Page 41 of Brutal Kingdom

I try to back away, but the hands hold me tighter, turning me, pulling me against their chest. My face meets a wall, and my stomach heaves, as I realize they let me go just so they could chase me down again. This night isn’t over.

“That’s enough. Whatever game you’re playing, I’m done. Okay. I’m out. You won.”

Against my ear, a voice rasps, “I haven’t won until I hear you scream.”

My body trembles at that threat. My skin flushes as his hands palm and squeeze my ass through my jeans. His hand slips up my shirt. He shoves it into my bra, tweaking my nipple. I squeeze my eyes shut and my legs together. My clit throbs in time to his assault on my breast. I feel my body responding. Getting wetter. Being in this position feels familiar and wrong. It’s just like the night at the club. When I let a stranger touch me in the dark.

My pants are being tugged down to my knees. The cool air caresses my feverish skin. “Please…. Oh, god. Please…”

“Please what?”

What? What am I asking? To stop? To keep going.

A hand lands against my ass, a moan breaking free from my lips. He hits me again, and I arch back. I’m losing control of my body and fighting to make sense of what’s happening. I press myself closer to the wall. He wedges his fingers between my pussy and the wall, dragging a finger through my slick folds.

My body rocks towards his touch. Wanting more.

His voice is a harsh whisper. “Say the words. I can’t keep going if you don’t.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to say no, but “Yes” spills out instead.

His hands go to my thighs, spreading my legs apart as far as they’ll go with my jeans at my ankle. His hair brushing across my ass, seconds before his tongue swipes at me from behind.

I arch back, giving him better access, my hand digging in his hair, holding him against me. He inserts a finger and I clamp down. Moaning at how good it feels. Reaching between my legs, I insert a finger of my own. He growls against my folds; the vibration ricocheting through my core.

“Oh, fuck.”

Who is this man, and who am I that I’m letting a complete stranger eat me out in the middle of the hall at The Rift? Are they pumping shit through the air ducts? He pulls away, smacking my ass again, as if he knows I’m getting ready to talk myself out of this.

Instead of moving back between my legs, he steps away. My body cools as I realize he’s gone. Pulling my pants up, I look around in case he’s still here, just waiting to start the process all over again. A loud horn blares through the intercom, and the lights in the hall come on. I don’t know what the hell that means, but I’m not sticking around to see what games are happening next. I rush up the stairs and out of the building, running for the safety and sanity of my dorm.

EIGHTEEN

LOGAN

“When I find the asshole who locked me in the confessional.”

Bella’s livid because her plans to have a front-row seat at Jordanna’s interrogation backfired. She gave the frat president specific instructions to take her to the bottom level, and that didn’t happen.

It was epic, watching her orchestrate this whole game, thinking she was really in control. But when the lights went out, she was no better off than any other player. The confessional is a cage suspended twenty feet in the air, over a dunk tank.

The “priest” asks a question and a tribunal of students vote on whether they think your answer is truthful or a lie. If it’s deemed true, nothing happens. If it’s a lie, you’re lowered five feet at a time towards the tank. Four questions is all that stands between you and submergence, and the priest usually has at least six questions to ask. They’re all intrusive. Self incriminating and designed to make you sweat. Nobody is ever completely honest. But some are better liars than others.

I told the guys to lock her in one of the soundproof rooms to keep her out of my way. I love the initiative they took by taking it one step further.

“Damn. Any idea who did this?” Looking at Hal and Frankie, I ask, “And where were you two when this was going down?”

It’s a rhetorical question. They were partying up in the bell tower. I made sure there were appropriate distractions on hand for each of them. Women, weed, poker and blow jobs.

“Well?” Bella asks, waiting for an answer.

“We were upstairs.”

“Doing what?”

“Hanging out, playing the game.”

“Instead of protecting me?”

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