When Fidelity Sleeps Pt. 01

Author's Note

This is an erotic story.

That should be clear by now--but let me say it again:

This is a story about desire, in its many messy, electrifying, unapologetic forms.

Yes, it's told through the lens of relationships, emotion, and daily life. But at its core, this story was built to explore the spaces where fantasy and reality collide--where inhibition melts, and where choices are made not for safety, but for sensation.

If you find yourself here expecting moral purity, emotional predictability, or traditional romance arcs, you may want to pause.

This story includes themes of cheating, group sex, domination, emotional conflict, and social pressure--

If those elements disturb you, or if you're reading with the hope that everything stays neatly in place...

This probably isn't for you. And that's okay.

There are other stories that will take better care of your heart.

But if you're here to feel--everything--

To question, to ache, to burn, to let go...

This story is told in chapters, each titled to give you a clear idea of what's ahead.

Feel free to skip around.

Follow the story in order--or dive straight into the moments that speak to you.

Curiosity is welcome here.

This story begins with the emotional and relational foundation between the characters--how they met, what shaped them, and what brought them together. But if you're here for the fire, the tension, the breaking of limits--

Start from Chapter 7.

Note: The space between lines is intentional. It's meant to slow you down--to let the story breathe, and to let you breathe with it.

Chapter 1 Beginnings

James was a 21-year-old Mexican student who had left his hometown to study in the United States. It had been two years since he started college, and though he still felt a bit like an outsider, he was slowly finding his place. He played as a kicker on the college football team--not the most glamorous position, but one that suited him. He was fit, though not particularly tall, and there was something quiet and unassuming about him that often made people underestimate him.

James wasn't the type to dominate a room. He was soft-spoken, slightly shy, the kind of guy who'd rather listen than talk. But behind that reserved nature, there was depth--a mix of longing, curiosity, and a subtle hunger he didn't fully understand yet.

He shared a dorm with Leo, his complete opposite. Where James was modest, Leo was loud. While James budgeted every meal, Leo had money to burn. And when it came to women, Leo moved like a storm--confident, shameless, and always surrounded by attention. The contrast between them was striking, and sometimes James wondered if it was fate or punishment that had paired them together.

The dorm wasn't typical by campus standards--it was one of the better setups. A small apartment-style space tucked away in the quieter wing of the building. Two modest bedrooms branched off from a shared living area, where a worn gray couch faced a wall-mounted TV. A small table stood nearby, cluttered with textbooks, keys, and an empty pizza box. The kitchenette in the corner was barely big enough for two, but it did the job: microwave, stovetop, and a fridge that buzzed louder than it should.

James sat on the couch, legs stretched out, a paper plate balanced on his lap. He had just gotten back from practice, still in his shorts and compression shirt, the fabric clinging to the last bits of sweat. His cheeks were flushed, his dark hair damp, eyes half-lidded from physical exhaustion.

Across from him, Leo was sprawled sideways on the armchair, one leg hanging over the side. Shirtless, as usual, showing off the sculpted tan he'd picked up lounging around the fraternity pool all weekend. In one hand, his phone; in the other, a greasy burger from his favorite downtown spot. He didn't bother using a plate.

"So," Leo said between bites, smirking, "did you catch the girl in red leggings at the gym today?"

James didn't even look up. "Nope. Was kicking."

Leo chuckled. "Of course. Focused. You and your monk mentality."

James shrugged, nudging a piece of broccoli around his mac and cheese with his fork. "Kicking well is kind of the point."

Leo tossed a crumpled napkin at him. "Dude. You could kick ass and get laid. You've got that quiet, tortured artist thing going on. Girls eat that shit up."

James lifted an eyebrow, deadpan. "Yeah, nothing screams sexy like sore thighs and a roommate who yells through the walls."

Leo grinned, unbothered. "Come on. You're in college, man. You're supposed to be making mistakes."

"I make mistakes," James muttered. "I just don't film them for Snapchat."

Leo barked a laugh. "Touché. Still, you're wasting prime time. You've got a decent face, a good body, and--okay, fine--your cock's probably not doing you favors, but some girls like underdogs."

James snorted, half-amused, half-annoyed. "You're an asshole."

"Yup," Leo said proudly. "But I'm an honest asshole."

They fell into silence, the TV flickering in the background, neither one really watching. It was a rhythm they'd settled into after nearly a year of sharing the space--James with his inward quiet, Leo with his extroverted chaos.

Somehow, it worked.

It was almost 9 p. m. when the knock came at the door--three quick raps, familiar and impatient.

Leo didn't even look up from his phone. "It's Dre."

James raised an eyebrow. "You gave him a key?"

"Hell no. That guy loses everything." Leo stood up, stretched lazily, and padded barefoot to the door.

As expected, Dre walked in with a grin and a six-pack under one arm. He was taller than both of them, with a warm, easy energy. A blend of street charm and college smarts. He had grown up with Leo, though he wasn't in school anymore--he worked part-time and made money hustling side gigs downtown.

"Damn, it still smells like gym socks in here," Dre said as he dropped the beers on the table. "Y'all ever clean?"

"James does," Leo said, grabbing one of the beers. "I just supervise."

James, still lounging on the couch, raised his middle finger without looking away from the game he was navigating on the screen.

They hung out for a while, music playing low from Leo's speaker, the three of them talking shit, trading stories, and laughing like they had no real responsibilities. The kind of night that made time slow down just enough to feel real.

At some point, Leo stood up and clapped his hands once. "Alright, listen up. Tomorrow night--club downtown. Some girls I know are throwing a birthday thing. It's gonna be wild."

Dre smirked. "You already promised them we'd be there, didn't you?"

Leo shrugged. "Maybe."

James gave him a skeptical look. "Not really my scene."

Leo rolled his eyes. "It's never your scene. But I'm dragging your ass out anyway. Both of you. No excuses."

Dre grinned. "Fine. But you're buying the first round."

"Done."

By 11, Leo was already dressed--black shirt open just enough to show his chest, gold chain resting on his collarbone, expensive cologne trailing behind him as he walked out the door like he owned the night.

"You guys are boring as fuck," he called out with a wink. "Try not to fall in love with each other while I'm gone."

The door slammed, and the apartment went quiet again.

James and Dre exchanged a look.

"So... FIFA or Mortal Kombat?" Dre asked, cracking open another beer.

James smirked. "FIFA. You still owe me a rematch."

They settled into the couch, controllers in hand, half-focused on the screen, half-lost in their own thoughts.

It was past 2 a. m. when the apartment finally quieted down.

James had lost the rematch. Twice. The six-pack was long gone, and Dre had left about an hour ago with a lazy, satisfied smile and a half-hearted promise to come back for the club night. James rinsed the last cups in the kitchenette, stretched, and slipped into his bedroom.

The small space was dimly lit by a single desk lamp. A couple of books were stacked neatly by his bed, and his phone charged on the nightstand. He pulled off his shirt, tossed it onto the chair, and climbed under the covers. The sheets were still cool. A breeze from the cracked window moved the curtain gently.

He lay there, staring at the ceiling, half-lulled by the soft hum of the fridge in the living room.

Then--the faint sound of the front door opening.

Voices. A girl's laugh. Low, playful.

James didn't even need to check. Leo.

He exhaled slowly and turned his head toward the wall. Again?

He recognized the familiar rhythm--Leo's flirtatious tone, the soft thud of heels being kicked off, the creak of the couch. It wasn't the first time, and it probably wouldn't be the last.

James pulled the sheet over his head, already trying to block it all out. The giggles, the whispers, the couch shifting as bodies moved closer.

Classic Leo, he thought. Guy never sleeps alone.

James lay still in the dark, eyes half-open, chest rising slowly beneath the sheet. He could hear everything.

The muffled thump of Leo's bedroom door closing... followed by laughter. Then voices--low at first, playful. The girl's voice was high-pitched, slightly breathy. She was giggling, teasing. Leo said something James couldn't make out, and then she moaned--soft at first, but growing louder, more open.

James shifted under the covers, his heart ticking a little faster. She's loud.

Another moan, this one sharp and breathy. "Oh my god, Leo... fuck, right there..."

James exhaled, biting the inside of his cheek. He stared at the ceiling. He shouldn't be listening. He didn't want to.

But he didn't move.

The sounds were impossible to ignore. The slap of skin. The rhythmic creak of the bed. And her--gasping, moaning, whimpering Leo's name like it was a prayer.

