Page 197 of Filthy Elites

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“You do seethe absurdity in this, don’t you?”

It’s not just absurd, it’s surreal. Feeling the wispy locks of hair graze my chin. Having my knees exposed and, most of all, having cleavage again.

Miller’s eyes are zeroed in on my chest. “It’s not absurd. It’s practical.”

Yep, Miller’s big idea to get me in past the guys is to dress me up like a woman. Why does he have a red wig and minidress at his disposal? “It was on the list of hazement ideas. Forcing the goats to dress up like women and hit on guys from other frats. See how far it would go, but it got axed for the cum cup.”

God.

I look down at my shoes—five-inch platforms coated in a layer of glitter. “I fail to see how these shoes would be considered practical.”

He stops me just before we go in the back door. “I can’t take Theo Hart, number forty-seven, up to my room,” he looks me up and down, gaze once again lingering over my chest, “but no one will care that much if I sneak up a woman.”

He opens the door, and we step inside. I haven’t been in the farmhouse kitchen. The goats eat on campus or out in the barn. He gestures to a back staircase, and I feel the brush of his fingertips against mine. A shiver runs up my spine that only spreads when he slides our hands together, fingers entwined. It’s a common, intimate gesture, one that implies our relationship has shifted from the day before. When we reach the landing, he keeps me close, going straight to his room.

“Oh shit,” I cry, tripping over the heels and slamming into him.

He laughs and holds me upright, placing a finger over his lips. “Shh.” When no one emerges from any of the rooms, he adds, “You okay?”

Those blue eyes are cool for once. Soft.

“Just clumsy.”

“Come on,” he says, twisting the knob of his bedroom door. “Let’s get you inside before you break an ankle.”

I exhale when the door is shut behind us, looking around his bare room. Now that I’m here, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Did he really bring me up here to hide? Or is this a ploy to get me to have sex with him again?

I catch my reflection in the mirror hanging on the back of the closet door and freeze. I’d changed out in the Jeep, only seeing a sliver of my hair and face in the rearview mirror. Seeing my reflection—thegirl—with long legs and hips and tits and long hair.

“What?” he asks, grabbing a pile of clothes off the bed and tossing them in the corner.

“I just look…” I toy with the ends of the wig. “I don’t know. Like me again.”

He walks over and stands beside me, looking at my reflection. “All I see is the same hot girl that’s been driving me crazy for months.”

I roll my eyes and catch his in the mirror. “Seriously? You want to pretend that I look the same with my shaved head and baggy clothes? I know you’re trying to convince me you’ve changed, Miller, but that’s a bit much.”

He grabs my hand and pulls me to him, tilting my chin upward. “I’m not trying to convince you of anything, kitten. You’re sexy as fuck, no matter what you wear or how many hours you spend on your hair.” He runs his thumb along my bottom lip. “I love your mouth—the smile you get when you’re proud of yourself. I love your eyelashes and how thick they are when your eyes are half-closed and you’re about to orgasm.” His hands drop to my waist and slowly slide up my chest, cupping my breasts. “I like that I’m the only one that gets to see your tits.” He pulls down the top of the dress and bends, kissing each nipple. “It makes me feel like you’re mine.”

If someone had asked me if Miller Hansen was capable of such romantic thoughts, I would have laughed in their face, but my body doesn’t care. My skin turns electric from his touch, my belly caves with every lick and suck of my nipple. I push my fingers into his hair, pulling his face to mine. We kiss, mouths hungry, breath raw, and he cups my ass and lifts me off the ground, carrying me over to the bed. He falls back, taking me with him, and I straddle his body.

I rest my hands on his stomach and ask, “Are you fucking with me?”

He pushes up, kissing neck, and whispering in my ear. “The only fucking I want to do is in your pussy, kitten. The rest of this is completely, totally, real.”

Suddenly, I don’t care what his motives are, I just want him. I push up his shirt, revealing his tan abdomen, running my fingers over the defined ladder of muscle. I bend and kiss his nipples, sucking and licking just like he’d done to mine moments before. His skin is warm, almost hot, and smells both clean and musky.

“Jesus,” he mutters, as I kiss down his body, focusing on the soft hair trailing down his lower belly. While his stomach caves, sensitive to my touch, his cock presses against the crux of my body, eager and hard.

I rise up and he lifts my dress, pushing it up and over my head. The wig falls off with it, and his hand rubs over the stubble, the desire in his eyes never wavering. He thumbs the button on his jeans, wincing from the strain and I hook my fingers in his belt loops, lowering them inch by inch. His cock springs forward, blistering red, and I bend licking the salty tip.

I’m so caught up in this, in him, that I don’t notice the knock on the door until it’s too late, until it’s open and the shadow of a figure crosses the bed.

“Fuck, sorry, dude,” a voice says—Knox. I freeze, face buried in Miller’s pelvis, his hand tensing over my skull. “Didn’t realize you were in here getting—” there’s a beat of silence. “Is that—"

“Shut the door, Knox,” Miller says, lifting up on his elbows. I hear the door shut with a click and my shoulders infinitesimally relax. “Dude!” Miller shouts. “What the fuck are you doing? Get the hell out!”

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