Page 199 of Filthy Elites

Knox’s motions grow less casual—more erratic. The skin around his nipple turns red, and he lets out a deep groan as he strokes his cock. I shift my gaze back to Miller. His eyes glazed with want. “I do like it,” I admit. Miller pulls out and punches in again, this time deeper. I exhale from the impact and close my eyes. I feel the both of them watching me. I hear their bodies and their grunts. The coil twisting in my core winds and winds, threatening to snap. Miller shoves his thumb in my mouth, and I suck on it. Drawing it back, he returns between my legs and presses it down on my clit. His teeth graze my earlobes, his breath hot and short.

“Come for me, kitten,” he says, and I can tell he’s waiting for me. They both are.

He rubs his thumb in a furious circle and the coil breaks, unfurling in waves of hot, delicious heat. “Oh fuck,” I say, clamping my hands down on Miller’s shoulders. I dig my nails into his flesh. “Holy fu—”

He swallows my curse, tongue sweeping against mine. His orgasm rips through him, cock buried deep inside. I wrap my legs around him, holding him close, riding it out together. I turn my head to the side, watchful and aware that Knox is still fisting his cock, still chasing the wave. His groan starts deep in his chest before exploding in a feral roar. Cum shoots over his fist, thick and wet, dripping over his knuckles.

He falls back, chest heaving. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, wrinkling his nose. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

The three of us catch our breath, each sweaty, sticky, covered in fluids. Miller rolls off my body, catching me in his arms and pulling me against his side. He kisses my temple. It’s soft. Sweet. Curious.

What the fuck just happened?

I want to ask, but I don’t want to break the spell. Outside these doors, Royer is still looking for me. Rat is on the warpath, waiting to dole out punishments. Knox knows our secret, and I still have two days left before the gauntlet is over. Oh, and these two men? They aren’t the only ones I had an intimate moment with today. I haven’t forgotten about my kiss with Grayson.

All I can think as I curl up against Miller’s side is that I am truly and thoroughly fucked.

TWENTY-THREE

Reagan

We’re in the process of cleaning up when Miller’s phone buzzes on the desk. He swipes the screen, frowns, and shoves it in his pocket. I pull the Whittmore sweatshirt over my head and notice the two guys share a look.

“What?” I ask, rolling up the sleeves. It’s Miller’s shirt. It’s too big, but soft, and smells like him. Something that has become more and more appealing.

“Royer is looking for me.” He tugs up the zipper on his hoodie. “We have some set up to do before the final gauntlet.” He looks me over. “Finish getting dressed. Knox is going to run interference.”

He grabs his shoes and stops in front of me to repin my number over my heart. “Be careful, okay?” he says, then to my shock, he kisses me on the cheek before walking out the door.

“What does he mean by interference?” I ask, ignoring the storm of butterflies in my stomach. The patch of skin Miller kissed is still tingling. I fuss with the pin, a reminder of how meticulous these men are all the time.

“Just play along,” he says, “and everything will be cool.”

I shove my feet in the shoes Miller brought up from the barn. My brain is mush—still reeling from the orgasm, the inclusion of Knox in this game, Miller confessing his feelings to me. I don’t trust anything, or anyone, and my body and mind know it.

“Are you really not going to tell anyone about this?” I grimace. “I mean, about me?”

“If being friends with Royer for the past three years has taught me anything, it’s that one, he’ll stab you in the back in a heartbeat.” He gives me a tight, knowing grin. “And two, leverage is everything.”

He has a point, and it proves to me that Knox is on the exec board for a reason. He may look like a dumb jock, but he’s playing this game as hard as anyone else. I may be safe right now, but does that mean I will be forever?

I just have to survive through the end of the gauntlet, then none of it will matter anymore.

“So what are you going to do to keep me out of trouble?”

“Oh, sweet thing, I’m not keeping you out of trouble. In fact, you’re in huge trouble for not showing up like you were supposed to. Lucky for you, I’m a little less sadistic in my methods than other members of this frat.”

So I’m still being punished. I figured there was no getting out of that one. I sigh and say, “I’m ready when you are.”

* * *

Knox was right.He’s not as sadistic as the others, I think, scrubbing the brush in little round circles, trying to get off the caked grime. But like Miller, his sense of charity only goes so far. He pointed me in the direction of the downstairs bathroom, handed me a bucket, cleaning supplies and a scrub brush, and told me to get to work.

Dozens of frat boys had come in and out of this bathroom for a week. The mud caked in their shoes from the yard is now ground in the white grout. The toilet reeks of urine, their aim woefully off target. It looks like someone may have actually bathed a pig in the sink.

With the scent of bleach already stinging my nose, I’m wondering if I can just douse the room with the rest of the bottle, shut the door and walk away.

“Ah, forty-seven. I’ve been looking for you.”

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