"Oh fuck--yes--yes... Leo, your cock feels so fucking good..."

James blinked. Heat was building between his thighs. His hand moved without thinking, sliding beneath the sheet, fingers wrapping around his hardening cock. He closed his eyes.

The wall between them felt paper-thin.

She was so vocal--raw, shameless, wild. "Harder... fuck me harder--don't stop--please don't stop..."

James stroked himself slowly, syncing to the rhythm he imagined Leo was thrusting at. The wet slap of pussy against hips, the hungry pace of it, the way she cried out as if she wanted the entire building to hear.

"You're so fucking deep--fuck, I'm gonna--shit--I'm gonna cum--"

James's breath hitched. His grip tightened. He imagined her on her knees, back arched, Leo grabbing her hair, shoving himself inside her again and again while she screamed into the pillow.

"Oh god, Leo--I'm cumming--I'm--FUCK!"

James groaned, biting into his own forearm as his body tensed. The heat spread from his core, rising fast, his strokes messy now, urgent. The sound of her climax--the way she practically sobbed through it--pushed him over the edge.

He came hard, silent but shaking, hot cum spilling onto his stomach as he gasped against the sheets.

For a moment, all he could hear was the pounding of his own heartbeat.

Then more laughter. More moaning. They weren't done.

James lay there, eyes wide open, breath still catching in his throat.

Fuck, he thought. What the hell is wrong with me?

The apartment was dark and quiet now. At least, it sounded like it.

James shifted under his sheets, throat dry, sweat clinging faintly to his skin. He'd been tossing for nearly an hour, trying to ignore the lingering arousal that refused to fade even after he'd finished. His body was still humming. Mind racing. That girl's moans--Leo's name--her desperation--it had all imprinted itself on him like a brand.

He sighed, finally giving up on sleep.

Slipping quietly out of bed, he padded barefoot down the short hallway to the kitchenette. The cold tile floor grounded him. He grabbed a glass, filled it from the filtered pitcher in the fridge, and leaned against the counter, drinking slowly, letting the coolness cut through the heat that still lingered in his chest.

Then--

Soft footsteps.

Before he could even turn, he felt arms wrap around his torso from behind.

"Mm... there you are," a sultry voice whispered against his back. Her body pressed into him--bare skin brushing his. She was only wearing a loose t-shirt, panties... maybe.

James froze.

"Couldn't sleep either?" she cooed, nuzzling her face against his neck. Her hands slid down his stomach--slow, exploring.

He opened his mouth to speak, to stop her--but the words didn't come. He was too stunned. Too curious. Too caught in the heat of her touch.

Her lips grazed his shoulder as her fingers dipped under the waistband of his shorts. He sucked in a breath, his cock already stirring from the contact.

Then--her hand wrapped around it.

She paused.

"... Wait."

A beat of silence. Then a small, breathy laugh.

"Ohhh..." she said, half amused, half teasing. "You're not Leo."

James swallowed hard, his heart punching in his chest.

She let go of him and took a step back, her giggle echoing in the dim kitchen. "Shit. Sorry," she said with zero remorse. "Guess I should've known... it felt smaller."

She gave him a playful pat on the back, then turned and walked back down the hall without another word, hips swaying like nothing had just happened.

James stood there, frozen, the glass still in his hand. His pulse thundered in his ears. He looked down at himself, still half-hard, suddenly ashamed, humiliated, raw.

Her voice echoed in his head on repeat.

"It felt smaller."

He slowly brought the glass back to his lips, drank the rest of the water, and set it down with a quiet clink.

Then he returned to his room, crawling into bed without a sound.

Chapter 2 Meeting Pauline

The sun filtered in softly through the blinds, painting warm stripes across the floor of the dorm's common room. The air smelled like coffee and toasted bread. James stepped out of his room, trying to act casual, though sleep still clung to his eyes and a tightness curled in his stomach.

He froze when he saw them.

Leo sat at the small table, shirtless, lazily eating scrambled eggs with hot sauce. Across from him, Jess--the Jess--perched barefoot on the edge of the counter, swinging her legs gently and sipping coffee from James's favorite mug.

She was wearing one of Leo's oversized T-shirts, the neckline slipping off one shoulder, revealing smooth skin and a dark bra strap. Her toned legs were bare, crossed just above the knee, and the shirt barely covered her thighs. Her hair was messy, but in that effortless, post-sex way that somehow made her even hotter.

James looked away.

"Morning, lover boy," Leo said with a smirk, not looking up from his food.

Jess giggled behind her mug.

James walked to the fridge, pulled out the milk, and tried to keep his face neutral. He could feel Leo's grin from across the room, like heat against the back of his neck.

"So..." Leo drawled, "did you sleep okay? Or did something... interrupt you?"

Jess snorted, nearly choking on her coffee.

James froze mid-pour, the milk nearly overflowing his bowl of cereal. His face flushed, ears burning.

"I--I slept fine," he muttered, keeping his eyes down.

Leo laughed, clearly enjoying himself. "Hey, don't be shy, bro. You got a little action too, right?" He raised an eyebrow toward Jess. "She told me you're a gentle soul."

Jess slid off the counter and walked over to James, barefoot and still grinning.

He tried not to look at her legs. Or her lips. Or remember the way her hand had wrapped around him hours earlier.

She leaned in close, her perfume soft and teasing, and whispered, "Don't worry about it."

Then, still holding his gaze, she smiled and kissed his cheek.

"At least you're cute."

James stood there, frozen with the spoon in his hand, not sure if he wanted to run back to his room or melt into the floor.

Leo just raised his coffee like a toast. "To unforgettable nights, huh?"

James didn't respond.

He just sat down slowly, stirred his cereal, and tried not to think about the way his heart was still racing.

The day passed in a blur.

James went through his football drills like a machine--silent, focused, detached. He barely registered his coach's comments or the sting in his thighs from the extra kicks. His mind kept drifting--back to the kitchen, to Jess's voice, her laugh, that kiss on the cheek. He couldn't shake it. Couldn't shake the way Leo had smirked.

By the time evening rolled in, he still wasn't sure if he wanted to go out... but he dressed anyway.

Black jeans. Clean sneakers. A fitted dark-blue shirt that hugged his chest just enough without trying too hard. He checked himself in the mirror twice, ran his fingers through his hair, and tried not to look like he was overthinking every detail.

At around 9:40, Dre knocked on the door with his usual swagger, dressed sharp in a black bomber jacket and gold chain. "Damn, James. Lookin' like you might actually get laid tonight."

James gave him a crooked smile, shook his head. "Not the goal."

"Sure it's not," Dre said with a wink.

Leo was already ready, of course--ripped black jeans, designer sneakers, a crisp white shirt with the top three buttons undone. His cologne hit like a statement.

The three of them headed down to the parking garage and climbed into Leo's matte black SUV. Music pumped from the speakers as they cruised through the city, the night already thick with promise.

They pulled up to the club just before eleven. A long line of people stretched down the sidewalk--girls in short dresses and heels, guys in designer jackets trying to look important. Bass pulsed from inside the building like a heartbeat.

Leo didn't even blink. He walked straight up to the entrance, greeted the bouncer with a dap and a grin.

"Wassup, Ricky? Brought some friends tonight."

The bouncer smiled and lifted the velvet rope without hesitation. "Go ahead, boss."

James felt the eyes of people in line follow them as they walked in, the privilege of being with Leo like an invisible pass into a different reality.

Inside, the club was alive.

Deep red and blue lights painted the space in waves, shifting to the rhythm of the music. A DJ worked the booth above the dance floor, blending heavy beats with seductive vocals. The air was thick with heat, perfume, and anticipation. People moved like shadows, pressed together on the dance floor--grinding, laughing, lost in each other.

To the left was the bar, glowing with soft golden light. Bartenders in tight black shirts moved fast, pouring drinks, tossing shakers in the air, sliding cocktails down the counter. High tables surrounded the perimeter, already crowded with groups--girls in glittering outfits, guys with hungry eyes.

Leo looked around, pleased. "This is it. Let's have a night."

The three of them had claimed a high table near the edge of the dance floor. Leo, of course, was already in his element--one arm slung around a brunette in a tight champagne-colored dress who clung to him like she'd known him forever. She laughed at everything he said, fingers tracing slow circles on his chest.

Dre leaned back on his stool, drink in hand, eyes scanning the crowd with practiced ease.

