Chapter 5: The Bet
The cabin door slid open with a metallic screech, and Jordan stopped in the doorway, his duffel bag slung over one shoulder, his eyes adjusting to the dim interior. Two women sat cross-legged on the fold-down bed, a half-empty bottle of vodka between them and a deck of cards scattered across the thin mattress. They looked up at him in unison, their faces flushed with alcohol and the particular giddiness of people who had been laughing too hard for too long.
"You've got to be kidding me," the blonde one said.
Jordan blinked. "What?"
"This is our cabin." She held up a crumpled ticket, waving it like a flag of defiance. "Unless you're some kind of train bandit. Are you a train bandit?"
The brunette snorted. "He doesn't look like a train bandit. He looks like he just crawled out of a dumpster."
Jordan looked down at himself. His shirt was wrinkled, his jeans stained with something he didn't want to identify, and his hair was a disaster of tangled waves and cowlicks. He hadn't showered since Nuremberg. He hadn't slept properly in days.
"I'm not a train bandit," he said. "I think there's been a mistake with the tickets."
"There's always a mistake with the tickets," the blonde said. "That's how you end up sharing a cabin with two strangers and a bottle of cheap Russian vodka." She scooted over, making room on the narrow bed. "Sit down. You look like you need a drink."
"I—"
"Sit."
Jordan sat.
The blonde handed him the bottle. "I'm Becca. That's Chloe. We're juniors at NYU, studying abroad in Florence, and we've spent the last three hours playing a drinking game that has completely destroyed our ability to make good decisions."
"I can see that."
Chloe leaned forward, her dark eyes glittering with something that might have been mischief or might have been malice. "You're American."
"Is it that obvious?"
"The accent. The posture. The look of someone who's been wandering around Europe trying to find themselves." She tilted her head. "How close am I?"
"Uncomfortably close."
"Good. I hate being wrong." She took the bottle from his hands and took a long swig. "What's your name?"
"Jordan."
"Jordan." She said it like she was tasting it. "Are you going to Rome?"
"Yes."
"So are we. Which means we have—" she checked her watch, "—about six more hours together. Plenty of time to get to know each other."
Becca groaned. "Chloe, don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't do the thing."
"What thing?"
"The thing where you turn everything into a game. The thing where you make everyone play by your rules." Becca turned to Jordan, her expression apologetic. "She does this. She gets bored and she gets creative, and people get hurt."
"I don't hurt people," Chloe said. "I just—challenge them."
"Same thing."
Jordan looked between them. They were both beautiful in different ways—Becca soft and golden and warm, Chloe sharp and dark and dangerous. They reminded him of people he'd known in college, the kind of girls who seemed to exist in a different world from him, a world of effortless confidence and casual cruelty.
"What's the game?" he asked.
Chloe's smile widened. "You don't even know what you're agreeing to."
"I'm not agreeing to anything. I'm just asking."
"It's simple." She picked up the deck of cards and started shuffling. "We take turns drawing a card. You answer the question on the card, or you take a shot. No lies. No skipping. No excuses."
"And the questions are—?"
"Personal." She dealt a card and held it up. "Inappropriate. The kind of things you'd only tell a stranger because you know you'll never see them again."
Becca was shaking her head. "She made up the questions herself. They're brutal."
"They're honest." Chloe looked at Jordan. "Are you in?"
Jordan thought about Maren. About the way she'd asked him if he wanted to fuck her with the same directness that Chloe was using now. He thought about Sofia, about her rules and her cold eyes and the way she'd told him to leave without looking back.
He was tired of being passive. Tired of letting other people set the terms.
"I'm in," he said.
"Excellent." Chloe dealt three cards face-down onto the bed. "Becca first. She's been losing all night, so she deserves the chance to prove herself."
Becca rolled her eyes but picked up her card. She read it silently, her cheeks flushing pink.
"Well?" Chloe prompted.
"I hate you."
"You love me. Read it."
Becca cleared her throat. "What's the most embarrassing thing you've ever done in bed?"
"Oh, that's a good one." Chloe leaned forward. "Answer."
Becca took a shot. The vodka went down rough—Jordan could see her wince—and she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Fine. I'll answer. But you have to answer yours too."
"Deal."
