Chapter 5: Derek at the Door
The knock came at three in the morning.
Not a gentle knock. Not a hesitant tap-tap-tap of someone hoping you might be awake. This was a fist against wood—hard, insistent, the kind of knock that meant whoever was on the other side wasn't leaving until they got what they came for.
Hailey's eyes snapped open.
The room was dark. The lamp had burned out hours ago, or maybe Marcus had turned it off, or maybe she had. The only light came from the living room—that sickly green pulse still bleeding through the crack under the bedroom door.
Marcus stirred beside her.
"Someone's here," he mumbled.
"I heard."
The knock came again. Louder this time. Accompanied by a voice—slurred, desperate, unmistakably Derek.
"Hailey! Hailey, open up!"
Marcus sat up. Ran a hand through his hair. Looked at her in the dark.
"You want me to—"
"No." She was already moving. Pulling on the tank top from earlier. Stepping into underwear. "Stay here."
She walked out of the bedroom.
The house was still a disaster. The blanket was still spread across the floor. The coffee table was still shoved against the wall. The broken glow stick was still bleeding green into the carpet, pulsing faintly like a dying heartbeat.
She crossed to the door.
"Hailey, please—"
She opened it.
Derek stood on the threshold.
He was a wreck. Team Hoodie pulled up over his head. Jeans unbuttoned. No shoes. His eyes were red-rimmed and glassy, and he smelled like a brewery—beer and whiskey and something sweet underneath.
"You're drunk," she said.
"Yeah."
"You should go home."
"I can't."
He swayed on his feet. She reached out and caught his arm before he could fall.
"I can't stop thinking about you," he said.
Hailey didn't answer.
"I tried. I went home. I laid in my bed. I closed my eyes. But every time I did, I saw you." He swallowed hard. "I saw your mouth. The way you looked at me when I—when I came. The way you swallowed. The way you wiped your lips and looked at Logan like he was nothing."
"Get inside."
He blinked. "What?"
"I said get inside."
He stepped past her. She shut the door.
The lock clicked into place.
Derek stood in the middle of the living room, dripping onto the carpet, looking around like he'd never seen the place before. His eyes landed on the blanket. On the green glow. On the closed bedroom door.
"Marcus still here?"
"Yes."
"He asleep?"
"Not anymore."
Derek turned to face her. His hands were shaking.
"I don't know why I came," he said. "I just—I couldn't stay away. I know it's fucked up. I know I shouldn't be here. But I can't stop thinking about it. About you. About the way you—"
She stepped closer.
"Get on your knees."
"What?"
"You heard me." She pointed at the blanket. "On your knees. On the blanket. Same spot as before."
Derek didn't move.
"I said get on your knees."
He dropped.
The blanket was cold under his knees. The dried come and spit and sweat had stiffened the fabric into something almost like canvas. He knelt there in the green light and looked up at her like she was something sacred.
And maybe she was.
And maybe she wasn't.
Hailey walked to him. Slow. Deliberate. Her bare feet made no sound on the carpet.
"You came back," she said.
"I couldn't—"
"You came back because you wanted more."
He nodded.
"You came back because I made you feel something you've never felt before."
He nodded again.
"Say it."
"I came back because I wanted more." His voice cracked. "I came back because you made me feel something I've never felt before."
She reached down. Grabbed his chin. Forced his eyes up to meet hers.
"Good."
She let go.
Then she pulled off her tank top.
Derek's breath caught. His cock—visible even through his jeans—twitched.
She hooked her thumbs into her underwear. Pulled them down. Stepped out of them. Kicked them aside.
Then she lowered herself onto the blanket in front of him. Spread her legs.
"Eat my pussy," she said.
Derek stared at her.
"What?"
"You heard me." She reached down and spread her lips with two fingers, showing him exactly what she wanted. "You came all the way back here at three in the morning. You knocked on my door. You got on your knees. So eat my pussy."
He leaned forward.
Hesitated.
"Closer."
He leaned closer.
His mouth found her.
It was tentative at first—soft, unsure, like he was afraid of doing something wrong. His tongue dragged up her slit in a long, slow lick, and she shivered.
"Slower," she said.
He slowed down.
"Now deeper."
He pressed his tongue inside her.
Hailey's hand found his hair. Grabbed a fistful. Held him in place.
"That's it," she breathed. "Right there. Don't stop."
He didn't stop.
His tongue worked inside her, curling and pressing and dragging against her walls. His hands came up to grip her thighs, and she let him—let him hold her, let him pull her closer, let him bury his face in her cunt like he was trying to drown.
"Good," she said. "Good boy."
His hips moved against the blanket. He was grinding against the floor, desperate for friction, moaning into her pussy like he couldn't help himself.
She pulled his hair.
He gasped.
"You're nothing," she said.