James nursed a gin and tonic, eyes drifting absently over the sea of bodies moving to the music, the pulse of the bass shaking his ribs. The atmosphere was intoxicating--heat, light, energy. Still, he felt a bit like a spectator.

Until Leo turned to him with a grin.

"Alright," he said, voice raised over the music. "Let's make things interesting."

James glanced at him, wary. "What now?"

Leo nodded toward the center of the dance floor. "Red dress. Ponytail. Dancing like she owns the place."

James followed his gaze.

And there she was.

A vision in red.

The dress clung to her curves like it had been poured on. Short, tight, low-cut in the back. She moved with rhythm, confidence, hips swaying to the beat as if she had no need to impress anyone. Her hair was pulled into a high ponytail that swung with every turn of her head. Every now and then, someone tried to dance with her--but she danced alone, always in control.

"Solid ten," Leo said, sipping his drink. "No question."

"She's hot," Dre agreed.

Leo turned back to James. "You, my friend, are a seven. On a good day."

James gave him a dry look. "Thanks."

"So here's the deal." Leo leaned forward. "I bet you two hundred bucks you can't get her number."

James raised an eyebrow. "You're betting against me?"

Leo grinned. "I'm betting realistically. That girl doesn't give her number to guys like you. Not without a private jet or a six-pack you can grate cheese on."

Dre laughed, nearly spitting his drink.

James set his glass down slowly, his pride kicking in. He wasn't as smooth as Leo. He knew that. But something about the challenge stirred something in him--anger, competitiveness, maybe even desire.

"Two hundred?"

Leo extended a hand. "Two hundred."

James shook it. Firm. "You're on."

Leo's grin widened. "Shit. This is gonna be fun."

James stood up, adjusted his shirt, and took a slow breath. His heart was already racing, but he was locked in now. The music pulsed through him as he stepped down from the table and made his way toward the dance floor--eyes on the girl in red.

The closer James got, the louder the music felt--like it was pounding through his chest instead of just his ears. The red lights washed over the dance floor in soft waves, and the girl in red shimmered beneath them like she belonged to another world.

He hesitated just a second too long before stepping up to her. She noticed him, gave him a quick glance--then turned her head back, still dancing.

Smooth, he thought.

He cleared his throat and leaned in slightly, keeping a respectable distance. "Hey--uh... mind if I join?"

She didn't answer right away. Her hips kept swaying to the beat, eyes scanning the floor like she hadn't heard him. Then, finally, she turned.

She looked him over--once, quick but focused. And smiled.

"Depends," she said. "You dance?"

"Not well," James admitted with an awkward chuckle.

That made her laugh--an actual, genuine laugh. She bit her lip and tilted her head. "That's the most honest thing I've heard all night."

James relaxed a little. "Figured I'd lead with the truth. Less chance of messing it up later."

"Hmm." She stepped in closer. "Let's find out."

They started dancing--not perfectly, not in sync, but there was a rhythm forming. She moved with effortless confidence, and James... followed. He wasn't flashy, but he was present. His eyes stayed on hers. His smile was sincere. And when he accidentally stepped too close and muttered a quiet "Sorry," she just shook her head and placed her hands lightly on his shoulders.

"You're cute," she said in his ear.

They danced for two songs, maybe three--he couldn't tell anymore. The music blurred with her perfume, her laugh, the glow of her skin under the lights.

When the moment felt right, James leaned in, a little nervous, but steady. "Could I get your number?"

She pulled back slightly, studying him again--then smiled.

"Yeah," she said. "You earned it."

She pulled out her phone, tapped in her digits, and handed it to him. Pauline, it read under the contact name.

"Don't wait a week to text," she added with a wink.

"I won't," James promised.

He walked back to the table feeling weightless.

But when he got there, only Leo remained--still lounging with his girl curled up beside him. Dre was gone.

"Look at this guy," Leo grinned. "Was starting to think you moved in with her."

James just sat down and slid the phone into his pocket, trying to hide his smile.

Leo smirked. "Don't say it. I owe you two hundred."

"Dre?" James asked.

"Left with some blonde. Said not to wait."

Leo downed the rest of his drink, then leaned back with a lazy groan. "Anyway, looks like you're driving. Your boy's had a few too many."

James nodded, still catching his breath. "Yeah. I figured."

Leo tossed him the keys. "You good?"

James grinned. "I'm more than good."

The three of them stood up--Leo wrapping his arm around his girl's waist--and made their way out of the club into the crisp, neon-drenched night.

The night air was cool as they walked into the parking garage. The city still buzzed in the background, but inside the concrete shadows, everything felt quieter--darker. The SUV sat waiting, sleek and black under the flickering lights.

James climbed into the driver's seat and adjusted the mirror.

Leo opened the back door with a dramatic flourish and slid in, pulling his girl in with him. She giggled as he closed the door behind them and leaned back like he owned the world.

James started the engine. The dashboard lit up. The soft rumble of the motor was the only sound for a few seconds.

Then he heard her laugh again--low, breathy.

A whisper. A sigh.

James shifted into reverse and pulled out slowly, trying not to focus on what was happening behind him. But the soft thump of movement--the rustle of fabric--made it impossible to ignore.

"Mm... you're such a tease," the girl murmured.

James tried to keep his eyes on the road. His grip tightened on the wheel.

Then he caught a glimpse in the rearview mirror.

She was straddling Leo now, facing him, arms around his neck. Her dress was hitched up over her hips. Leo's shirt was already open.

Another breathy moan escaped her lips.

And then--James saw it.

Leo's cock.

Long. Thick. Hard.

It stood out from the shadows in flashes as the streetlights passed over them--throbbing between her thighs as she rocked against him slowly.

James's throat went dry.

He quickly looked away, heart pounding.

He could still hear everything.

The wet sound of pussy sliding over Leo's length. Her moans, getting louder. Desperate.

"Fuck, Leo... it's so big..."

James blinked hard, focusing on the road, but his mind was spiraling. The words echoed, vivid and merciless.

"Oh my god... you're stretching me so fucking good..."

Leo groaned low, dark. "You love that, huh?"

She whimpered. "Yes--yes--you're too much..."

James adjusted the mirror again by instinct, only to catch another flash--her nipples bouncing, her hips grinding, Leo gripping her ass with both hands.

It was raw. Loud. And real.

James's cock twitched in his jeans. He clenched his jaw and looked away, cheeks flushed.

The car rolled down the quiet street, shadows flickering over the dashboard. James's knuckles were white on the steering wheel, jaw clenched, trying to shut out the moans, the rhythm of the movement behind him, the sounds of Leo filling her like it was nothing.

Then Leo's voice came through--deep, lazy, knowing.

"You like what you see, bro?"

James flinched.

He didn't answer.

He couldn't.

He stared straight ahead, breathing shallowly, as the heat pooled lower in his stomach--shame and arousal twisted into something he didn't know how to name.

Leo chuckled behind him. Not mockingly--just amused. Confident. Like he already knew the answer.

The girl moaned again, louder this time. "Leo--fuck--I'm close--"

James accelerated, fingers twitching on the gearshift.

He didn't look back again.

They reached the dorm building a few minutes later. James pulled into the parking spot, killed the engine, and sat still for a second, letting the silence settle.

Behind him, he heard them adjusting their clothes--zippers pulled, fabric smoothed, breath caught.

Leo opened the door and stepped out like nothing had happened. He held the door for his girl as she slid out, legs shaky but smiling.

James climbed out and followed, eyes to the ground.

Inside the apartment, the lights were dim. The living room was quiet, scattered with empty bottles and a hoodie thrown over the couch.

The girl leaned into Leo and whispered something in his ear before disappearing into his room without a word to James.

Leo stretched his arms, still glowing with satisfaction.

Then turned to James. "Hey."

James looked up.

Leo nodded toward the couch. "Hang back a sec. Sit with me."

James hesitated. "Why?"

Leo smirked. "Just sit, man. I won't bite."

He dropped onto the couch, legs wide, relaxed, like he hadn't just fucked someone in the back seat twenty minutes ago. He tapped the cushion beside him.

James stood there for a moment, heart pounding again, unsure of what this was. Then, slowly, he stepped forward and sat down--tense, quiet, eyes locked on the floor.

Chapter 3 Uncomfortable Moment

Leo leaned back on the couch, arm draped over the top as he watched James sit stiffly beside him.

"Relax, bro," he said, voice calm. "I need a favor."