"I once—" Becca paused, staring at the ceiling like she was praying for strength. "I once faked an orgasm for six months. With my ex. Because I didn't want to hurt his feelings."
Chloe burst out laughing. "Six months? Bee, that's not embarrassing, that's tragic."
"He was terrible. Like, genuinely terrible. He thought foreplay was taking off his own pants." Becca shook her head. "I didn't know how to tell him. So I just—pretended. Every single time."
"Did he ever figure it out?"
"No." Becca's voice was flat. "He thought he was a sex god. He used to brag about it to his friends."
Jordan felt a strange pang of sympathy. He'd been that guy once—clueless and confident and terrible in bed. He'd had a girlfriend freshman year who'd broken up with him with the words "I can't do this anymore," and he still didn't know if she'd meant the relationship or the sex.
"Okay, my turn." Chloe picked up her card. She read it and smiled—a slow, wicked smile that made Jordan's stomach tighten. "Describe your deepest sexual fantasy."
"Chloe—"
"Rules are rules, Bee."
Becca took another shot. "You're a monster."
"I'm a facilitator." Chloe turned to Jordan. "What about you, train bandit? Ready to play?"
Jordan picked up his card. His hands were steady—surprisingly steady—as he unfolded the paper and read the question.
What's the one thing you've always wanted to do but never had the courage to try?
He thought about the journal in his bag, filled with all the things he'd never said out loud. He thought about the person he'd been three months ago, the person who planned everything and risked nothing.
"I want to be the kind of person who doesn't overthink everything," he said. "I want to just—do things. Without planning. Without worrying about what happens next."
Chloe raised an eyebrow. "That's not a sexual fantasy."
"You didn't specify."
"I did, actually. The card says sexual."
"Then I'm taking the shot."
He reached for the bottle, but Chloe caught his wrist. Her grip was cold and firm.
"That's cheating," she said. "You answered the question. Just not the right one."
"You didn't say I couldn't reinterpret."
"I'm saying it now." She let go of his wrist and leaned back, studying him with those dark, unreadable eyes. "You're interesting, Jordan. Most guys would have made something up. Something dirty. You actually told the truth."
"I'm a terrible liar."
"I noticed." She picked up her card again, tapping it against her lips. "Okay. New rule. We answer the questions we're given. No dodging. No reinterpreting. And the questions get more personal as we go."
Becca groaned. "I don't like where this is heading."
"You never do." Chloe dealt three new cards. "Jordan's turn."
He picked up his card. Read it. Felt his face go hot.
"How many people have you slept with?"
Becca laughed. "Oh, that's not fair."
"It's a perfectly reasonable question." Chloe was watching him with that predatory focus. "Answer."
Jordan counted in his head. There had been Sarah in high school—a fumbling, awkward experience in her parents' basement that had lasted approximately ninety seconds. There had been Emily freshman year, who'd dumped him after three months. There had been Lena. There had been Maren. There had been Sofia.
"Five," he said.
"Five?" Becca looked surprised. "That's it?"
"I've been busy."
"Busy doing what?"
"Overthinking."
Chloe snorted. "At least you're honest about it." She picked up her card. "Truth or shot?"
"Truth."
"Brave." She read the card silently, and her smile widened. "What's the biggest lie you've ever told?"
Becca took a shot. Chloe took a shot. Jordan took a shot.
The vodka was starting to work its way through his system—a warm, reckless feeling that made everything seem slightly less important. He looked at Becca, at the way her blonde hair fell across her face, at the curve of her lips and the flush that had spread from her cheeks to her neck.
He looked at Chloe, at the sharp angles of her jaw and the challenge in her eyes.
"Okay," Chloe said. "New round. And this time, no shots. Just answers."
"That's not fair," Becca protested.
"Life's not fair. Deal with it." She dealt three cards. "Becca, you go first."
Becca picked up her card. Her face went through a series of expressions—confusion, embarrassment, something that might have been arousal. "I'm not answering this."
"You have to."
"I don't have to do anything."
"Then take the shot."
"No." Becca set her jaw. "I'll answer. But you have to promise not to laugh."
"I promise."
"You're lying."
"I'm always lying. Answer the question."
Becca took a deep breath. "Have you ever had an orgasm from penetration alone?"
The cabin went very quiet.
Chloe's smile was frozen on her face. "What?"