Derek looked up at her.
"That's what you are. You're nothing but a warm-up."
He didn't argue.
"You came back here because you couldn't stand the thought of not being on your knees for me. You're not here because you want to fuck me. You're here because you want to worship me."
He nodded against her thigh.
"Say it."
"I'm nothing."
"Louder."
Derek's voice cracked. "I'm nothing."
"Keep eating."
He did.
His mouth went back to work—faster now, messier, his tongue lapping at her clit in desperate circles. She could feel the orgasm building, low and hot and insistent. Her hips started to move against his face. Her grip on his hair tightened.
Then the bedroom door opened.
Marcus walked out.
He was naked. Cock half-hard. Hair still mussed from sleep. He stopped in the middle of the hall and looked at the scene in front of him—Derek on his knees, his face buried between Hailey's thighs, Hailey leaning back on her palms with her legs spread wide.
He didn't say anything.
Hailey looked over her shoulder.
"Watch or join," she said.
Marcus didn't move.
Derek kept eating.
"Watch or join," she repeated.
Marcus crossed his arms.
"I'm watching."
"Suit yourself."
She turned back to Derek. Grabbed his hair with both hands. Started to fuck his face—really fuck it, grinding her pussy against his mouth, taking what she wanted, not caring whether he could breathe.
"C'mon," she gasped. "C'mon, c'mon—"
She came on his face.
Loud. Messy. Her thighs clamped around his ears and her back arched and her mouth opened in a scream that no one would hear through the walls.
Derek kept licking until she pushed him away.
He fell back on his heels. His face was wet. His chin dripped. His eyes were wide and dazed.
"Fuck," he whispered.
Hailey stood up. Legs shaking. Breath ragged.
She looked at Marcus.
"Still just watching?"
Marcus uncrossed his arms.
"What do you want?"
She walked to him. Stopped an inch from his chest.
"I want you to fuck me," she said.
"Where?"
Her eyes flicked to the couch. To the coffee table. To the blanket where Derek was still kneeling, cock straining against his jeans.
"Everywhere," she said.
Marcus grabbed her.
One hand in her hair. The other on her ass. He kissed her—hungry and hard, teeth against her lip—and walked her backward toward the couch.
Derek watched from the blanket.
Marcus spun her around. Bent her over the arm of the couch. Kicked her ankles apart.
"Hold on," he said.
She grabbed the cushions.
He pushed inside her.
One thrust. No prep. No warning. Just filled her up in a single stroke, and she screamed.
"Fuck!"
He didn't wait. He fucked her hard and fast—hips slapping against her ass, hands gripping her hips, the couch squeaking in protest beneath them. She could feel every inch of him. Could feel the way his cock dragged against her walls.
Behind her, she heard Derek moving. Getting up. Getting closer.
She looked over her shoulder.
Derek was standing there, jeans open, cock in his hand, stroking slowly. Watching.
"Want something to do?" she asked.
Derek blinked.
"Get on the blanket," she said. "On your back."
He moved fast.
Hailey pulled away from Marcus. Dropped to her knees beside Derek. Took his cock in her mouth—no preamble, no teasing, just swallowed him whole.
Derek groaned.
Marcus watched.
Then he moved behind her. Kneeled behind her. Slid back inside her.
Hailey moaned around Derek's cock. The vibration made him curse.
"Fuck," he gasped. "Fuck, Hailey—"
Marcus fucked her from behind. She sucked Derek from the front. Between them, she was nothing but a body—a vessel—a thing to be used.
And she loved it.
"Harder," she said around Derek's cock. Then pulled off. "Harder, Marcus. Fuck me harder."
He did.
"Now you." She looked up at Derek. "Fuck my mouth."
Derek didn't hesitate. He grabbed her hair and pushed his cock back between her lips. Started thrusting. Slow at first, then faster, then faster still.
"That's it," she gasped between thrusts. "That's it, use me—"
She came again.
Twice.
Three times.
She lost count.
At some point Marcus pulled out. At some point Derek came down her throat. At some point she ended up on her back on the blanket with Marcus between her legs and Derek's cock in her hand, stroking him back to hardness while Marcus fucked her slow and deep.
"You want him inside you?" Marcus asked.
"Yeah."
"Where?"
Marcus pulled out. Flipped her over. Pulled her hips up.
"Lube?"
"Bedroom. Top drawer."
Derek scrambled to get it.
When he came back, Marcus took the bottle. Coated his fingers. Worked her butt open—one finger, then two, then three, slow and patient while Derek watched.
Then he pushed inside her tight ass.
Hailey screamed.
Pain and pleasure and fullness all at once. She clawed at the blanket. Bit down on her lip. Tried to breathe.
"Okay?" Marcus asked.
"Yeah." Her voice was raw. "Yeah, keep going."