James turned to him slowly, still unsure of where this was going. "What kind of favor?"

Leo looked at him with that same smirk--the one that always meant trouble. "Just need you to help me film something. That's all."

James frowned, confused. "Film what?"

Leo didn't answer right away. He stood, stretched, then walked over to the hallway and knocked lightly on his bedroom door.

"Hey, babe," he called, "come out here a second."

James watched, brows drawn tight, curiosity rising.

From the hallway, the girl appeared again--Lila--wearing nothing but an oversized white shirt and a wicked smile. Her hair was tousled, lips still swollen, eyes glowing with mischief.

Leo turned back to James. "Take out your phone."

James hesitated. "What are we filming?"

Leo's eyes didn't waver. "Just something for us. You'll like it."

Against his better judgment, James reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and opened the camera app.

"Horizontal," Leo instructed. "Full screen. Nice and steady."

Lila walked forward slowly, sensually, until she was in frame. She looked directly into the lens with a half-smile that oozed control.

"Just tell me when," she whispered.

Leo looked at James. "Ready?"

James nodded once, slowly. "Recording."

Lila began to sway her hips to a rhythm only she could hear. She slid her hands over her waist, fingers curling beneath the hem of the shirt. Then--inch by inch--she lifted it up.

First her flat stomach.

Then her tits--bare, firm, nipples tight under the cool air.

James swallowed hard.

Lila locked eyes with the camera as she let the shirt drop behind her and stood there in nothing but a black thong, her hands trailing down her body, then up to her neck.

She turned, giving the camera a slow view of her ass, round and smooth. Then she hooked her thumbs into the waistband and slid the thong down with deliberate slowness, revealing her bare pussy glistening between her thighs.

Behind her, Leo stepped into the frame.

James's hands trembled slightly as he held the phone.

Leo peeled off his shirt, revealing his defined torso, tattoos catching the low light. His hand reached for his belt and undid it with a practiced ease, eyes never leaving Lila.

James's breath caught when Leo's cock sprang free--already hard again, heavy, almost unreal in size.

Lila dropped to her knees beside him, stroking it once, then looked back at the camera with a smirk.

James held the phone with both hands now, trying to keep it steady.

But his breathing was shaky, and his fingers trembled.

Lila was on her knees in front of Leo, her mouth just inches from his cock, which pulsed with need--thick, veined, glistening from the slow strokes she gave it with both hands. She looked up at Leo with wide, obedient eyes, waiting for permission.

Leo didn't even glance at the camera. His full attention was on her.

"Open your mouth," he said, voice low but commanding.

Lila obeyed instantly, tongue out, lips parted as if she were being fed something sacred.

Leo grabbed her by the jaw and slid the head of his cock across her tongue--slow, deliberate--then pushed it into her mouth with no hesitation.

James swallowed hard.

She gagged slightly, but didn't pull away. Her hands braced against Leo's thighs as he fed her more. His other hand tangled in her hair, holding her in place as he began to thrust into her mouth.

"Good girl," Leo muttered, his voice a growl. "Take it all. You like being used, don't you?"

Lila moaned around his length, her pussy visibly clenching between her legs. Saliva coated her chin, messy and raw, and still--she nodded.

James felt heat surge through his entire body. He didn't know if it was shame or arousal or both.

Leo pulled her off with a slick pop, strands of saliva stretching between her lips and his cock.

"Turn around."

Lila obeyed instantly, climbing onto the couch on all fours, presenting her ass--arched, glistening, perfect.

Leo didn't wait. He knelt behind her and ran two fingers between her folds. "So wet already," he murmured. "You were made for this."

Without warning, he pushed his cock inside her.

Lila cried out, her voice high and unfiltered. "Ahh--fuck!"

Leo grabbed her hips hard, driving into her with powerful, unrelenting thrusts. Each slap of skin echoed through the room.

James couldn't stop filming.

He couldn't move.

Leo's voice rang out through the sound of it all. "Tell me whose pussy this is."

"Yours--yours, Leo! Fuck--it's yours!"

James's heart was racing.

His jeans were uncomfortably tight now. His pulse thundered in his ears. And yet he stayed frozen, watching it all--watching Lila unravel, her tits bouncing with every deep stroke, her voice raw with pleasure and surrender.

Leo leaned down and bit her shoulder. "Say it louder."

"IT'S YOURS! MY ZUP IS YOURS--FUCK--DON'T STOP--PLEASE!"

James's breath caught in his throat.

It was more than just sex. It was power. Control. Obedience. And pleasure so intense it looked like pain.

Leo's thrusts grew faster, rougher, his grip tightening on Lila's hips as she gasped, her body trembling beneath him.

"I'm close," she cried out, her voice nearly broken with pleasure. "Leo--fuck--please--don't stop, I'm gonna--"

He slammed into her once--twice--then held her tight and growled, "Come for me."

And she did.

Her whole body arched, shaking as the orgasm tore through her. Her pussy clenched hard around Leo's cock, slick and pulsing. She let out a loud, desperate cry, half-moan, half-sob, collapsing forward onto the couch, hips twitching.

Leo didn't slow.

He pulled out, stroking his thick, soaked cock with fast, aggressive pumps, eyes wild with lust.

"Come here," he barked.

James barely processed what was happening when Leo guided Lila off the couch and placed her on her knees--right next to him.

James was still holding the phone.

Lila knelt beside him, breathing hard, sweat glistening on her bare chest, her face dazed from pleasure.

Leo stood in front of them, hand stroking hard, cock shiny and throbbing, veins bulging.

"Open your mouth again," he ordered.

Lila obeyed without hesitation, tongue out, lips parted, eyes half-lidded and submissive.

Leo groaned, his breathing ragged. "Fuck--I'm gonna cum--"

James stared, frozen. The phone still recording. His eyes wide.

With a deep growl, Leo pushed forward, his strokes brutal now. At the last second, he pulled back just enough, his cock erupting in thick ropes of hot cum--spilling over Lila's face, her lips, her tongue.

One stream hit her cheek, another across her Tryt.

Then--one last spurt shot higher--hitting James on the forearm.

He flinched.

Didn't move.

Leo exhaled hard, satisfied. He stepped back, wiping his hand on his thigh, looking down at both of them.

Lila licked her lips slowly, smiling through the mess, still kneeling.

James looked down at his arm. A streak of cum glistened on his skin.

The room had gone quiet, save for the hum of the air conditioning and the faint sound of Lila's breathing.

Leo grabbed a towel from the back of the couch and tossed it to her casually, already pulling his pants back on like nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.

Then he turned to James, still seated, still holding the phone, still staring blankly at his own arm where a cooling streak of cum marked his skin like a brand.

Leo smirked. "Send me the video."

James blinked. Slowly, he nodded.

"Oh--and if you wanna keep it for yourself, go ahead," Leo added, buttoning up his shirt without urgency. "No shame in having something that nice to remember."

James finally looked up at him.

Leo's tone hadn't shifted--cool, in control, like all of this was just... normal.

"You can head to bed, bro," he said, grabbing a water bottle from the table. "We're done here."

James nodded again, mechanical. "Okay."

He stood up, his legs slightly shaky, and walked back to his room, the phone still in his hand. As he closed the door behind him, the silence felt heavier than ever.

He sat on the edge of his bed, still in the same clothes, the taste of what had just happened clinging to the air.

His mind raced.

What the fuck just happened?

The images looped in his head--Lila moaning, obeying, begging. Leo commanding her without hesitation, without doubt. His presence overwhelming. His control total.

It hadn't just been sex. It had been dominance. Power. And James had seen it all up close.

And I filmed it, he thought.

He looked down at his arm again. The stain was still there, drying.

Without another word, he stood and walked to the bathroom. He turned on the sink, splashed cold water on his face, and scrubbed his arm, harder than he needed to.

Then he looked at himself in the mirror.

His eyes were different.

Like something had shifted.

Something that wasn't going back.

He dried himself slowly, his heartbeat still distant but present, and walked back to his room. As he slid under the covers, he stared at the ceiling in the dark, the glow of his phone still lighting up next to him.

Chapter 4 Football Game Night

The next day passed in an eerie kind of normal.

Leo acted like nothing had happened the night before. He lounged around the apartment, shirtless as usual, making coffee, texting, watching highlights on the TV like it was any other Thursday morning.

James didn't say a word.

And Leo didn't ask.

