.
Hailey pulled off Ty. Licked up the underside of his cock, from base to tip.
"Go sit down," she said.
Ty stumbled back to the armchair. Collapsed into it like his legs had stopped working.
The freshmen were next.
She knelt in front of them. The tall one first—soft, trembling, barely half-hard. She took him in her mouth and sucked until he was fully erect, until he was gasping and gripping the kitchen counter, until his hips were jerking forward in small, involuntary thrusts.
The short one came after.
He was the easiest of all—so nervous he almost came the second her lips touched him. She pulled back just in time, leaving him whimpering, his cock twitching in the air.
Then she turned to Marcus.
He was still kneeling on the blanket. Still watching. Still calm.
She crawled toward him.
Slow. Deliberate. Letting every eye in the room follow her.
When she reached him, she didn't touch his cock right away. Instead she leaned in and kissed him—soft, almost tender, her lips brushing against his like she had all the time in the world.
Marcus kissed her back.
Behind them, Logan made a sound.
Hailey pulled back. Looked over her shoulder.
Logan was still in the hallway. His face was wet. His hands were shaking. But he hadn't moved. Hadn't looked away.
His cock was hard inside his jeans.
"Want to see something?" she asked.
Logan didn't answer.
She turned back to Marcus.
Took his cock in her mouth.
Slow. So slow. Every inch, every vein, every ridge—she tasted all of it. Let her tongue drag along the underside. Let her lips stretch wide. Let her jaw ache.
Marcus didn't grab her hair. Didn't push. Just rested his hand on the back of her neck—warm, grounding, patient.
She took him all the way down. Held it. Let her throat work around him.
"Hailey," he breathed.
She pulled back. Looked at him.
"Not yet."
She went back down.
Faster now. Harder. Fucking him with her mouth the way he'd fucked her in the bedroom. Spit dripped down her chin. Tears leaked from her eyes. She didn't care. Didn't care about anything except the way he was breathing—short, sharp, close.
"I'm—" he started.
"Come in my mouth."
He did.
Hot and thick, flooding her tongue. She swallowed once. Twice. Kept sucking until he was done, until his cock stopped twitching, until his hand dropped from her neck.
Then she pulled off.
Wiped her mouth.
Looked straight at Logan.
"That's what you promised them," she said. "I just wanted to make sure you got to see it."
The room was silent.
Derek was still stroking himself. Ty had his face in his hands. The freshmen stood frozen by the counter. Marcus had his eyes closed, breathing slow.
Logan stared at her.
His mouth moved. But nothing came out.
Hailey stood up.
Her legs were shaking. Her knees ached. Her throat was raw. But she didn't sit down. Didn't cover herself. Just stood there in the middle of the room, naked and glowing green and covered in spit and salt and everything else, and looked at her boyfriend.
"Still want to watch?" she asked.
Logan's hand twitched toward the bulge in his jeans.
Hailey smiled.
It wasn't a nice smile.
"Then get on the floor," she said. "And take your fucking clothes off."
Logan didn't move.
Derek laughed—loud, sharp, breaking the spell.
"Shit," he said. "She's serious."
Hailey didn't look at him. Didn't look at any of them. Just kept her eyes on Logan.
"You wanted this," she said. "You made the deal. You threw the party. You brought me here. And then you stood in the corner and watched while your whole team fucked me."
Her voice cracked.
"Now it's your turn."
Logan's face twisted.
"You want me to—"
"I want you to strip." She pointed at the blanket. "And get on your knees."
The freshmen exchanged looks. Ty lifted his head from his hands. Derek stopped stroking himself, his cock still hard, still glistening.
Marcus opened his eyes.
Logan took a step into the room.
Then another.
His hands shook as he pulled off his shirt. Shook harder as he fumbled with his belt. When his jeans dropped, his cock sprang free—hard, leaking, angry. He kicked the clothes aside.
Stood there in nothing.
"On your knees," Hailey said.
Logan knelt.
The blanket was rough under his knees. He could feel the dried come, the spit, the sweat from everyone before him. Could smell it—sex and salt and something sour.
Hailey walked toward him.
Slow. Her hips swaying. Her tits still flushed pink from everything before. She stopped when she was standing right in front of him, her feet inches from his knees.
"Look at me," she said.
Logan looked up.
She was a mess. Her hair stuck to her forehead. Her mouth was swollen. Her chin still shiny with Marcus's come. But her eyes—her eyes were fire.
"You wanted this," she said.