He did.
And when Derek moved in front of her—cock hard again, dripping with her spit—she opened her mouth and took him in.
They fucked her until the sun came up.
Three bodies tangled on a blanket that smelled like sex and sweat and something that might have been regret. Marcus came in her ass. Derek came on her tits. She came so many times she stopped counting—stopped thinking—stopped being anything but sensation.
When it was over, they collapsed together.
Derek on his back, breathing hard. Marcus beside him, arm thrown over his eyes. Hailey between them, curled on her side, her body a map of everything they'd done.
No one spoke.
The green glow stick had finally died. The living room was gray and quiet in the early morning light. Somewhere outside, a bird was singing.
Hailey pushed herself up.
Her body screamed in protest. Everything ached. Everything was sticky. Everything smelled like them.
She looked at Derek.
He was already half-asleep.
She looked at Marcus.
He was watching her. That same steady look. That same patient expression.
"Still here," he said.
"Still here."
She stood up. Walked to the bathroom. Turned on the shower.
The water was hot. It stung. She stepped under the spray and let it wash everything away—the sweat, the come, the evidence of the night.
When she came out, Marcus was standing in the doorway.
"You okay?"
"No."
"That's not what I asked."
She grabbed a towel. Wrapped it around herself.
"I don't know what I am," she said. “I guess I’m a slut.”
"That's okay."
"Is it?"
He crossed to her. Cupped her face. Kissed her forehead—soft, almost tender.
"You're figuring it out," he said. "That's all anyone can do."
She leaned into him.
Behind them, Derek snored on the blanket.
Outside, the sun kept rising.
And somewhere across town, Logan was waking up alone.
The sun cut through the blinds in thin, angry lines.
Logan's apartment smelled like stale beer and defeat. He hadn't changed his clothes. He hadn't showered. He'd just lain on his bed in the dark, staring at the ceiling, replaying every second of the night on a loop that wouldn't stop.
His phone was on the nightstand. Dead. He'd killed the battery sending texts that never got answered, making calls that went straight to voicemail.
Seventeen calls. Twenty-three texts. Nothing back.
He picked it up anyway. Plugged it in. Waited for the screen to flicker to life.
When it did, there were three new messages.
The first was from Derek, sent at 4:47 a.m.
"Bro I'm sorry I shouldn't have gone back there"
The second was from Derek, sent at 4:48 a.m.
"I'm serious man I fucked up"
The third was from Marcus, sent at 5:12 a.m.
"She's okay. Don't come over."
Logan stared at the words until they blurred.
Don't come over.
Like it was Marcus's call to make. Like Marcus had any right to tell him anything about Hailey.
He threw the phone across the room. It hit the wall with a crack and clattered to the floor.
He didn't care.
He got up. Pulled on a coat. Grabbed his keys.
He was going over there.
Fuck Marcus. Fuck all of them.
He made it halfway down the stairs before his phone buzzed again. He almost ignored it—almost kept walking—but something made him stop.
He picked it up from the floor. Checked the screen.
Derek again.
"They're both still there. I just left. She's in the shower. Marcus is on the couch. I don't know what to do."
Logan's jaw tightened.
He typed back: "Stay out of it."
Derek's reply came fast: "Too late for that."
Logan shoved the phone in his pocket and kept walking.
The morning air was cold. Sharp. It bit at his face and woke him up in ways the coffee never could have. He walked fast—hands in his pockets, hood up, eyes on the pavement.
The streets were empty. Sunday morning quiet. The kind of quiet that felt like judgment.
He thought about Hailey's face. The way she'd looked at him when she said they were done. The way her voice had cracked and held steady at the same time.
He thought about Marcus's hand on the back of her neck.
He thought about Derek on his knees.
He walked faster.
When he got to her building, he stopped.
The window was open. He could hear water running—the shower, probably. Could see the curtain moving in the breeze.
He stood on the sidewalk and stared up at it.
He didn't know what he was going to say. Didn't know what he was going to do. Just knew he couldn't stay away.
His phone buzzed again.
This time it was a picture. From Derek.
Hailey, asleep on the blanket. Marcus beside her. Both of them naked. Both of them tangled in each other.
The caption: "This is from last night. I took it before I left. I'm sorry."
Logan's hand tightened around the phone.
He didn't knock.
He didn't call.
He just stood there on the sidewalk, staring up at her window, with the cold wind cutting through his hoodie and the weight of everything he'd lost pressing down on his chest.
The water stopped running.
A few minutes later, the window closed.
Logan turned around and walked to the party house.
The apartment was quiet when Hailey stepped out of the bathroom.
Marcus was on the couch—dressed now, jeans and a t-shirt, his hair still wet from his own shower. He had a mug of coffee in his hands and was staring at the wall like it held answers.