It was a silent agreement. A compartmentalization of reality that Leo had clearly mastered--and James was quickly learning.

By late afternoon, James was walking back from practice, sweat drying on his skin, earbuds in. His legs ached, his mind felt dull. But when he unlocked his phone, he saw the message he'd been sitting on since the night at the club.

He tapped open the contact: Pauline.

His thumbs hovered over the keyboard for a second... then started typing.

Hey, it was great meeting you the other night.

Would you want to grab dinner sometime this week?

He stared at it. Then hit send.

It didn't take long.

I was hoping you'd text.

Tonight?

He smiled, a little spark of warmth threading through the fatigue in his body.

Tonight sounds perfect.

That evening, they met just off campus, at a little Italian place with outdoor seating and string lights hanging above the patio. Pauline wore jeans and a soft off-the-shoulder top that made her eyes look impossibly blue under the amber lighting. She looked relaxed, confident, and somehow more radiant than she had on the dance floor.

Conversation came easily.

They joked about the club. About college. About awkward first-year dorm situations. James told her a story about a kicker who passed out mid-field. She laughed so hard she snorted, and he felt something loosen in his chest.

Pauline was smart, curious, and sharp with her words--but never sharp toward him. She asked questions. She actually listened. And when she talked about music and books, her hands moved like she was painting the air.

It was easy to be himself.

Too easy.

They finished dessert slowly, neither of them ready to leave just yet.

As they walked outside, the night air crisp against their skin, James paused and turned to her.

"So... we've got a game this Friday," he said, hands in his pockets. "It's kind of a big one."

Pauline tilted her head, smiling. "Is that your way of inviting me?"

He grinned. "Yeah. I guess it is."

She leaned in, just a little. "I'd love to come. Where do I sit to cheer the kicker?"

"Anywhere," he said. "Just yell my name when we score."

"I'll yell it even if you miss."

He laughed, and for the first time in days, it didn't feel forced.

Friday night came fast.

The stadium lights flooded the field like daylight, casting sharp shadows against the packed bleachers. The crowd buzzed with noise--horns, chants, the deep thud of the marching band's drums.

Up in the stands, Pauline stood out.

She was wearing a cropped hoodie in school colors, denim shorts, and a playful smirk that came naturally whenever she leaned in to whisper something to her two friends. One of them waved a small handmade sign that said "Kickers Matter" with a badly drawn football under it.

Pauline laughed every time she saw it.

Her eyes kept drifting down to the field, searching for #9.

James.

He looked focused, helmet under one arm, pacing the sideline while the game clock ticked down. His jersey clung to his body with sweat and tension, but he looked solid--centered.

The game was tight. Brutal. The score was tied, and the last quarter had turned into a war zone of tackles, incomplete passes, and adrenaline.

Then--seconds on the clock.

Last drive.

The team couldn't make the touchdown.

They were down to one option.

James stepped onto the field.

The stadium held its breath.

From the stands, Pauline's voice rang out clearly.

"COME ON, JAMES!"

He heard it. He felt it.

It cut through the noise like a lifeline.

The snap came fast.

James stepped, planted, swung--

The ball flew clean, perfect.

Straight through the uprights.

Three points.

Final whistle.

The crowd exploded.

James stood there, blinking in disbelief as his teammates swarmed him. They tackled him in a dog pile of helmets and joy, screaming, hitting his pads, lifting him off the ground.

Up in the bleachers, Pauline jumped with her friends, yelling, clapping, her cheeks flushed with excitement. Her eyes locked on James as he broke free from the crowd and turned toward the stands--searching for her.

He found her.

Just for a second.

That was all it took.

Later that night, as the crowd died down and the stadium lights dimmed, James spotted her waiting by the fence near the players' exit.

He still had his helmet in his hands, hair matted with sweat, but the second he saw her, he smiled wide.

"You were loud," he said, walking up to her.

"You were clutch," she replied, stepping in close. "Nice kick."

"Thanks."

A beat passed between them, the air still humming.

"There's a party tonight," he said. "Frat house. Kind of a celebration thing."

She raised an eyebrow. "You inviting me?"

"I'm not letting you leave without saying yes."

She looked over her shoulder at her friends, who were already grinning like they'd heard everything. Then she turned back to James.

"I'm in. Let's celebrate."

James parked the sleek black SUV in front of a tidy, well-lit suburban home just outside campus. The engine purred as he double-checked himself in the mirror--clean shirt, light cologne, hair slightly messy in a good way. He took a deep breath, then stepped out and walked to the door, heart thumping harder than it had even during the game.

Before he could knock, the door opened.

A tall man stood in the entryway--gray at the temples, sharp eyes, and a firm posture that suggested he knew how to keep his daughter in check.

"James, right?" the man asked.

"Yes, sir," James said quickly, extending a hand. "Nice to meet you."

The handshake was firm. Not aggressive, but evaluating.

"She'll be down in a second," the father said, stepping back and giving James a once-over. "Congrats on the win."

"Thank you," James replied, feeling the weight of the man's gaze as he stood awkwardly in the doorway.

Then--

Footsteps.

She came down the stairs with a slow grace that made time feel like it was stalling.

Pauline.

And James forgot how to breathe.

Her long blonde hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders, catching the light like silk. Her eyes were crystal blue--piercing but soft, playful beneath perfectly lined lashes.

She wore a snug white mini skirt that hugged her hips like a second skin, just short enough to show off her toned, golden legs, and beneath the hem, the curve of her ass shifted subtly with each step. Her top was a cropped champagne-colored cami--barely containing her small but perfectly shaped tits, with delicate straps slipping slightly off one shoulder. She wore light makeup and a nude gloss on her lips that made them look impossibly kissable.

James blinked, trying to play it cool, but failed completely.

"Ready?" she asked, her voice light and teasing.

"Y-Yeah," he managed, stepping aside to let her out.

She gave her dad a quick cheek kiss. "Don't wait up."

Her father shot James a look that said everything he didn't need to say. Behave.

"Yes, sir," James nodded again, then led Pauline down the walkway toward the SUV.

"Nice ride," she said, eyeing the vehicle.

"Leo's," James admitted. "Thought I'd borrow a little style for the night."

Pauline smiled as he opened the door for her.

"Smart move."

She slid into the passenger seat, her skirt riding up just a bit more as she crossed her legs, revealing a little more of those smooth thighs.

James shut the door, walked around, and climbed in beside her.

As he started the engine and pulled away from the curb, he could feel the heat radiating between them--even though neither of them had said a word about it yet.

The SUV rolled smoothly through the city streets, windows slightly cracked to let in the cool night air. Inside, soft music played from Leo's perfectly curated playlist--deep bass, slow rhythm, a seductive undertone.

Pauline glanced over at James as he drove, one hand resting confidently on the wheel, the other draped casually over his lap. She crossed her legs again, slowly, making sure the movement wasn't missed.

"You're surprisingly quiet for someone who just won a game," she teased.

James smirked, eyes on the road. "I think I used up all my adrenaline. That kick took everything I had."

"You didn't look nervous."

"I was. Until I heard you scream my name."

She laughed. "That sounds like something I'd say after a few drinks."

"Then I'll pretend you meant it that way."

Pauline turned to look at him fully, her expression softening. "I'm glad you invited me."

"I'm glad you said yes."

They drove in silence for a moment--not uncomfortable, but charged. The kind of silence where every unspoken thought feels louder than words.

Then James spoke again, quieter this time. "You look... amazing tonight, by the way."

Pauline smiled, not flattered--pleased. "I know."

They pulled up outside the frat house just after 10 p. m.

The street was lined with parked cars and clusters of students already buzzing with energy. Music thumped from inside--bass-heavy and pulsing. Red solo cups were everywhere, and someone had strung fairy lights across the trees in the front yard, giving the whole place a hazy, dreamlike glow.

The house itself was massive--old, stone, a little run-down in that charming, college-party-legend kind of way. Windows were open, laughter spilled from the balconies, and the front porch was already full of people dancing, drinking, and talking too loudly over the music.

As they walked up the front steps, James gently placed his hand on Pauline's lower back, guiding her through the crowd. Her body leaned just slightly into his touch.

Inside, the place was alive.

The living room had been cleared out for dancing--lights dimmed, walls vibrating with the sound. A bar setup had taken over the dining area: cheap vodka, mixers, and a keg already halfway gone. Upstairs, people shouted over the railing. In the kitchen, bodies were pressed against counters, backs against fridges, already lost in the haze.

