Chapter 1: Truth or Dare
The basement was a sweaty, neon-lit warzone. Spilled beer glued my sneakers to the floor with every step, the half-melted ice in abandoned red cups crunching underfoot. The bass wasn’t just music; it was a physical thing, thumping against my ribs, a second heartbeat competing with my own. I weaved past a circle of guys laughing too loud around a keg, the smell of sweat, cheap vodka, and regret hanging in the air like fog.
“You came.”
The voice cut through the noise, smooth and knowing. Harry. He was leaning against the damp concrete wall, a cup in his hand, his green eyes tracking me from under a mess of tousled curls. That easy smile played on his lips, the one that made half the campus weak in the knees. It just made my guard snap up higher.
“It’s a party,” I said, shrugging, aiming for indifference. “People do that.”
Aria materialized at my side, looping her arm through mine. “He’s been watching the door for twenty minutes,” she sang in my ear, her voice a teasing whisper.
I ignored her, ignoring the warm flush creeping up my neck. Across the room, I spotted my other friends: Spencer holding court near the pong table, arguing a point with a raised finger; Hanna flipping her platinum hair at some guy in a letterman jacket; Emily laughing at something Liam was saying, his calm presence a stark contrast to the chaos. Niall was attempting a keg stand, Louis cheering him on with a filthy chant, while Zayn just watched from the shadows, a faint smirk on his face.
“Want a drink?” Harry pushed off the wall, closing the distance. He was too close. I could smell his cologne, something woodsy and clean, cutting through the basement stench.
“I’m good.”
“You’re never just good, Martinez.” His gaze dropped to my mouth for a second, and my stomach flipped, remembering the kiss from last week outside the library. The stupid, impulsive, earth-tilting kiss I’d been trying to erase with logic ever since. We were oil and water. He was a frat boy soccer star with a different girl in his bed every weekend. I was a scholarship student with a work-study job and trust issues the size of Texas.
“Watch me be good,” I shot back, turning to head towards Hanna.
His hand caught my wrist. Not rough, but firm. Electric. “Play a game.”
“What game?” I tried to pull away, but he held on, his thumb stroking my pulse point.
“Truth or Dare. With them.” He nodded towards our combined friend groups, who were now coalescing, smelling drama. Louis’s eyebrows were already waggling.
“That’s juvenile,” Spencer stated, but she was already pulling a crate over to sit on, her lawyer-brain undoubtedly seeing a fascinating social experiment.
“I’m in!” Niall whooped, stumbling over from the keg, his face flushed.
“Fine,” I said, yanking my wrist from Harry’s grasp. If I refused, I looked scared. Of him. Of this. I wasn’t scared of anything. Least of all him.
We formed a ragged circle on the sticky floor. Liam sat next to Emily, offering her his cup of water. Zayn leaned against the wall behind Louis. Hanna perched on Spencer’s crate, and Aria squeezed next to me, practically vibrating.
Louis started, because of course he did. “Niall. Truth or dare?”
“Dare, you beautiful bastard!”
“I dare you to go upstairs and tell the first sorority girl you see that her dress makes her look like your nan’s couch.”
Niall sprinted off, to a chorus of cheers. The game spiraled from there. Embarrassing truths, stupid dares. The tension between Harry and me was a live wire humming in the center of the circle, everyone tiptoeing around it.
Then it was Harry’s turn to ask. His eyes locked on mine, the green darkening in the shifting light. “Nikki. Truth or dare?”
The room got quieter. The music faded to a dull roar in my ears. “Dare,” I said, the word tasting like a challenge.
He didn’t smile. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I dare you to come sit on my lap. Right here. For the next three rounds.”
A collective breath was held. Hanna’s eyes went wide. Spencer’s head tilted, analyzing. Louis snorted. I felt my face burn.
“That’s not a dare, that’s a fantasy,” I hissed.
“You picked dare. Don’t chicken out.” His voice was low, a taunt. “Unless you’re scared to get close.”