Derek was gone. The blanket was folded. The empty beer bottles had been cleared away.
"He left," Marcus said.
"I figured."
"He said to tell you he was sorry."
Hailey grabbed a mug from the cabinet. Poured herself coffee. Didn't bother with cream or sugar.
"Everyone's sorry," she said.
Marcus didn't argue.
She sat down on the other end of the couch. Pulled her knees up to her chest. Took a sip of coffee and let the heat burn her tongue.
"What now?" she asked.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean—what happens now. With Logan. With the team. With—" She gestured vaguely at the room. "All of it."
Marcus set his mug down.
"That's up to you."
"I don't know what I want."
"You don't have to know right now."
She looked at him. Really looked. At the steadiness in his eyes, the patience in his posture, the way he seemed completely unbothered by the chaos of the last twelve hours.
"Why are you still here?" she asked.
"Because you asked me to stay."
"That was last night."
"And I'm still here."
She didn't have an answer for that.
They sat in silence for a while. The coffee cooled. The sun climbed higher. Somewhere in the building, someone was playing music—soft, distant, a melody Hailey didn't recognize.
Then her phone buzzed.
She picked it up.
Logan.
"I know you're awake. I saw the window. I'm not coming over. I just want to know if you're okay."
She stared at the words.
Marcus watched her.
"You don't have to answer," he said.
"I know."
She typed back: "I'm fine."
Three dots. Then: "Can we talk? Not today. But soon."
She thought about it.
"Yeah. Soon."
She put the phone down.
Marcus didn't ask what he'd said. Didn't ask what she'd said back. Just sat there with her in the quiet and let the morning happen.
Hailey finished her coffee.
"I need to go for a run," she said.
"Now?"
"Yeah." She stood up. "I need to clear my head."
"Want company?"
She looked at him.
"No," she said. "But thanks."
She went to her room. Pulled on leggings and a sports bra and her running shoes. Grabbed her keys and her phone and her earbuds.
At the door, she stopped.
"Marcus."
He looked up.
"Last night—" She paused. "Last night was real. All of it. I don't regret any of it."
He nodded.
"Me neither."
She left.
The run was brutal.
Her legs ached from everything they'd done. Her lungs burned. Her throat was raw. But she pushed through it—past the pain, past the exhaustion, past the voice in her head that kept asking what the fuck she was doing.
She ran until the streets blurred. Until her thoughts went quiet. Until there was nothing but breath and motion and the steady slap of her shoes against the pavement.
When she got back, Marcus was gone.
A note on the counter. Handwritten. Three words.
"I'll call you."
She crumpled it up and threw it away.
Then she sat down on the couch. Pulled out her phone.
Opened her messages.
Derek: "I'm sorry."
Ty: "You okay?"
One of the freshmen: "That was crazy last night."
Logan: "I love you."
She read them all. Didn't respond to any of them.
Then she opened her contacts. Scrolled past Logan. Past Derek. Past Ty. Past the freshmen.
Stopped at Marcus.
She didn't call him. Didn't text him. Just stared at his name for a long moment.
Then she put the phone down.
The apartment was quiet. The sun was warm through the window. Her body was sore in ways she hadn't felt in years.
And somewhere across town, the team was waking up to a new day.
Derek was probably still hungover. Ty was probably still confused. Logan was probably still heartbroken.
And Marcus—Marcus was probably waiting.
She didn't know what came next. Didn't know if she wanted Logan back, or Marcus, or neither. Didn't know if last night was a one-time thing or the start of something she couldn't control.
All she knew was that she wasn't the same person who'd walked into that party.
She wasn't the same girlfriend who'd cheered from the sidelines.
She wasn't the same girl who'd said yes to a deal she didn't understand.
She was something else now. Something new. Something that scared her and excited her in equal measure.
Her phone buzzed again.
She looked at the screen.
Unknown number.
She opened the message.
"Hey. This is Ty. I got your number from Derek. I know this is weird. I just wanted to say—I can't stop thinking about last night either. Not just the sex. All of it. The way you looked at me. The way you kissed me. I know you're with Logan. I know this is fucked up. But I had to say something."
She read it twice.
Then she typed back: "Come over."
She hit send before she could think about it.
Then she stood up. Walked to the bathroom. Looked at herself in the mirror.
Her eyes were bright. Her cheeks were flushed. Her hair was a mess.
She smiled.
It wasn't a nice smile.
It was the smile of someone who'd finally figured out what she wanted.
And what she wanted was more.
The doorbell rang twenty minutes later.
She opened it.
Ty stood on the threshold. Hoodie up. Hands in his pockets. Looking at her like she was something dangerous and beautiful and completely terrifying.
"You came," she said.
"You asked."
She stepped aside.
He walked in.
She closed the door.