A guy with glow-in-the-dark body paint offered them jello shots.

Pauline raised an eyebrow. "This is... something."

James leaned in, speaking close to her ear over the music. "It's chaos. But it's fun once you find a spot to breathe."

As James and Pauline made their way through the crowded house, the energy around them shifted.

People turned. Faces lit up.

"Yo! James! That kick was insane, bro!"

"Clutch as fuck, man! You won that shit!"

"Hell yeah, #9!"

James nodded, grinned, bumped fists and took handshakes left and right. He wasn't the loudest guy in the room, but tonight, he was undeniably the most respected.

Pauline walked beside him, smiling, and quickly became the other thing everyone noticed.

"Damn," someone whispered. "Who's the girl?"

"That skirt though..."

"Ten outta ten."

She felt it too--those glances, the head-turns, the low murmurs as they passed. And she didn't shy away. She walked with confidence, hips swaying just enough, that white mini skirt clinging to her like it was part of her skin. She reached for James's hand, intertwining fingers as they passed a group of frat guys watching her too long.

James held her hand tighter.

Then--

"Heyyy!" came a familiar voice from the corner near the pong tables.

Leo.

He stood next to Jen, a tall brunette with smoky eyes and a dangerous laugh. Both of them were holding red cups, and Leo had a half-drunken smirk on his face, already glowing with victory and alcohol.

"Well, well, well," Leo grinned. "Look at the MVP. And who's this?"

James stepped forward. "Leo, this is Pauline. Pauline, Leo."

Leo extended his hand, but instead of shaking, he brought it up gently to Pauline's fingers and kissed the top with a dramatic flair. "A pleasure."

Pauline raised an eyebrow. "Smooth."

"I try."

James rolled his eyes. "He doesn't try. He is like this all the time."

Leo turned his attention back to her, eyes drifting--clearly appreciating every inch. "You wore that for him?" He grinned. "Or just to see if the rest of us could handle it?"

Pauline smirked. "Maybe both."

James cleared his throat. "Alright, Romeo."

Jen laughed. "Game time?"

"Let's go," Leo said, already walking toward the table. "Jen and I vs. the lovebirds. What do you say?"

Pauline looked at James. "You any good at beer pong?"

James smiled. "Let's find out."

The pong table was set in the center of what used to be the frat house's dining room, now converted into a chaos zone of drinking games, chants, and half-empty kegs. A crowd had formed around them, cups stacked, music pulsing in the background.

Ten red cups in triangle formation. One ping pong ball.

Let the games begin.

Leo and Jen stood at one end, smug and cocky. James and Pauline took the other, backs straight, cups in hand.

James hit the first shot clean.

The crowd let out a cheer.

"Alright, alright," Leo muttered, retrieving the ball. "Let's see how the lady does."

Pauline stepped up, focused, tongue between her teeth. She bounced once. Twice.

Then launched the ball... way too hard.

It flew over the table and bounced off someone's shoulder.

The group around them laughed, not meanly, just amused. Pauline blushed hard and covered her face. "Wow. That was... embarrassing."

Leo chuckled and stepped toward her. "No, no, no. See, this is a form problem."

She turned to him, still laughing, cheeks red.

"Let me help," he said.

And before James could say a word, Leo moved in--right behind her.

His hands lightly touched her arms, guiding them up. His chest pressed gently against her back. He leaned in close, his breath warm near her ear.

"Relax your wrist," he murmured. "You're tense."

Pauline swallowed hard. She froze for a second, then giggled nervously. "I wonder why."

James stood still on the other side of the table, jaw tight, watching.

Leo positioned her again, still holding her lightly, then helped her release the ball.

It missed.

But no one cared.

The crowd just laughed, and Leo stepped back with a wink. "Much better."

Pauline gave James a quick, apologetic smile, as if to say don't make it a thing.

He forced a small grin. "We'll get the next one."

The game continued--shots fired, cups downed, tension mounting with every round. James nailed another. Jen answered with a perfect bounce. Pauline made one, finally, and James gave her a soft high-five.

But Leo was relentless.

Final cup.

He leaned back, took the shot casually, and the ball landed dead center.

Game.

"Let's goooo!" Leo shouted, lifting his cup like a trophy. Jen laughed and leaned into him.

James exhaled, wiping his hands on his jeans.

Pauline gave him a playful nudge. "We tried."

"You were great," he said, meaning it.

The music, the lights, the noise of cups clinking and laughter--it was starting to feel like too much.

James could tell. Pauline was holding her poise, her smile, but there was a shift in her eyes every time someone looked too long. Every time Leo's flirtation lingered a little too close. And James felt it too--the tension, the pull, the sense that if he didn't do something, the moment would pass him by.

He leaned in, close to her ear.

"Want some air?"

Pauline met his eyes, and her nod was immediate. "Yeah. Definitely."

Without letting go of her hand, James guided her through the crowd, down a dim hallway, past half-open doors, until they found one that was quiet--an empty bedroom near the back of the house. Only the soft orange glow of a streetlight filtered through the window, casting shadows across the floor.

She stepped in first and let out a breath. "Thank you. It was getting kind of intense out there."

"Yeah," James said, closing the door gently behind them. "Too many eyes."

Pauline leaned against the wall, letting her fingers trail lightly down the side of her skirt. The fabric clung to her thighs with every subtle shift. James stepped in closer. Not touching her--yet--but close enough that he could feel the heat coming off her skin.

She looked up at him.

His heart pounded in his chest.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked, voice low, quiet.

Pauline didn't answer with words.

Instead, she pushed up on her toes and kissed him first.

It started soft--warm and testing--but quickly deepened into something needier. James's hands slid around her waist, pulling her body into his, and she melted into the contact. Their lips moved in sync, mouths opening, breath mingling. Pauline let out the faintest moan as her hand moved up to the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair.

The world fell away for a moment.

When they finally parted, both of them were breathless. Their foreheads touched gently in the silence.

"I've been wanting to do that since the club," James whispered.

Pauline smiled against him. "I was wondering if you ever would."

Her phone buzzed softly.

She glanced at the screen and sighed. "My dad just texted. He's still up."

James nodded, trying to calm the fire still burning in his chest.

"Alright. Let's get you home."

The SUV glided through quiet streets, streetlights casting warm flashes across the dashboard. The party was behind them now, but the energy lingered--thick between them.

Pauline sat with one leg folded over the other, her head tilted slightly toward the window, lips still parted from the kiss they'd shared earlier. Her fingers traced the edge of her white mini skirt absentmindedly, like she was daring it to ride up just a little more.

James, eyes on the road, stole glances every time he could.

Her legs.

Her scent.

The way her body shifted in her seat like she was restless--with heat, with need.

Pauline turned to him, catching his stare.

"You always get this quiet after kissing a girl?" she teased, her voice low.

James gave a crooked smile. "Not always."

"But with me, yeah?"

He chuckled softly. "You're a little... distracting."

She smirked. "Good."

There was a pause. Then her voice dropped into something darker.

"Do you want to touch me, James?"

His jaw tensed. His breath hitched.

"What?"

She didn't wait for him to ask twice.

She took his hand--firm, warm--and guided it to her thigh. Her skin was soft and tense under his fingertips. She held it there for a second, her eyes locked on his face.

Then she spread her legs slightly and slipped his hand higher, over her inner thigh, under the hem of her skirt.

His hand found her panties.

They were thin. Soft. Already damp.

James's heart kicked into his throat as he cupped her gently, fingers pressing against the warm, soaked fabric.

"Keep your eyes on the road," she whispered, smiling as her head leaned back against the seat.

He obeyed--barely.

His fingers moved in slow circles over her pussy through the panties, feeling the heat of her swelling under his touch. Pauline's breath deepened immediately, her legs parting just a little more.

"Right there... don't stop..."

He slid his fingers under the edge of the fabric, pressing directly against her now--slick, swollen, soaking. His fingertips explored her folds slowly, then circled her clit with light, teasing pressure.

She gasped.

James felt her twitch and grind against his hand as he slipped one finger inside, her panties pushed aside, her hips lifting to meet him.

"Fuck... James..."

The light turned red.

He took a second to look at her.

Head tilted back.

tits rising and falling.

Panties pulled aside, his fingers buried in her.

She looked wrecked--and stunning.

He added a second finger, curling just right. His thumb stayed at her clit, rubbing harder now, faster.

