STORY 2 - BECOMING THE FRAT’S LIVE IN SLUT (I)

I hate surprises.

Connor knows this. He’s known it for the entire eight months we’ve been dating – through my birthday disaster, through the “romantic” weekend that turned out to be his mom’s lake house with his entire family, through every single time he thought spontaneity was cute instead of fucking annoying.

So when he texts me dress cute, frat house tonight, date night with zero other details, I should know better.

But I’m a goddamn idiot, apparently.

I wear the sundress. The white one with the tiny buttons down the front that he likes to undo with his teeth when he’s feeling frisky. No bra because it doesn’t need one and because I’m hoping we sneak off to his room later. Matching panties – pale pink, lacy, the ones that make him groan.

Eight months of Connor Miller and I’ve learned to weaponize pretty underwear.

The Kappa Sigma house sits at the end of Greek Row like a threat. It’s the biggest one, the oldest one, the one every freshman girl whispers about at orientation. Don’t go there alone. Don’t take drinks from them. Don’t make eye contact with the seniors.

I’ve heard the stories. Everyone has.

Connor’s waiting on the porch, bouncing on his heels like a golden retriever who needs to pee. He’s nervous. He’s always nervous around the senior brothers – desperate for their approval in a way that makes me cringe sometimes.

“Hey, baby.” He kisses me fast, distracted. “You look hot.”

“What are we doing here?”

“Movie night. Pizza. Just a chill thing with some of the guys.”

He’s lying. I can tell because he won’t look at me, because his hand is clammy in mine, because there’s sweat beading at his temples even though it’s sixty degrees out.

But I follow him anyway.

The common room is empty. The kitchen is dark. The whole first floor feels abandoned – which is impossible for a Friday night at the most notorious frat on campus.

“Connor. Where is everyone?”

“Basement,” he says, and his voice cracks.

Red flag. Massive red flag. But he’s already pulling me toward the stairs, and I’m already following because that’s what I do – I follow Connor into his bad decisions and clean up the mess afterward.

The basement door closes behind us with a click that sounds way too final.

And I understand.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

Five men. Five senior men. Arranged in a loose semicircle on leather couches and armchairs, drinks in hand, watching us descend the stairs like we’re the evening’s entertainment.

Which, apparently, we are.

I recognize them all. Everyone on campus does.

Blake Carter. President. Six-four, built like a linebacker, Black, with a jaw that could cut glass and eyes that have made better women than me forget their own names. He’s the one they call The Wolf – because he hunts in packs and always gets his prey.

Declan Cross. Vice president. Irish, pale, freckled, with red hair and a reputation for being creative. The kind of creative that sends girls home walking funny and smiling about it.

Mason Monroe. Secretary or treasurer or whatever the fuck – I don’t care about his title. Mixed, pretty-boy face, body like a Greek statue, known for filming his conquests and having them thank him for it afterward.

Tyler Sinclair. The quiet one. Blond, blue-eyed, all-American, looks like he should be captaining a yacht somewhere. They say he’s the worst of them. They say the pretty ones always are.

And finally – finally – Brandon Lee. Legacy kid, family money, effortlessly gorgeous in that East Asian model way. Supposedly the nice one. Though “nice” is relative in this house.

No TV. No pizza. No movie night.

Just five predators and one very, very stupid girl in a sundress.

“Connor.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel. “What the fuck is this?”

He won’t look at me. He’s staring at the floor, at his shoes, at anything except my face.

“Tell her.” Blake’s voice is low and deep, commanding in a way that makes my spine straighten automatically. “Tell your girlfriend what you promised us.”

“I – ” Connor swallows hard. “Baby, listen, it’s just – they said if I wanted to get in, if I wanted to be a brother, I had to – ”

“You had to what?”

“I had to – ” He finally looks at me, and there are actual tears in his eyes, the pathetic little bitch. “I had to give them you. For the night. All five of them. However they want.”

The words don’t compute at first.

My brain short-circuits, reboots, tries again.

He sold me. He fucking sold me for a membership.

“You’re joking.” I laugh, but it sounds wrong. “This is a joke, right? Some kind of hazing prank?”

“It’s not a joke.” Blake stands, and the whole room shifts. He’s magnetic – the kind of presence that demands attention just by existing. “Your boyfriend made a deal. His spot in the brotherhood for one night with his pretty little girlfriend.” He smiles, and it’s not nice. “All five of us. All three holes. Every load we’ve got.”

My stomach drops.

My heart pounds.

And something else – something traitorous and hot and wrong – pulses between my legs.

No. No, no, no.

“You can’t be serious.” I back up a step, but the stairs are behind me and there’s nowhere to go. “You can’t just – I didn’t agree to this. This is – ”

“Illegal?” Declan tilts his head, grinning. “Maybe. But who’s going to believe you? Campus sweetheart gets gangbanged by five seniors – sounds like she wanted it. Sounds like she asked for it.” He spreads his hands. “And honestly? You’re going to.”

“Fuck you.”

“Eventually.” He winks.

I turn to Connor, rage boiling in my chest. “I’m leaving. And we’re done. We’re so fucking done, you pathetic piece of – ”

Blake moves.

One second he’s across the room. The next he’s right in front of me, so close I can smell his cologne – sandalwood and something darker, something that makes my thighs clench involuntarily.

His hand fists in my hair and yanks, pulling my head back until I’m staring up at him, throat exposed, completely at his mercy.

“You can leave,” he says softly. “Door’s right there. Unlocked. No one’s going to stop you.”

I blink.

“But – ” He leans closer, lips brushing my ear, voice dropping to a growl that vibrates through my whole body. “We both know you’re not going to. Because I can smell how wet you are from here, sweetheart. I can see the way you’re pressing your thighs together. You’ve thought about this. Fantasized about it. Wondered what it would be like to get taken by men who know exactly what they’re doing.”

“I – ”

“Connor’s a boy.” His free hand slides up my bare thigh, beneath the hem of my sundress, and I should push him away, I should scream, I should run – but I don’t. I don’t move. I barely breathe. “He fumbles around, gets himself off, leaves you wet and frustrated. Right?”

Fuck.

His fingers find my panties. Find the soaked fabric. Find the undeniable evidence of my body’s betrayal.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes, laughing low and dark. “She’s fucking drenched.”

He pulls his hand back, holds up his fingers – glistening, coated with my arousal – and shows Connor.

Shows all of them.

“This is what your girlfriend thinks about being sold.” Blake’s voice carries across the room. “She’s dripping through her panties like a desperate little slut.”

I want to die.

I want to disappear.

I want him to put his hand back.

“So here’s what’s going to happen.” He releases my hair, steps back, gives me space I suddenly don’t want. “You’re going to take off that pretty dress. You’re going to get on that mattress. And you’re going to let five men show you what you’ve been missing with this pathetic excuse for a boyfriend.” He glances at Connor. “Or you walk. Your choice.”