"No—"
"You made a deal. You put me up like a piece of meat. And then you stood in your bedroom and watched me suck your captain's dick."
Logan's jaw tightened.
"I didn't think—"
"No. You didn't."
She dropped to her knees.
Face to face. Inches apart. She could smell the whiskey on his breath. The sweat. The desperation.
"Here's the thing," she said. "You brought them here. You promised them something. And I'm going to give it to them."
Logan's eyes widened.
"What?"
"Not in the way you thought." She reached out—grabbed his chin, her fingers digging into his jaw. "But they're going to watch. And you're going to watch too."
She let go.
Turned to the others.
"Derek," she said. "Come here."
Derek was already hard. He stepped forward, his cock bobbing with every step, and stopped beside her.
"Get on your back," Hailey said.
"On the—"
"On the floor. On the blanket. Now."
Derek dropped. Laid flat on his back, grinning up at her, his cock standing straight up like a flagpole.
Hailey climbed on top of him.
She didn't ease in. Didn't take it slow. Just grabbed his cock, lined it up, and sank down in one motion.
Derek groaned.
His hands flew to her hips. She slapped them away.
"Hands to yourself."
"Come on—"
"I said hands to yourself."
She started to move.
Slow at first. Grinding. Working him like she'd worked him in her mouth, but deeper now, fuller. She could feel the stretch. The burn. The way he filled her up in a different way than Marcus had—thicker, closer, almost overwhelming.
"Fuck," Derek breathed. "Fuck, you feel—"
"Shut up."
She rode him harder.
Faster.
Her tits bounced with every thrust. Her hair flew. Sweat dripped down her spine and pooled at the small of her back.
Ty was watching. The freshmen were watching. Marcus was watching. And Logan—Logan was still on his knees, his cock hard, his face a mask of rage and shame and something that looked almost like pain.
Hailey looked at him.
"This what you wanted?" she asked.
Logan didn't answer.
She rode Derek harder.
"That first night—when you told me about the deal—I thought you were joking." Her voice was breathless, broken by every thrust. "I thought you were testing me. Seeing if I'd say no. And when I didn't—when I said I'd do it—you looked at me like I was the one who'd done something wrong."
She started to lose rhythm.
"I gave you everything. Every game. Every cheer. Every night you wanted me to come over and suck your cock and tell you how great you were. And this—" She gestured at the room, at the team, at all of it. "This is what you gave me."
Derek was close. She could feel him swelling, twitching inside her.
"Hailey—" he groaned.
"Don't."
She pulled off. Stood up.
Derek made a sound of protest. She ignored him.
Went to Ty.
"Your turn."
Ty was already hard—had been hard since she'd gone down on him the first time. He stood up, awkward, uncertain.
"On your back," Hailey said.
Ty laid down.
She climbed on top of him.
He was different than Derek. Thinner. Longer. She felt every inch of him as she sank down, felt the way he filled her up in a way that was almost delicate.
She rode him slower.
Almost gentle.
Candlelight and lovemaking were somewhere else. This was just this. Two bodies, connected, moving together. She could feel his heartbeat through his cock. Could see him watching her—really watching, not just staring at her body.
"You okay?" he whispered.
"Yeah."
She leaned down. Kissed him.
Ty froze. Then kissed her back—soft, hesitant, like he wasn't sure he was allowed.
When she pulled back, her eyes were wet.
"I didn't want this," she said.
"What?"
"Any of this." She kept moving. Slow. Steady. "I wanted to be normal. To love my boyfriend. To cheer at games. But he—"
She broke off.
Ty's hands found her waist. Held her. Helped her move.
"I know," he said.
"You don't."
"I do."
She came—unexpectedly, silently, her body clenching around him in waves that she couldn't control. Ty followed a second later, his hips bucking up, a broken groan escaping his lips.
She pulled off. Stood up.
She didn't look at the freshmen. Didn't need to. Just walked back to the center of the blanket and stood there, breathing hard, her body slick with sweat and come and everything else.
Marcus was watching her.
Logan was watching her.
Everyone was watching her.
She looked at Logan.
"You wanted a show," she said. "There's your show."
She grabbed her hoodie from the floor.
Pulled it on.
Didn't bother with anything else.
"I'm going to bed," she said. "You can all let yourselves out."
She walked toward the hallway.
Stopped.
Turned.
"And Logan?"
He looked up. Eyes red. Mouth open.
"We're done."
