Chapter 10: The Sorority Slideshow
The bathroom door clicked shut behind her, and Holland stood in the hallway for a moment, letting the cool air of the penthouse dry the last beads of water from her skin. The towel was thin, white, barely covering her ass. She could feel Adam's come still inside her, a warm, sticky reminder of everything that had just happened. Her legs ached. Her cunt throbbed. And she had never felt more alive.
She padded barefoot across the marble floor, past the kitchen island where he'd fucked her senseless, past the champagne bottle still sitting open on the counter. The bubbles had gone flat by now, but she didn't care. She had other things on her mind.
The bedroom was lit only by the city beyond the windows—a wash of blue and gold, the endless sprawl of Manhattan glittering like a circuit board. Adam was on the bed, shirtless, his back propped against the headboard, scrolling through his phone. The screen cast a pale glow across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the silver at his temples. He didn't look up when she entered.
She climbed onto the mattress, the silk sheets cool against her bare knees. The towel loosened, slipped, pooled around her waist. She didn't bother fixing it. She just crawled forward, straddling his lap, her thighs bracketing his hips. His cock was soft beneath her, but she could feel it twitch, a sleeping animal sensing prey.
He still didn't look up.
"Put the phone down," she said.
"I'm checking my emails."
"Adam."
He glanced at her then, his expression flat. "You're dripping on my sheets."
She looked down. He was right. A thin trail of his own come had leaked from her, staining the dark silk. She smiled.
"Your fault."
He set the phone aside. His hands found her hips, thumbs pressing into the hollows above her hip bones. He didn't pull her closer. He didn't push her away. He just held her there, waiting.
"You're insatiable," he said.
"I'm nineteen."
"That's not an excuse."
"It's an explanation."
He almost smiled. Almost.
She reached for her own phone on the nightstand, her body twisting, her tits brushing against his chest. She felt his cock stir beneath her, a slow, involuntary response. When she turned back, phone in hand, his eyes had dropped to her breasts.
"You want to know something?" she said.
"I'm afraid to ask."
"You should be." She swiped open her camera roll, scrolled past selfies and screenshots and blurry shots of cocktails, until she found the folder. Private. Hidden. She tapped it open and turned the screen toward him.
The first photo was of a rooftop in Miami. Sunset. The sky was a watercolor of pink and orange, and beneath it, six girls sprawled across a collection of lounge chairs, drunk and laughing. Most of them were topless. A few were completely naked. A bottle of Bacardi sat in the foreground, half-empty, surrounded by discarded bikini tops and lime wedges.
Adam's jaw tightened. He didn't look away.
"Who are they?"
Holland swiped to the next photo. A close-up this time—a petite blonde with a tiny waist and small, perky tits, her nipples pierced with silver bars. She was lying on her back, legs spread, one hand between her thighs, her mouth open in a laugh or a moan. It was hard to tell.
"That's Sam," Holland said. "She's from Dallas. Daddy's a oil man. She's got a trust fund bigger than your portfolio."
Adam said nothing.
She swiped again. Another blonde, this one with curves that bordered on absurd—huge tits spilling out of a bikini top that couldn't possibly contain them, wide hips, a soft belly. She was on her knees, her back arched, her head thrown back. Someone's hand was in her hair.
"Vonda. She's from Tampa. She's been looking for a sugar daddy since freshman year. No luck yet. She's too... enthusiastic."
"Enthusiastic."
"She scares men off. She's too eager. Too desperate." Holland shrugged. "Some guys like that, though."
She swiped again. Two brunettes, identical in every way—same sharp cheekbones, same full lips, same long, straight hair. They were tangled together on a bed, their limbs intertwined, their mouths pressed together. One of them had her hand between the other's legs.
"Izzy and Jamie. Twins. They do everything together." She paused. "Everything."
Adam's breathing had changed. It was slower now, more deliberate. She could feel his heartbeat through his chest, a steady thrum against her palm.
"Most of them are looking for the same thing I am," Holland said. She set the phone down and let her hand drift down his stomach, her fingers tracing the line of hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his boxers. "A man with money. A man who can take care of them. A man who won't ask too many questions."
She found his cock through the fabric. It was hardening now, filling her hand, and she squeezed gently, felt it pulse against her palm.
"You could have all of them," she whispered. "Sam with her pierced nipples. Vonda with her big tits. The twins—imagine that. Two mouths. Two cunts. Both of them begging for you."
Adam's hand shot out, caught her wrist. His grip was tight, almost painful.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm offering you something."
"You're pimping out your friends."
"They're not my friends. They're my sorority sisters." She shrugged, the towel slipping further. "It's different."
He stared at her, his eyes dark, unreadable. She couldn't tell if he was angry or aroused. Maybe both. Maybe that was the point.