"The question. That's what it says." Becca held up the card. "Have you ever had an orgasm from penetration alone?"
"And your answer is—?"
"No." Becca's voice was barely above a whisper. "I've never—I mean, I can come from other things. But not just—not from that."
Chloe stared at her for a long moment. Then she turned to Jordan.
"Did you hear that?"
"I heard."
"She's never had an orgasm from penetration alone. Twenty-two years old, and she's never experienced the one thing that every woman is supposed to be able to do."
"That's not fair," Becca said. "Lots of women can't—"
"I know. That's not the point." Chloe's eyes were gleaming. "The point is, I bet you can change that."
Jordan blinked. "What?"
"I bet you can make her come. Just from fucking her. Before we reach Rome."
Becca's mouth dropped open. "Chloe!"
"What? It's a valid bet."
"You can't just—you can't bet on my orgasms like they're poker chips."
"I can and I will." Chloe turned back to Jordan. "What do you say? You've got six hours. You've got a willing participant—" she gestured at Becca, who was now the color of a ripe tomato, "—and you've got me as a witness. If you can make her come from penetration alone, you win."
"Win what?"
"Whatever you want."
Jordan looked at Becca. She was staring at him with wide eyes, her chest rising and falling too fast, her hands clenched in her lap.
"You don't have to do this," he said.
"I know."
"Do you want to?"
She was silent for a long moment. Then, very slowly, she nodded.
"Yes," she said. "I want to."
Chloe clapped her hands. "Excellent. Let's begin."
The bed wasn't big enough for three people, but they made it work. Jordan lay on his back, his shirt already off, his jeans unbuttoned. Becca knelt beside him, her hands trembling as she pulled her tank top over her head. She wasn't wearing a bra. Her breasts were small and round, the nipples a soft pink that darkened as he watched.
Chloe sat in the corner, her knees drawn up to her chest, watching them with the intensity of a scientist observing an experiment.
"You're sure about this," Jordan said.
"I'm sure." Becca's voice was steadier now. "I want to know what it feels like. I want to know if I can."
"Okay."
He reached for her, and she came willingly, settling against his chest, her lips finding his. She tasted like vodka and something sweet—chapstick, maybe—and her body was warm and soft against his. He kissed her slowly, letting her set the pace, feeling the tension in her shoulders gradually ease.
His hands moved down her back, tracing the curve of her spine, the dip of her waist. She shivered when he reached the waistband of her leggings.
"Can I—?"
"Yes."
He peeled them off her, along with her underwear. She was completely naked now, exposed in a way that made her flush from her chest to her hairline.
"You're beautiful," he said.
"Shut up."
"I mean it."
"I know. That's why I want you to shut up."
Chloe laughed from the corner. "She's never been good at taking compliments."
"Neither are you," Becca shot back.
"True." Chloe's voice was lazy, amused. "But we're not talking about me."
Jordan ignored them both. He focused on Becca—on the way her breath hitched when he touched her hip, the way her legs fell open when he kissed the inside of her thigh.
He moved down her body slowly, deliberately. He wanted to draw this out, to make her feel every second. He kissed her stomach, her hipbones, the soft skin just above her cunt.
"Jordan—"
"Trust me."
He pressed his mouth to her.
She gasped—a sharp, surprised sound that made Chloe lean forward. Jordan didn't stop. He licked her slowly, from her entrance to her clit, tasting the salt and sweetness of her. She was already wet, already ready, and when he closed his lips around her clit and sucked, her hips bucked off the bed.
"Fuck—"
He held her down with one hand on her stomach and kept going. He circled her clit with his tongue, pressed against it, flicked it until she was trembling beneath him. Her hands found his hair, her fingers twisting in the tangles.
"Don't stop," she breathed. "Please don't stop."
He didn't stop. He slid one finger inside her—then two—curling them upward in a way that made her cry out. She was tight around him, hot and slick, and he could feel her walls clenching, could feel the beginning of something building.
"That's it," Chloe murmured. "She's close. Keep going."
Jordan kept going. He fucked her with his fingers while he licked her clit, matching the rhythm of his tongue to the thrust of his hand. Becca was moaning now—loud, uninhibited sounds that filled the tiny cabin and probably carried into the corridor beyond.