She disappeared into her bedroom. Closed the door. Locked it.
The living room stayed silent.
Then, slowly, the sounds of movement. Clothes being pulled on. Feet shuffling toward the door. Muttering. A single, shattered breath that might have been Logan's—or might have been anyone's.
The door clicked shut.
And Hailey sat on the edge of her bed, in the dark, and let herself cry.
The tears came hard and hot and ugly.
They dripped off her chin and soaked into the hoodie, darkening the gray fabric in patches. She didn't wipe them away. Didn't try to stop them. Just sat there on the edge of the mattress with her hands in her lap, letting it all come.
The house was silent.
No creaking floorboards. No muffled voices. No shuffling feet. Just the hum of the refrigerator through the wall and the distant rumble of a car passing on the street below.
They were gone.
All of them.
She'd heard the door click shut five minutes ago—maybe ten, maybe twenty, time had gone syrupy and strange. She'd heard footsteps on the stairs. Heard Derek's laugh cut off mid-breath. Heard someone—probably Ty—mutter something that sounded like "Jesus Christ."
Then nothing.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.
She didn't look at it.
It buzzed again. And again. Three times in quick succession, then a pause, then twice more. Logan, probably. Or maybe Derek. Or maybe one of the freshmen, some apology they'd typed out with shaking thumbs.
She didn't care.
Her knees ached. Her throat burned. There was dried come on her chin, dried spit in her hair, dried sweat everywhere else. She could smell herself—could smell Marcus, Derek, Ty, all of them layered on her skin like some kind of scent map of the night.
She should shower.
She didn't move.
The buzz of her phone stopped. The silence came back. She sat there in the dark and stared at the wall and tried to figure out what the fuck she was supposed to feel.
Not regret. That wasn't it.
Not shame, either. She'd felt shame before—plenty of times, mostly small things, mostly stupid. The time she'd puked at a party freshman year. The time she'd failed a stats exam and lied to her mom about it. The time she'd cried in front of Logan's teammates after a loss and watched them all look away.
This wasn't shame.
This was something else. Something bigger. Something that sat in her chest like a stone and refused to move.
She thought about Logan's face. The way he'd looked at her when she said they were done. The way his mouth had opened and closed and opened again, like a fish on a dock, like he couldn't figure out how to breathe.
She thought about Marcus. The weight of his hand on the back of her neck. The steadiness in his eyes. The way he'd said "I'm not sorry" and meant it.
She thought about Derek, grinning up at her from the floor. About Ty, asking if she was okay. About the freshmen, terrified and hard and desperate.
She thought about the deal.
The deal that started all of this. The deal Logan had made without asking. The deal she'd agreed to anyway, because she loved him, because she trusted him, because she thought it would be fun.
It hadn't been fun.
It had been something else. Something sharper. Something that cut deeper than she'd expected.
She stood up.
Her legs were unsteady. Her feet were cold against the floor. She walked to the bathroom, flipped on the light, and looked at herself in the mirror.
Her hair was a disaster—tangled and matted and sticking up in places. Her mascara had run, leaving dark streaks down her cheeks. Her lips were swollen. Her neck was marked with red patches where someone—Derek, probably—had sucked too hard.
She looked like a stranger.
She looked like someone who'd been through something.
She turned on the shower.
The water was too hot. It stung her skin, made her gasp, made her want to step back. But she didn't. She stood under the spray and let it beat against her shoulders and watched the water run dark at her feet.
Soap. Shampoo. Conditioner. She went through the motions like a robot, scrubbing herself clean, washing away the evidence. When she stepped out, the mirror was fogged and her skin was pink and she felt—not better, exactly. But clearer.
Her phone was buzzing again when she walked back into the bedroom.
She picked it up.
Seventeen missed calls. Twenty-three texts. Most from Logan. A few from Derek. One from Ty that just said "you okay?"
She swiped them all away without reading.
Then she saw the text from Marcus.
One line. Sent twelve minutes ago.
"You did good tonight."
She stared at it.
No apology. No excuse. No question. Just that. Three words and a period and nothing else.
She typed back before she could think about it.
"I know."
Then she sat down on the bed and looked at the wall and waited.
She didn't know what she was waiting for. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. Maybe for the buzzing in her chest to stop, or for the stone to move, or for the night to finally end and the sun to come up so she could pretend the last six hours had never happened.
Neither happened.
The stone stayed. The night stayed. And the buzzing in her chest—that tight, hot, restless feeling that had started the moment she'd knelt on the blanket and taken Derek in her mouth—only grew louder.