Her whole body trembled.

"I'm close..."

"Come for me."

And she did.

Her legs tensed. Her breath caught in her throat. Then a sharp cry slipped past her lips as her pussy clenched hard around his fingers and a wave of wet heat coated his hand.

He slowed his pace, gently easing her down as the light turned green.

Pauline pulled her panties back into place with shaky fingers, breathing fast, cheeks flushed.

She looked over at him with a satisfied, dreamy smile.

"Well," she whispered, "you're not as shy as I thought."

James grinned, fingers still tingling from her.

And drove on.

The SUV pulled up slowly in front of Pauline's house. The porch light was on, casting a soft yellow glow across the driveway. James shifted into park and turned off the engine, but neither of them moved at first.

Pauline looked over, her cheeks still faintly flushed, lips swollen, her breathing mostly recovered--but her eyes said it all.

She leaned in and kissed him softly, once more. This time slower, sweeter. Like a thank you.

"Good night," she murmured.

"Good luck falling asleep," he replied with a grin.

Pauline opened the door and stepped out, smoothing down her skirt with a soft laugh.

Just as James was about to get out and walk her to the door, headlights appeared behind them.

Another car pulled up in the driveway. Loud pop music spilled from the open windows.

Out stepped Gretta.

She slammed the door shut and strutted toward the house like she owned the world. Barely eighteen and glowing with that careless confidence that made heads turn before she even said a word.

Her long hair was platinum blonde, lighter than Pauline's, falling in beachy waves past her shoulders. She wore a cropped black tank top that clung to her small, round tits, no bra in sight. Her skirt was red--short. Tight. Dangerously high, especially when paired with platform heels and the way her hips moved.

She looked like trouble.

And she saw James immediately.

"Ohhh," she said with a playful smirk, eyes flicking between him and her sister. "This the famous kicker?"

Pauline rolled her eyes. "James, this is Gretta. My younger sister."

James stepped out and offered a polite smile. "Hi. Nice to meet you."

Gretta didn't shake his hand. She just looked him over--blatantly--and bit her lip. "Likewise."

Pauline gave her a subtle elbow. "He's dropping me off. Chill."

"I am chilled," Gretta grinned, turning and walking toward the front door with a sway in her ass that didn't seem accidental. "Nice ride, by the way."

James tried not to react, keeping his gaze on Pauline.

She leaned in again, more quietly this time. "Ignore her. She's always like that."

He nodded, still a little thrown. "Got it."

They reached the porch, and James lingered for just a second longer.

"Thanks for tonight," he said.

Pauline smiled warmly. "You made it unforgettable."

They shared one last glance before she stepped inside, and James walked back to the SUV.

Chapter 5 Bet and Bad Date

Time had moved quickly.

James was now in his final year of college. Football was no longer part of the picture--he'd stepped away at the beginning of the semester, giving up his spot on the team to focus on finishing his degree and keeping up with his part-time job. Rent, bills, gas--reality had arrived early, and he'd met it head-on.

His relationship with Pauline had grown steady. Real. They'd made it through the messy middle: late-night fights, weekend getaways, awkward family dinners. James had met her parents more than once. They liked him--especially her mother, who always served too much food and asked about his studies like it was a job interview.

And then... there was Gretta.

Gretta had grown even more striking over the last year--now nineteen, confident, unapologetically flirtatious. Every time James was at their house, she made it her personal mission to make him squirm: brushing against him in the hallway, exaggerated stretching at the breakfast table, little winks when no one else was looking.

Pauline always laughed it off. "She's just like that," she'd say.

That night, the dorm felt familiar again--just James and Leo, beers open, controllers in hand, FIFA on the screen. For a moment, it felt like the old days.

"You've lost your touch," Leo said, scoring his third goal and tossing his head back. "This is too easy."

James shook his head, chuckling. "I'm tired. I worked a double today."

"Excuses."

Leo paused the game and stretched. "Tell you what--let's make it interesting."

James looked over, skeptical. "How interesting?"

Leo grinned. "You win, I give you 300 bucks. No catch."

James raised an eyebrow. "And if you win?"

"You invite Pauline and one of her friends over. Just a casual night--cards, drinks. Nothing wild. Just a game."

James leaned back slowly, chewing on the idea. It sounded simple. Too simple.

But it was easy money.

Still, something in his gut twisted. The idea of Leo around Pauline again--alone, even in the same room--made his stomach tighten. He didn't forget how Leo had looked at her that night at the party. Or how close he'd gotten.

James narrowed his eyes. "Cards?"

"Cards," Leo repeated. "You, me, her, and whoever she brings. We drink, play some poker. That's it."

James hesitated.

Three hundred was a lot right now. Rent was coming. Gas. Groceries.

He sighed, then nodded. "Alright. You're on."

Leo smirked. "Atta boy."

The game was tight.

James had come back strong after Leo's third goal, scoring two of his own in rapid succession. The room was filled with shouts, taunts, and the aggressive tapping of controllers. With only a few in-game minutes left, James managed a final goal off a clean counter--3-3.

Leo just laughed. "You got lucky."

"No," James shot back. "I got focused."

They hit extra time. Still no winner.

Penalties.

Both of them leaned in, tension thick in the room. No words now--just concentration, breath, nerves.

And then, it happened.

James missed his last shot.

Leo didn't.

The final whistle blew on the screen. Leo threw his hands up like he'd just won a championship. "LET'S GO!"

James groaned and leaned back. "Fuck."

Leo was already standing. "Friday, yeah?"

James hesitated. "I mean... I don't know if--"

"A bet's a bet," Leo interrupted, grinning. "Besides, I'll behave. Pinky swear."

James gave him a deadpan look. "You've never behaved."

Leo laughed. "But I make things interesting. That counts for something."

James sighed. "Fine. Friday."

Leo raised his beer. "To poker night."

Later that evening, James pulled up outside Pauline's house. He knocked on the door, and she opened it wearing one of his hoodies and a messy bun--still managing to look effortlessly perfect.

"Hey, you," she said, leaning in for a kiss.

James stepped inside, took a breath, and rubbed the back of his neck. "So... I kinda lost a bet."

She raised an eyebrow. "With Leo?"

He nodded.

"And now what? You owe him your soul?"

"Worse," James said. "I owe him a poker night. He wants you to come. And bring a friend."

Pauline's eyes lit up. "Wait. A game night?"

"Yeah. Cards. Drinks. Nothing crazy."

"God, that actually sounds fun."

James blinked. "Seriously?"

"Yeah! We haven't done something like that in forever. And Leo's fun--when he's not trying to corrupt the world."

James gave her a look. "Which is always."

Pauline laughed and reached for her phone. "I'll text Gaby. She owes me a girls' night anyway."

As she typed, James sat on the edge of the couch, watching her with a strange mix of amusement and unease.

She was genuinely excited.

And the pieces were falling into place.

Friday evening, 6:45 PM

Leo was already moving like he was hosting a party for ten.

The dorm was unusually clean. He'd lit a couple of scented candles he never admitted to owning, set out a deck of worn poker cards on the kitchen island, and laid out chips and shot glasses like trophies.

On the stove, a large glass dispenser chilled a bright red liquid--sweet, dangerously smooth. He stirred it lazily with a wooden spoon, then poured himself a small cup and sipped.

"Perfect," he muttered. The mix was strong--vodka, white rum, Rolly Ranger, citrus soda, and some mystery syrup he'd picked up from a sketchy store near campus. It tasted like candy.

It was lethal.

He poured more into a pitcher, added ice, and smirked at his own handiwork. "They won't taste a thing."

Across town, Pauline stood in her room, adjusting her skirt in the mirror when her phone buzzed.

Gaby:

I'm so sorry babe. Can't make it. Family emergency. Raincheck? ????

Pauline frowned.

"Ugh."

From the hallway, Gretta's voice came in. "What's wrong?"

"Gaby bailed. She was supposed to come with me to James's dorm. Poker night with Leo."

Gretta paused in the doorway, already dressed in a tiny pleated skirt and a snug crop top that left nothing to the imagination.

"I'll go."

Pauline looked at her through the mirror. "No."

"Why not?"

"You know why."

Gretta tilted her head, stepping into the room. "You need a fourth, right? Unless you wanna leave Leo all over you all night."

Pauline crossed her arms. "You really think it's a good idea?"

Gretta shrugged. "It's cards. It's drinks. And Leo's hot. You trust me, right?"

