Page 3 of Scrimmage

The next time Golden Boy takes his turn, I dip my finger into my jungle juice and stick it into my mouth all the way to the knuckle. His eyes drop to my lips as I wrap my tongue around my finger, sucking off the sweet liquor. He tries to focus but misses the cup and turns fuchsia. He chews on the inside of his cheek with a deep breath, and I can tell he wants to readjust his dick while simultaneously punching me in the face. Golden Boy can pretend none of this is getting to him, but his dick has a different idea, and I speak that language.

There are a few more mildly frustrating back and forths. Cole saunters up behind me and leans over my shoulder, breathing into the crook of my neck. I’m man enough to admit that I’m pretty drunk, and Cole is starting to look pretty fucking appealing because the longer this game goes on the hornier I'm getting. He would be a decent filler body. I back my ass into his crotch and feel him start to get hard.

He sucks in a breath through his teeth. “That answers my question,” he chuckles.

“What question?”

“Drink,” he commands, putting a bottle of water to my lips. I chug it, water pouring down the sides of my mouth and down my neck over my chest.

I look at him over my shoulder. “Are you trying to sober me up?”

“I’m just trying to make sure you don’t die from dehydration before you win this game,” he reasons.

I catch Golden Boy glaring at Cole over my shoulder so I pull him even closer.

I grab his hands and wrap them around my hips. “Hold me still.” I give him a wicked grin before bending over.

A small groan escapes him while I make eye contact with Golden Boy. His hands grip the edge of the table with pure white knuckles. Is he…jealous? It’s certainly the vibe I’m getting. I throw the ball, making another cup. Only three left.

“Ashland,” Cole groans. “Do we even need to finish the game at this point?” His breath is hot and needy on the shell of my ear.

Golden Boy watches, almost like he’s trying to read Cole’s lips. The man to his right leans in, and Golden Boy says something, pointing into the crowd. The guy seems a little surprised, storming off. Golden Boy looks over at their groupies and snags one, dragging her to the table. He has her blow on the pong ball, but I don’t even watch. I keep myself wrapped up in Cole.

I see what’s happening here. For whatever reason, Golden Boy isreacting.It always feels nice to be the one causing shit. He’s doing this because he’s weirdly jealous, and he unknowingly handed me power. When he makes the cup, Cole picks it up and feeds it to me. I grab the ball with two of my fingers and suck the liquor off, which enrages Golden Boy further.

The crash is sudden. Two boys fly through the crowd straight into the pong table. No one wins. I recognize one as the guy Golden Boy had spoken to. This was planned. In the commotion, I’m split from Cole and Penny. Someone grabs me, securing a large hand around my mouth, and drags me back through the crowd into the surrounding woods. I see the fight through the tree trunks and leaves clearly. Cole is trying to pry one guy off of the other while people jump in to help. The scent of cedarwood and pepper overcomes me.

I shove away from my captor, who I know in my bones is the angry little Golden Boy, and turn abruptly. I open my mouth to say something snarky, but the way he's looking at me is like a shock to my system. This guy looks like a fuming bull with wildfire eyes. He’s even huffing like one with his nostrils flaring.

I finally tilt my head and cross my arms. “I don’t know you. Can I help you?”

“Cut the shit. You two fucking duped us. You knew you looked so stupid and innocent and used it against us. You knew you would win.”

So he’s angry. This guy does not know how to lose. “Not my problem that you suck.”

“Who brought you here?”

“A friend." I give him a smirk. “I don’t expect you to know what one is.”

“The guy who was rubbing his dick all over you?” If it’s at all possible, Golden Boy's level of rage increases. “Sure doesn’t look like afriend.”

“I’m sorry. Is there a problem?” I must have slept with this guy before.

He advances on me forcing me to step backward, right into a tree. “You came to my pong table.”

I laugh, high and shrill. “Ohhh, I see. You’re mad because we whooped your ass. I didn’t realize your ego was that fragile.”

“You are such a dirty fucking slut,” he growls in my face.

I can feel the wetness in my swimsuit bottoms, and I fucking hate it. I know there's something wrong with me. That’s what a life of being treated like shit does to you. You learn to fucking love it. It’s the only thing that can get you off. Degradation, Sadism, Masochism, Humiliation. They all stem from the same thing with me, and I was trained well. I try to fight it, tell myself that I don’t have to like this anymore, and no part of me will listen. Not even my mind.

“It’s not my fault that I love dick.”

“You have a foul mouth.”

“Filthy,” I correct him.

“Women with self-respect don't talk like that.”

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