"I'm going to—" She gasped. "I'm going to come—"
And then she did. Her body arched off the bed, her thighs clamping around his head, her cunt pulsing around his fingers. She came with a broken cry, her nails digging into his scalp, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
Jordan didn't stop until she pushed him away, her body oversensitive and trembling.
"Holy shit," she whispered. "Holy fucking shit."
Chloe was smiling. "That was a warm-up. Now the real test."
Becca sat up, her face flushed, her hair a mess. She looked at Jordan with something like wonder.
"I've never—" She shook her head. "No one's ever done that to me before."
"Done what?"
"Made me come like that. With just—with their mouth."
Jordan felt a surge of pride. He knew it was stupid—knew it was just biology—but he couldn't help it. He'd made her feel something she'd never felt before.
"Now," Chloe said, "the actual bet."
Becca groaned. "Can't we just—?"
"No. A bet's a bet." Chloe stood up and walked over to the bed. She was still fully clothed, her dark hair falling around her shoulders, her eyes bright with anticipation. "Jordan, lie down."
He did.
"Becca, get on top of him."
Becca hesitated. "Chloe—"
"Get on top of him. And don't stop until you come again. From penetration alone. That's the challenge."
Becca looked at Jordan. He nodded.
She climbed on top of him.
Her thighs were warm against his hips. Her cunt was still wet, still swollen, and when she positioned herself above his cock and sank down, they both gasped.
"Fuck," Jordan breathed.
"Shh." Becca pressed a finger to his lips. "Let me figure this out."
She started moving slowly—tentative, exploratory. She rocked her hips, finding a rhythm that seemed to work for her. Her head fell back, her eyes closed, her lips parted.
"That's it," Chloe said softly. "Keep going."
Becca kept going. She moved faster, harder, her hands braced on Jordan's chest. He could feel every inch of her—the way her walls gripped him, the way her clit rubbed against his pelvis with each thrust.
"You feel so good," he said.
"Don't talk. Just—let me—"
She was concentrating. He could see it in her face—the furrowed brow, the bitten lip. She was chasing something, reaching for something that had always been just out of reach.
Chloe moved closer. She knelt beside the bed, her face inches from where their bodies joined.
"You're close," she said. "I can see it."
"I don't know—" Becca's voice was strained. "I don't know if I can—"
"Yes, you can." Chloe's voice was firm. "Stop thinking. Just feel."
Becca closed her eyes. Her hips moved faster—frantic, desperate. Jordan grabbed her waist, helping her, guiding her. He thrust up into her, matching her rhythm, hitting something deep inside that made her gasp.
"There," she said. "Right there—"
"Don't stop."
"I'm not—I can't—"
"You can."
She came.
It was different from before—slower, deeper, a wave that built and built and finally crashed over her. She shuddered, her body going rigid, a low moan escaping her throat. Jordan felt her walls clench around him, felt her pulse and tremble and finally go still.
She collapsed onto his chest, breathing hard.
"Did you—?" Chloe asked.
Becca nodded. She was crying—just a little, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.
"I did," she whispered. "I actually did."
Chloe sat back, a satisfied smile on her face. "I told you."
"You're insufferable."
"I know."
Jordan lay there, Becca's weight warm on his chest, his cock still inside her. He hadn't come yet—wasn't sure he could, after everything—but he didn't care.
"I didn't win," he said.
"What?" Chloe looked at him.
"The bet. I didn't win. You did."
Chloe's smile widened. "I know. But you helped."
Becca lifted her head. "What do you want?"
"Me?"
"The bet. What do you want as your prize?"
Chloe was quiet for a moment. Then she reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head.
"You," she said.
Becca blinked. "What?"
"I want to watch you fuck him. From behind. The way you like it."
"How do you know how I like it?"
"Because I know you." Chloe unbuttoned her jeans and slid them down her hips. "We've been friends since freshman year. I know everything about you."
"That's terrifying."
"I know." Chloe was naked now—lean and dark, her breasts small and firm, a tattoo curling around her hip. "Get on your hands and knees."
Becca looked at Jordan. He shrugged.
"I'm game if you are."
She climbed off him and positioned herself on the bed, her ass in the air, her face pressed to the pillow. Jordan knelt behind her, his cock still slick from her cunt.
"Go slow," Chloe said. "She's sensitive."
"I know."
He pushed into her.