She wanted more.
The thought came out of nowhere and everywhere at once.
She wanted more.
Not more of Logan. Not more of his apologies, his tears, his shaking hands. Not more of the deal, or the party, or the way he'd stood in the corner and watched.
She wanted more of this.
The feeling. The power. The way it had felt to have five men on their knees, to have them shaking and gasping and desperate for her. The way it had felt to take what she wanted and not apologize for it.
She wanted more.
Her phone buzzed again.
Marcus.
"What are you doing?"
She looked at the words. Read them twice. Three times.
Then she typed back.
"Nothing. You?"
"Thinking about you."
She should have felt something. Should have felt flattered, or angry, or confused. Instead she just felt that same hot, restless wanting. That same hunger that had started in the living room and hadn't stopped.
She typed: "Come back."
A pause. Three dots. Then: "You sure?"
She didn't hesitate.
"Yeah."
Another pause. Longer this time.
"I'll be there in ten."
She put the phone down. Looked at the door. Looked at the bed. Looked at her own hands, still pruned from the shower, still trembling slightly.
Ten minutes.
She had ten minutes to figure out what she wanted.
She pulled on a clean pair of underwear. A tank top. Nothing else. Left her hair wet. Left her face bare. Left the lights off except for the lamp on the nightstand.
Then she waited.
He knocked softly. Three taps. She opened the door.
Marcus stood there in a hoodie and jeans, hands in his pockets, looking at her like he was trying to read something written on her face. He didn't smile. Didn't say anything. Just waited.
"You came back," she said.
"You asked."
She stepped aside. He walked in.
The apartment was still a mess. The blanket was still on the floor. The broken glow stick was still bleeding green light into the carpet. Neither of them looked at it.
"You kicked everyone out," he said.
"No. I went to bed. They left."
"Same thing."
She closed the door. Leaned against it.
"Why did you come back?"
He turned to face her. That same steady look. That same patient expression.
"Because I wanted to."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I've got."
She crossed the room. Stopped an arm's length away. Could smell him again—soap and sweat and something underneath that was just him.
"Logan called me," she said. "Seventeen times. Derek called me. Ty texted. Everyone's freaking out."
"And you?"
"I don't care."
"Really?"
She looked at him. Really looked.
"No," she said. "Not really. But I don't care about them. I care about—"
She stopped.
"About what?"
"About this." She gestured between them. "About the way it felt. In the bedroom. In the living room. All of it."
Marcus didn't move.
"It felt like something," she said. "Something I didn't know I could feel."
"What did it feel like?"
She thought about it. Really thought.
"Like I wasn't just the girlfriend," she said. "Like I wasn't just the cheerleader. Like I was—" She searched for the word. "Like I was the one in charge."
Marcus nodded slowly.
"You were."
"I know." She stepped closer. "And I want to feel it again."
The words hung in the air.
Marcus looked at her. Not surprised. Not eager. Just patient. Like he'd been waiting for her to say it.
"Logan," he said.
"What about him?"
"He's my friend."
"He's not mine anymore."
"That was ten minutes ago."
She stepped closer. Could feel the heat coming off him.
"Ten minutes ago, I told him we were done. Ten minutes ago, he walked out of this apartment with his tail between his legs. Ten minutes ago, I stopped being his girlfriend."
She reached for the hem of his hoodie. Tugged it up.
"What I do now," she said, "is none of his business."
Marcus let her pull the hoodie over his head. Stood there while she dropped it on the floor.
"I'm not gonna be a rebound," he said.
"You're not."
"Then what am I?"
She looked up at him. Eyes wet. Chin trembling.
"You're the first person who looked at me tonight like I mattered."
He reached for her. Cupped her face. Wiped a tear she hadn't realized had fallen.
"That's a lot of pressure," he said.
"I know."
"You sure?"
She kissed him.
Not soft. Not tender. Hard and deep and hungry, her hands in his hair, her body pressed against his, her tongue in his mouth.
He kissed her back.
His hands found her ass. Squeezed. Pulled her closer. She could feel him through his jeans—hard, already, pressing against her hip.
"Bedroom," she said against his mouth.
He didn't argue.
They made it to the bedroom door. Did not make it to the bed.
He pushed her against the wall. She hit it with a soft thud, her shoulders flat against the plaster, and he was on her before she could catch her breath. Mouth on her neck. Hands pushing up her tank top.