Every set of eyes was on me. Backing down now was surrender. It was admitting that kiss had meant something. That he got under my skin. I stood up, my legs only slightly unsteady. “Whatever. It’s a lap. Big deal.”
I walked the two steps to where he sat, his gaze hot and unwavering. I turned, my back to him, and lowered myself awkwardly onto his thighs. He was solid, warm. The second I made contact, his hands settled on my hips, pulling me back firmly until I was fully seated, the hard line of his body imprinting itself against me.
“Comfortable?” he murmured, his breath stirring the hair at my temple.
I didn’t answer. I was on fire. The thin material of my skirt did nothing to hide the fact that he was hard, a thick, undeniable ridge of pressure against the seam of my jeans. I tried to sit forward, to create space, but his arms wrapped around my waist, locking me in place.
“My turn!” Aria chirped, too brightly, breaking the tension for everyone else. The game continued, but it was just noise. All I could feel was Harry, the heat of him, the insistent push of his cock against my ass. He shifted subtly, and the friction made a small, traitorous sound catch in my throat.
His lips brushed the shell of my ear. “They can all see you on my lap, Nikki. But they can’t see this.” One of his hands slid from my waist, down over my thigh, gathering the fabric of my skirt until it was piled in his fist at my hip. The cool, damp air hit my skin. His other hand remained splayed on my stomach, holding me tight against him.
Oh, god. He wasn’t…
His fingers traced the lace edge of my panties. A soft, helpless moan escaped me. I was already wet, soaked through, just from this. He knew it. His middle finger dipped beneath the lace, sliding through my folds with an intimate, filthy ease.
“Fuck,” he breathed into my ear, his own voice rough. “You’re dripping for me.”
I couldn’t speak. My head fell back against his shoulder, my eyes squeezing shut. His finger circled my clit, once, twice, a teasing, maddening pressure. Then it plunged inside me, deep, without warning. I gasped, my back arching. He started to fuck me with his finger, a relentless, rhythmic penetration, his palm grinding against my clit with every thrust.
“Look at them,” he commanded, his voice gritty. “Look at our friends.”
My eyes flew open. The game was still happening. Louis was daring Liam to do a shot of something awful. But Niall was watching us, his mouth slightly open. Hanna was staring pointedly at the ceiling, a blush on her cheeks. Spencer’s analytical gaze was fixed on the tremor in my hands, which were gripping Harry’s thighs. Zayn’s smirk had deepened. They knew. They all knew exactly what was happening.
The humiliation was molten, mixing with the most intense pleasure I’d ever felt. He added a second finger, stretching me, curling them inside me. My cunt clenched around him, a pulsing, desperate rhythm.
“You like being watched, baby?” he growled, his teeth grazing my earlobe. “You like them seeing how bad you want my cock? ‘Cause they can see it. They can see you coming on my hand.”
His words were the final trigger. The coil in my belly snapped. A silent, violent wave of pleasure ripped through me, my body seizing around his fingers, a white-hot climax that left me trembling and breathless against him. He worked me through it, his strokes gentling until I whimpered from oversensitivity.
Slowly, he withdrew his hand, bringing it around to rest on my thigh. I was exposed, my skirt still rucked up, my panties damp and ruined. The room came back into focus, the noise a deafening roar.
Harry’s voice was calm, conversational, as if he hadn’t just made me come in a room full of people. “Your turn, yeah, Nikki? Who are you asking?”
I shoved myself off his lap, my legs almost buckling. I stumbled back, yanking my skirt down. The evidence of what we’d done was on his fingers, glistening in the neon light. My face was a mask of fury and shame and spent desire.
“I’m done,” I spat, the words trembling.
His smug, satisfied smile was the last thing I saw before I turned and pushed through the crowd, heading blindly for the stairs, for air, for anywhere he wasn’t. The sound of his low laugh followed me, a promise and a threat, all wrapped into one.