She gasped—a sharp, surprised sound—and then moaned as he bottomed out. She was tighter from this angle, tighter and hotter, and he had to close his eyes to keep from coming immediately.
"Fuck," he breathed.
"Good?" Chloe asked.
"So good."
He started moving. Slow at first, then faster, his hands gripping Becca's hips. She was pushing back against him, meeting his thrusts, her moans muffled by the pillow.
Chloe had moved to the corner of the bed. She was touching herself—her fingers between her legs, her eyes fixed on them. Jordan could see her in his peripheral vision, could see the way her hips moved, the way her lips parted.
"You're beautiful," he said.
"Don't talk to me. Talk to her."
He looked down at Becca. Her back was arched, her skin flushed, her fingers clutching the sheets.
"You feel incredible," he said. "So tight. So wet."
"Harder," she gasped. "Please—"
He fucked her harder. The bed creaked beneath them. The train rattled. Chloe's breath came faster and faster.
"I'm close," Becca said. "Don't stop—"
He didn't stop. He drove into her, again and again, until she came with a scream that was probably heard by everyone in the carriage. Her body convulsed around him, and Jordan let go—let himself fall into the rhythm, the heat, the overwhelming sensation of being inside her.
He came.
It was different this time—deeper, more intense. He felt it in his whole body, from his toes to his scalp. He spilled inside her, filling her, and for a moment he forgot where he was, forgot who he was, forgot everything except the warm, pulsing pleasure of release.
When he finally pulled out, Becca collapsed onto the bed. Chloe was still touching herself, her fingers moving fast and frantic.
"Come here," Jordan said.
She didn't hesitate. She crawled across the bed and positioned herself over his face. He could smell her—musk and sweat and something sweet. He pulled her down and pressed his mouth to her cunt.
She came almost immediately—a shuddering, gasping climax that left her breathless. She rolled off him and lay on the other side of Becca, her chest heaving.
The three of them lay there, tangled and sweaty and exhausted. The train rattled on. The night pressed against the windows.
"Well," Chloe said after a long silence. "That happened."
Becca laughed—a weak, disbelieving sound. "I can't believe we just did that."
"Me neither."
They turned to look at Jordan. He was staring at the ceiling, his mind blank, his body limp.
"Are you okay?" Becca asked.
"I don't know." He turned his head to look at them. "I think I might be dead."
Chloe snorted. "You're not dead. You're just—spent."
"Is that the word for it?"
"That's the word."
They lay there in silence for a while. The train slowed as it approached a station, then picked up speed again. The sky outside was starting to lighten—gray giving way to pink, pink giving way to gold.
"We're almost there," Becca said.
Jordan checked his watch. They had maybe an hour until Rome.
"I should go," he said.
"Go where?" Chloe asked. "We're on a train."
"I mean—back to my cabin. Or whatever cabin I'm supposed to be in."
"Stay." Becca's hand found his. "Just until we get there."
He stayed.
They didn't talk much after that. They just lay together, three strangers who had shared something they couldn't explain, something that would probably never happen again. Becca fell asleep against his shoulder. Chloe stared out the window, her expression unreadable.
When the train finally pulled into Rome, the sun was fully up, and the city sprawled before them—ancient and modern and utterly indifferent to the three people in the tiny cabin who had just done something they'd never forget.
Jordan got dressed in silence. Becca and Chloe did the same. No one knew what to say.
"Hey," Becca said as he reached for the door.
He turned.
"Thank you. For—you know."
"You're welcome."
She smiled—a real smile, soft and warm. "Maybe I'll see you around."
"Maybe."
But they both knew it wouldn't happen. This was a train ride. This was a moment. This was three people who had found each other in the dark and would lose each other in the light.
Jordan stepped into the corridor. The door slid shut behind him.
He stood there for a moment, his duffel bag over his shoulder, the sounds of Rome filtering through the open windows. Then he walked toward the exit, toward the city, toward whatever came next.
His journal was still in his bag, still filled with all the things he hadn't said. He thought about writing about this—about Becca and Chloe, about the bet and the sex and the strange intimacy of strangers. But he wasn't ready. Not yet.
He stepped off the train.
The sun was warm on his face. The air smelled like coffee and exhaust and something ancient, something that had been there for thousands of years.
Rome.
He started walking.