His hand loosens, but not to release me. It’s just enough to gain leverage so that he can flip me on my stomach. The heavy weight of his hand presses on my lower back and I twist my head to the side. “Heston, I—” but the air stalls in my lungs, pushed out by the weight of his hand around my neck, curling around my throat. Over the music, I hear the tear of foil and the sound of him rolling the rubber down. My heartbeat is like thunder now, but I can’t untangle the threads of fear and arousal long enough to decide which wins. I squirm against his hold, and the thing is, I’ve been with a few guys by now. I’ve been with the sweet ones and the rough ones. The clumsy ones and the experienced ones. Generally, I’m down to try every flavor.
Absolutely nothing has made me as wet as I am right this second.
A moment later, fingers dig into my hip, lifting me up, and he enters me fast and hard, the sound of our flesh coming together a deafening slap.
It strikes me then what that tight, dark shadow on his face reminds me of.
Like someone who wants to hurt me.
I close my eyes and let him.
Afterwards, when we’re pulling our clothes, he looks different again. Relaxed, calm. Like everything is normal, totally casual. I try my best to mirror this, taking my cues from the way he moves languorously around his room, pulling on a clean shirt, even though there’s a lump wedged in the back of my throat.
He says goodbye with a two-fingered wave, goes back to join the party, and barely looks at me again the rest of the night.
An hour later, I’m back in Campbell’s car. It’s quiet again. I don’t try to make small talk this time, instead staring out the window at the passing streetlights, wondering what this knot is that’s taken residence in my chest.
It was just sex.
Truthfully, I don’t even really mind that he blew me off after. That’s what guys do. If they want some more, then they’ll start being nice again, paying me attention. I’m used to it. Probably better off anyway, because boyfriends are just drama and a long stretch of same-same boring.
It was just… not the kind of sex I’m used to. Hot, but also cold. It felt good, but also hurt. It was nice, but also mean. Savage. Scary. Heston’s a strong guy—a lot stronger than me. Being at his mercy like that—being hurt like that—should have been repulsive and terrifying, and in some ways, it was.
Mostly, it was the best sex I’ve ever had.
My cheeks burn with shame, because I might be young, and maybe I’ve only slept with a few guys, but I’m pretty sure that’s not what sex is supposed to be—even casual hookups at parties with older guys. I already hear whisper behind my back at school, that I’m easy. What would people say if they knew that I liked… that?
From beside me, Campbell lets out this long sigh. “Are you, like… okay, or whatever?”
I turn to her, blinking in surprise. “Yeah.”
“Heston didn’t do anything to you, did he?” Her gaze slides over to me. “Something you didn’t want? You’re not drunk or stoned?”
“I’m not drunk,” I assure her. I had a beer, but it was gross and I ended up ditching it halfway through. “And Heston didn’t…” I swallow, feeling a moment of panic that maybe she knows. Maybe she’s looking at me like that because she’s perfectly aware that I’m some kind of sexual freak. Meekly, I finish, “Everything’s fine.”
Everything’s fine.
*
“Damn,” Emory Hall says, leaning over Ansel’s shoulder. They’re sitting at their little lunch table, looking at Ansel’s phone. I walk by, wedged between trying to catch Heston’s eye and pretending like I don’t care if he looks at me at all. It’s been a month since the party, and although he hasn’t outright rejected me, he also doesn’t seem like he wants to come back for more.
In any case, I certainly never got an invite to sit at the table or any of the perks the Playthings get. I’d nearly talked myself into believing it’d been his ‘test’, but if it had been, then I must have passed.
I must have.
“God, he’s just drilling her,” Carlton says, holding up his own phone. Hamilton glances over and then away with a bored look. Xavier sits with his arm around Skylar Adams—that’s new—who wrinkles her nose in distaste.
“Are those even real?” Ansel asks. “They’re huge.”
My eyes skim the room and see that almost everyone has their phone out. The reactions vary—wide-eyed, amused, impressed. I make my way over to a table with the other freshman girls that I know from soccer. Every one of them have their phones out, eyes glued to the screen.
“What’s everyone looking at?” I ask, sliding into my seat and placing my tray on the table.
“You’ve got to see this,” Amanda says.
Betsy frowns and puts her phone face down on the table. “This video that just went viral. It’s… gross.”
“Oh god, is it another video of some guy squirting milk from his nose?” I dig in my bag for my phone and see that I have a dozen notifications—maybe more. People are sharing the video like wildfire. I open up my phone, going to my ChattySnap account. The video is in the top ten spots. I click on one, and although it takes my brain a second to adjust to what I’m seeing, my body reacts differently, going fiery hot and ice cold, all at once. I know instantly, a ball of nausea building when I process what’s happening on the screen.
It’s a girl face down on the bed, a strong naked guy pounding into her while he holds her down. Neither of their faces are visible. Her hair covers her features, and he manages to stay just off screen. Bile runs up the back of my throat and I swallow it back.
The girl is me.
“Who—who is that?” I ask, pretending to narrow my eyes.
“No clue. Not even sure if it’s from Preston. It just started popping up all over today.” Amanda peers over at my phone. “Can you see anything identifiable? Like something that would tell whose room that is?”
I’ve spent all month trying to forget about hooking up with Heston. How off it was. How bad it felt afterward, when I was sore and spent, and wishing pathetically for one soft touch. How it was too hard, and too fast, and how despite all that, I’ve been alternately relieved and confusingly disappointed that he’s not like those other guys who wanted to come back for more.
Looking at the video, small pieces click into place. The way he preened toward the laptop. How he kept me down and my face covered. How we didn’t speak, how I couldn’t speak with his fingers around my throat. How, when it was over, he wouldn’t make eye contact. No, that’s not right. His eyes were dark and emotionless. Cold.
Speculation flows around me, while all I can do is stare at the video, looking for anything that would identify it as me. Thank god my hair looks more brown than red. How long will it be before everyone finds out that it’s me? That I let him do that to me? That I liked it? I finally shut it off, eyes stinging and every inch of my skin feeling the warm heat of guilt and humiliation. The rest of the table is still obsessed, eyes glued to their phones. I glance over at the table of Devils, and Heston’s all grins, looking smug and proud.