Page 56 of The Sweetest Revenge

He leaned down, lips brushing my ear. The warmth of his breath made me shudder. "Play stupid games, get stupid prizes," he whispered, the words slithering into my brain. His hand twisted, forcing me to look toward the TV, where Hawk stood waiting. "I'm only going to tell you once before Hawk shows your friends' videos to everyone."

Something inside me cracked. Splintered. Shattered.

"Fine," I ground out.

Zaiden pressed two fingers against my bottom lip. The touch was rough. "Open your mouth."

My lips parted. His fingers slid in, cold against my tongue. His thumb dug into my jaw, a silent warning.

"Good girl."

"What the fuck is going on?" EJ's shout bounced off the walls, but no one moved. No one spoke; just watched, a sea of faces hungry for the show.

For my destruction.

Zaiden bent over me, his hand shifted, gripping my cheeks until they hurt. The party lights caught his eyes—something dark swimming in them that made my pulse spike. My heart slammed against my ribs so hard I thought they might crack. The hushed whispers of the crowd faded to white noise as I waited, suspended in this moment, for whatever cruelty came next.

He positioned his mouth above mine, and I prepared myself to kiss him, but he spit in my mouth.

He'd just laid his claim.

Time stopped. Fractured. Reality narrowed to this single point of humiliation. The hot slide of his saliva down my throat triggered a violent gag reflex. But that wasn't the worst part. The worst was knowing this was only the beginning. He'd taken my reputation and my dignity, and there was nothing I could do. Not if I wanted to protect them.

The football team would turn their backs on me now. Social suicide, executed with surgical precision. Which was exactly what he wanted.

"Unbutton my pants."

My fingers trembled as they found his zipper. The metallic sound of it lowering felt obscenely loud in the thick silence. His bulge strained against the fabric, and bile rose in my throat. This turned him on—the power, the control, the audience. The sick bastard was getting off on every second.

A movement caught my eye. Mila was in the corner, her face twisted with horror. Her body half-turned toward me, ready to intervene. I gave a tiny shake of my head against Zaiden's grip. No. This was my problem, not theirs, and I wasn't going to let them take the fall for this.

"Eyes. On. Me." His fingers dug into my cheeks, snapping my head forward. Then his hand dropped and—oh my God. The sight of him, thick and hard, made my vision swim. This was really happening. Here. Now. In front of everyone.

"Open wide for me." His fingers twisted in my hair, the sharp pain bringing tears to my eyes as he yanked me into position. His other hand gripped his cock at the base, guiding himself toward my mouth slowly. Making me wait. Making me dread.

"Just get this over with," I snarled under my breath, a final act of defiance.

He didn't hesitate. Didn't warn me. Just shoved past my lips straight to the back of my throat in one brutal thrust. The crowd erupted—whistles, shouts, cheers. Men egging him on like this was a fucking sport. My hands clenched into fists against my thighs as my eyes squeezed shut, fighting against the invasion.

But he didn't move. He held himself there, deep, cutting off my air. Panic clawed up my chest as seconds ticked by. My eyes flew open, meeting his. The wild look there made my blood run cold, he was enjoying this. The struggle. The fight.

My vision started to blur at the edges. Spots danced in front of my eyes. My hands shot up to his thighs, nails digging through denim as I fought for a breath. For control. For anything.

The edges of consciousness started to fade, and still, he watched. Still, he waited until the last possible second when my body was on the verge of collapse.

He jerked back, leaving me gasping. My lungs burned as I sucked in air around the thick head of his cock. Stars burst behind my eyes.

"And now," his voice carried across the silent room, "I'm going to ride your face like you rode mine, princess," he said loud enough so the entire room could hear him. His grip tightened in my hair until tears pricked my eyes, but my hiss of pain drowned beneath the wet sound of him slamming back into my throat. Deep. Hard. Brutal. There was no mercy in his violent strokes.

No time to breathe. No time to think. Only the relentless rhythm of him fucking my mouth. Each thrust forced a desperate gasp between strokes. Survival instinct took over–counting seconds, timing breaths, fighting the urge to panic.

Tears streamed hot down my face, pooling on my thighs. Drool trickled past my stretched lips, dripping onto the floor. The physical humiliation was complete. But then I made the mistake of looking up.

His eyes. God, his eyes.

Something electric passed between us. Something that made my thighs clench together involuntarily. Wrong. So wrong. My body's betrayal felt worse than anything else he'd done.

The crowd disappeared. The room faded. Nothing existed except the savage rhythm of his hips, the burning in my throat, the ache of my jaw, and that scorching gaze that seemed to see right through me. Hatred and arousal twisted together until I couldn't tell them apart.

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