Page 6 of Hot For Her Bully

"Well, when I release this video, they'll have a whole new view of you, Whit-tits." I smirk and kiss her. She tries backing away, but I grab her and pull her close. The kiss reminds me of how good she feels against me, how good she feels wrapped around me.

Whitney shoves me hard and backs away. "No, we're not doing that again."

"We're going to do what all couples do together. Now, if that's what you're wearing to class, get your stuff. I'll walk with you. People need to see last night was the real deal. I saved you and now you're smitten with me."

"Fuck you," she hisses.

"You did that already. If you want to go again, we have some time."

"Are you clean?"

"Clean as a whistle, but I'm still going to get tested. No telling where that pussy's been. I can't believe you were going to let Quinn fuck you. We have to change that narrative ASAP. He convinced you to come to the party. Wait, how did he ask you?"

"What?" Her eyes dart around the room, cheeks blush, and it piques my curiosity.

"Last night in your drugged-up stupor, you asked me, when you thought I was Quinn, why did I ask you out like that? How did he ask you out?"

CHAPTER 4

Whitney

The glee riding Weston's face is torture as he waits for me to answer. Maybe if I tell him enough, he'll have some fucking pity on me. How could I be so stupid?

"He bumped into me in the cafeteria. I wasn't paying attention and thought he was talking to me. He said I should come to the party with him, and it would be fun. When I said yes, he turned to me and pointed to the earbud in his ear."

The broken bursts of laughter at my expense poke at my ego. "Shit. What happened after that?"

My cheeks burn with embarrassment. "He said, ‘Fuck it, be at the house by five. We can make a night of it. We can make shit happen.’"

"Quinn's not a guy you're supposed to be alone with. I wouldn't even leave my pet goldfish alone with him."

"As opposed to you?" I ask him. The force of him ramming that thick cock inside of me will stay with me for the next few days. My hands unintentionally reach up to rub my jaw.

"I'm sorry about that, Whitney. I got carried away. Can I ask you something?" His bushy black eyebrow quirks up.

"What?"

"Why didn't you stop trying to have sex with me when I asked you to?"

Fear rips through me, as it's a question I should have the answer to, but it makes me sound like a fucking predator.

"I was drunk, or drugged, whatever. Besides, I, uh, thought you didn't mean it," I admit.

Dread crushes fear as he taps his phone to stop it from recording. He waves it in his hand but scrolls to the video from last night with my tits on full display. He deletes it and then goes into the trash bin to delete the video forever.

"No one gets to see Whit's tits but me. However, to keep you in line, I'll keep this little confession to myself. It's a shame that men's claims of assault go unreported and are rarely taken seriously."

"But you came?—"

"So did you," he argues back. "Now get your shit and let's go to class. We're going to be late, babe."

I rummage through my stuff to put on jeans and a shirt that looks presentable. The glares of shock and whispers of surprise are hard to ignore as Weston walks with his arm draped around my shoulder.

He's being affectionate, nuzzling against my neck and whispering in my ear, "Make this shit believable, Whit, or everyone will know the degenerate pervert you are. Begging me for dick, taking it when I wouldn't give it to you. Love me, Whitney."

My stomach churns with the revolting decision ahead of me. I have no idea how far Weston's willing to take this, to hang this over my head. I'll be ruined, expelled, shit…I could go to fucking jail.

I face him, stopping at a fork in the path where people have to walk around us to get on their way. My mouth crashes against his, and I slip my tongue inside. I moan to let him know I'm into it and he does, too. The passion clouds my actions as I fall into the trap of letting his hands hold me, gripping my ass and squeezing with every swipe of our tongues over one another.

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