"You're sick," he said.
"Maybe." She leaned forward, her lips brushing his ear. "But you're hard."
He was. She could feel him straining against his boxers, thick and hot, and she shifted her weight, pressed her cunt against the length of him. She was still wet, still open, and the friction made her gasp.
"I'm not going to fuck your friends," he said.
"I didn't say you had to."
"You just—"
"I said you could." She pulled back, met his eyes. "But right now, I want you to fuck me."
He didn't move.
"Please," she added. The word tasted foreign in her mouth. She wasn't used to saying it. But she knew what men like Adam wanted. They wanted to be needed. They wanted to be in control.
And she wanted him inside her again.
"You're still dripping from the last time," he said.
"I know."
"You're going to be sore."
"I know."
"I don't care."
"I know."
He grabbed her by the waist, flipped her onto her back, and yanked the towel away. She landed on the sheets with a gasp, her hair fanned out around her head, her legs falling open. He didn't waste time. He shoved his boxers down, grabbed his cock, and pushed inside her in one brutal thrust.
She screamed.
Not in pain. In relief.
He was so deep, so thick, and she was so wet that he slid in to the hilt with no resistance at all. His hips met hers, skin slapping against skin, and he didn't pause. He just started fucking her, hard and fast, his hands pinning her wrists to the mattress.
"You like that?" he growled.
"Yes—"
"You want me to stop?"
"Don't you dare."
He fucked her harder. The headboard slammed against the wall with every thrust, a rhythmic thud that matched the pounding of her heart. Her tits bounced with the force of it, her nipples dragging against his chest, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.
"Tell me what you want," he said.
"I want—" She broke off, gasping, as he hit something deep inside her. "I want you to come inside me again."
"You want me to fill you up?"
"Yes—"
"You want to walk around all night with my come dripping down your leg?"
"Yes—"
"You want to tell your little friends about it tomorrow?"
"Yes—fuck—yes—"
He reached between them, found her clit, and pressed down hard with his thumb. She shattered instantly, her back arching off the mattress, a guttural moan tearing from her throat. He didn't stop. He kept fucking her through the orgasm, his own release building, his breathing ragged.
"Where do you want it?" he asked.
"Inside."
"You sure?"
"I'm on the pill. Just—please."
He buried himself to the hilt and came. She felt it—a hot, thick flood, spilling into her, filling her up. He held himself there, pulsing, his forehead pressed to hers, his breath hot against her lips.
When he finally pulled out, she felt empty. Hollow. She reached down, touched herself, felt his come leaking out of her, sticky and warm. She brought her fingers to her mouth and tasted it.
Adam watched her, his expression unreadable.
"You're going to be the death of me," he said.
She smiled, slow and satisfied.
"I know."
He rolled off her, onto his back, and stared at the ceiling. The city lights played across his face, shifting shadows, secrets. She turned onto her side, propped her head on her hand, and studied him.
"So," she said. "About my friends."
"Drop it."
"I'm serious. Sam's in town next weekend. The twins are coming up for spring break. Vonda's always around."
"I said drop it."
She reached out, traced a finger down his chest, circled his nipple. He flinched but didn't push her away.
"Just think about it," she said. "You could have a different girl every night. All of them young. All of them eager. All of them willing to do whatever you want."
He caught her hand, stilled it against his chest.
"Why are you doing this?"
"Doing what?"
"Offering me your friends. Like they're—" He shook his head. "Like they're nothing."
"They're not nothing. They're beautiful. They're fun." She shrugged. "They're just... available."
"That's not an answer."
She pulled her hand away, sat up. The sheets pooled around her waist, leaving her tits bare, and she didn't bother covering them. Let him look. Let him want.
"You want to know why?" she said. "Because I don't want to lose you."
He blinked. "What?"
"I'm nineteen. You're forty-two. Eventually, you're going to get bored of me. You're going to want someone new. Someone different." She met his eyes. "So I'm giving you options. I'm making sure that when you get bored, you don't leave. You just... expand."
Adam stared at her for a long moment. Then he laughed. A real laugh, low and surprised, like he hadn't expected to make that sound.
"You're terrifying," he said.
"I know."
"You're also wrong."
"Am I?"
He reached up, caught her by the back of the neck, and pulled her down into a kiss. It was softer than before. Almost tender.
"I'm not going to get bored of you," he said against her lips.
"Prove it."
He kissed her again, deeper this time, his tongue sliding against hers. When he pulled back, his eyes were dark, serious.
"I'll think about it," he said. "Your friends. I'll think about it."
She smiled, a slow bloom of triumph.
"That's all I ask."
She curled into his side, her head on his chest, her leg draped over his. The city hummed beyond the windows, a million lives unfolding in the dark. She closed her eyes.
She'd won.
For now.