"Off," he said.
She yanked it over her head.
His mouth found her tits. Sucked one nipple. Then the other. She arched into him, fingers digging into his shoulders, head thrown back against the wall.
"Fuck," she breathed. "Fuck, Marcus—"
He dropped to his knees.
Pulled her underwear down. She stepped out of them, one foot then the other. He tossed them aside and looked up at her—eyes dark, mouth wet, hands on her hips.
"Spread," he said.
She spread.
He pressed his mouth to her.
Hailey gasped. Her hands flew to his head. Fingers in his hair. Hips jerking forward.
His tongue was hot and sure and relentless. Licking up the length of her slit. Circling her clit. Pressing inside her cunt, then pulling back, then pressing in again.
"Shit," she whimpered. "Shit, don't stop—"
He didn't.
He ate her until her knees buckled. Until she was sliding down the wall, and he was following her, mouth still working. Until she was on the floor of the hallway with her legs spread and his face buried between them.
She came hard.
A scream that she couldn't hold back. A flood of wet on his chin. A shudder that ran from her scalp to her toes.
He pulled back. Looked at her.
"Good?"
She grabbed his shirt. Pulled him up. Kissed him—could taste herself on his mouth, salty and wrong and perfect. Her hands found his belt. Yanked it open. Unzipped his jeans.
"Inside me," she said. "Now."
He kicked off his jeans. Stroked his cock once. Twice.
"Condom?"
"I don't care."
"Hailey—"
"I said I don't care."
He looked at her. Really looked.
Then he pushed inside her.
One thrust. All the way to the hilt. Bottoming out.
She screamed again.
He fucked her on the hallway floor. Hard and fast and messy—his hips slamming against hers, his teeth on her neck, his hands gripping her thighs so tight she knew there'd be bruises. The floor was hard under her back. The carpet burned against her shoulders. She didn't care.
She wanted it.
She wanted all of it.
"More," she said.
He gave her more.
Faster. Harder. Deeper. His breathing was ragged in her ear. His sweat dripped onto her chest.
"More," she said.
He pulled out.
Before she could protest, he flipped her over—rough, easy, like she weighed nothing—and pulled her onto her hands and knees. Pushed back inside her from behind.
Hailey moaned.
Her palms were flat against the floor. Her tits hung heavy beneath her. He grabbed her hips and fucked her like he was punishing her.
Or maybe rewarding her.
Or maybe neither.
"Harder," she said.
He slammed into her.
She could feel every inch of him. Could feel the way his cock dragged against her walls, the way his balls slapped against her clit. Could feel the orgasm building again—different this time, deeper, spreading out from her core.
"Fuck," she gasped. "Fuck, I'm gonna—"
"'s okay," he grunted. "Come. I want you to."
She did.
Wet and shaking and loud. Her arms gave out. Her face pressed against the carpet. Her cunt clenched around him so hard he groaned.
"Fuck," he said. "Fuck, Hailey—"
"Come inside me."
"Are you—"
"Just do it."
He did.
Two more thrusts. Then he buried himself deep and came with a shout, hips stuttering, hands gripping her waist like he was holding on for dear life.
They collapsed together.
Him on top of her. Her underneath him. The carpet rough against her cheek. His breath hot on her shoulder.
Neither spoke for a long time.
Then Marcus pulled out. Rolled onto his back. Stared at the ceiling.
"Shit," he said.
Hailey laughed. It came out raw and unsteady.
"Yeah."
"Your neighbors are gonna call the cops."
"Let them."
He turned his head. Looked at her. That same steady look. That same patient expression.
"You okay?"
She thought about it.
"No," she said. "But I'm getting there."
He reached for her. Pulled her against him. Her head on his chest. His hand in her hair.
"I'll stay," he said.
"I didn't ask."
"I know."
She closed her eyes.
For the first time all night, the stone in her chest moved. Just a little. Just enough.
"I want more," she said.
"More of what?"
She opened her eyes. Looked at him.
"Everything."
He didn't answer. Just held her. Just breathed.
The lamp on the nightstand cast long shadows across the room. The broken glow stick bled green light into the living room. Somewhere outside, a car engine turned over and faded away.
The night wasn't over. Not yet.
But it was close.
And when morning came, Hailey knew, there would be a lot of things to figure out.
But not yet.
Not tonight.
Tonight, she had this. Had him. Had the weight of everything she'd done and the promise of everything she hadn't.
She closed her eyes.
And let herself rest.