Pauline sighed. "That's not the issue."

Still... the plan was made. The night was set. And Leo wouldn't take kindly to a cancellation.

She gave in. "Fine. But behave."

Gretta winked. "I always do."

At 7:30, James pulled up in the SUV, expecting to see Pauline and Gaby waiting out front.

Instead, Pauline walked out first, followed by Gretta, already talking and laughing like she'd been part of the plan all along.

Both wore short skirts, legs glowing under the soft porch light. Pauline's top was a fitted off-shoulder piece in dark blue. Gretta's was tighter, cropped just above her tits, white and ribbed, no bra in sight.

James stepped out of the car and raised a brow. "Hey... where's Gaby?"

Pauline walked up with a slightly forced smile. "She couldn't make it. Gretta's coming instead."

James froze a second.

Gretta grinned at him. "You're not disappointed, are you?"

He opened the door for them, jaw tight. "No. Just... surprised."

The two climbed in, skirts sliding over the seat leather. James walked around slowly, head spinning slightly.

The door to the dorm swung open.

James stepped in first, followed by Pauline and Gretta. The moment they crossed the threshold, Leo--standing near the kitchen counter, drink in hand--froze mid-sip.

His eyes locked on Gretta.

Then he grinned, slow and wide, like a wolf spotting a deer that wanted to be chased.

"Well, fuck me running," he muttered, setting down his cup. "I didn't know Pauline came with a deluxe version."

Pauline shot him a glare. "Leo..."

Gretta just smirked. "Relax, sis. He's just being friendly."

Leo stepped forward, wiping his hands on his jeans as he looked her up and down--not even subtle about it. "You didn't tell me you had a sister."

James tensed.

Gretta extended her hand with a wink. "Gretta. Unfiltered and nineteen."

Leo took it, holding it a beat too long. "You don't say."

Pauline rolled her eyes and made a beeline for the table. "Can we just play?"

Leo gestured toward the setup. "Of course. Cards, drinks, bad decisions. All ready."

On the table sat the deck, shot glasses, bowls of chips, and the big dispenser of red punch--glowing like temptation under the kitchen lights.

James leaned in to Pauline. "He made some mix. Says it doesn't taste strong."

Gretta had already poured herself a cup. She took a sip, then widened her eyes.

"Holy shit. This tastes like Kool-Aid."

Leo raised his cup. "And hits like a truck."

Pauline took a cup but sipped carefully. "We're not getting wasted, right?"

Leo held up two fingers. "Two drinks max. Just loosening up the mood."

James sat beside Pauline. Gretta took the seat across from Leo, crossing her legs deliberately slow. Leo watched every movement, clearly enjoying the view.

He dealt the cards casually. "Alright. Let's play."

Pauline looked across the table at her sister and Leo, already picking up on the energy between them.

She leaned toward James and whispered, "This was a terrible idea."

James stared at his cards.

"You have no idea."

The game started innocent enough--classic poker rules, playful teasing, light music in the background.

Each player had their drink within reach, and the red punch was disappearing faster than anyone realized.

Leo leaned back in his chair, eyeing the table like a predator who'd already picked his target. Across from him, Gretta was fully engaged--biting her lip every time she looked at her cards, laughing loud, her legs casually brushing his under the table like she didn't even notice.

She noticed.

Pauline sat next to James, sipping her drink slowly, body slightly leaned into his as if grounding herself. Her smile was real, but tense. She kept glancing toward her sister and Leo, jaw tightening a little more each time they exchanged those glances.

James could feel it too.

The balance was shifting.

"Alright," Leo said, shuffling. "Let's spice it up. Loser of each round takes a drink."

"And if someone folds?" Pauline asked.

"Still drinks," Leo grinned. "No cowards allowed."

Gretta raised her cup. "Deal."

They played.

Gretta lost the first hand. She didn't flinch--just downed a third of her drink in one go.

Next round, James lost.

He took a sip, already feeling the heat rise in his chest. The punch was deceptively smooth--Leo really knew what he was doing.

By the fourth round, laughter was louder, jokes bolder.

Then Leo added: "New rule. Whoever loses the next hand answers a truth or does a dare--dealer's choice."

James looked at Pauline. "You okay with that?"

She hesitated.

Then nodded, but low. "One or two rounds."

Pauline lost the next hand.

Leo leaned in, grinning. "Truth or dare, princess?"

Pauline narrowed her eyes. "Truth."

Leo looked thoughtful. "Okay. What's the kinkiest thing you've done with James?"

She laughed in shock. "Leo!"

Gretta chimed in. "Oh come on. That's not even that bad."

Pauline blushed hard and took a slow sip instead of answering. "Drink instead," she muttered.

"Lame," Leo smirked, but let it slide.

Next hand: Gretta lost.

Leo didn't even hesitate. "Truth or dare?"

"Dare."

Leo's grin widened.

"I dare you to sit on James's lap for the next round."

The room froze for a second.

James blinked.

Pauline sat up straighter. "Leo..."

"Too far?" he said innocently. "Alright, she can choose someone else--"

Gretta stood without blinking and walked around the table.

She didn't even ask. She simply slid onto James's lap, light as air, her bare thigh brushing his jeans, the scent of her perfume wrapping around him instantly.

"I mean," she said, settling in, "a dare's a dare."

James tensed.

Pauline's eyes locked on her sister, a mix of disbelief and thinly veiled irritation flashing through her.

Leo just raised his glass and winked. "Now this is getting fun."

Gretta sat perched on James's lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Her skirt had ridden up just enough to make contact--bare thigh against denim--her body warm, soft, and uncomfortably close. She leaned back slightly, resting her elbow on James's shoulder, her head tilted with mock innocence.

"You okay there?" she whispered, low enough that only he could hear.

James swallowed, his hands hovering awkwardly in the air. He didn't dare touch her. Not anywhere.

Pauline stared from across the table, her jaw clenched, her drink untouched now. Her eyes flicked from Gretta's bare leg to James's hands, to the smug look on Leo's face.

Leo, of course, was thriving.

He shuffled the cards like a dealer in a casino, confidence dripping from every movement.

"Next round," he said. "And let's raise the stakes."

James opened his mouth to protest, but Gretta shifted in his lap--grinding just slightly, like she was adjusting--and the words died in his throat.

"Loser drinks and removes a piece of clothing," Leo grinned.

"Nope," Pauline said immediately. "That's enough."

Leo glanced up, pretending to be surprised. "What? It's just a game."

Pauline stood. Her voice was steady, but her eyes were blazing. "It's not a game when you're doing everything you can to push it somewhere else."

Leo raised his eyebrows. "It's not my fault your sister's the fun one."

Pauline's jaw tightened. "Get off him, Gretta."

Gretta slowly stood, brushing her skirt back down. "Relax. We were just playing."

Pauline looked at James now.

He stood too. "Pauline--"

"I'm fine," she said, voice calm but cold. "But I'm not staying."

James looked around the room. The air had turned heavy.

He didn't want this to explode--but he knew this had already gone too far.

"I'll drive you," he said softly.

Pauline didn't answer. She just walked to the door, heels echoing with each step.

Gretta rolled her eyes. "God, you're so dramatic."

Leo leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. "Shame. It was just getting good."

James followed Pauline, silent.

The atmosphere inside the SUV was heavy.

Not a word had been spoken as the doors slammed shut.

Pauline climbed into the front passenger seat, arms crossed, eyes fixed straight ahead. James slid into the driver's seat, stomach tight, fingers twitching slightly as he gripped the gear shift.

In the backseat, Gretta settled in like nothing had happened, popping a piece of gum into her mouth with a cheerful little snap.

"Well that escalated," she said, smirking. "You guys are so sensitive."

James didn't say anything.

He started the engine. The silence pressed down on them like static.

"Pauline..." he said after a moment. "I didn't ask her to sit on me."

"You didn't stop her either."

There it was.

"I didn't want to make a scene," he added carefully.

Pauline turned her head slowly toward him, eyes sharp. "Really? Because watching your girlfriend's little sister sit on your lap while your roommate cracks strip-poker jokes doesn't exactly scream discretion."

James clenched his jaw. "It wasn't like that. I was uncomfortable the entire time. You saw me."

"Did I?"

From the backseat, Gretta sighed dramatically. "God, it was just a game. You're acting like I gave him a lap dance to Marvin Gaye."

Pauline twisted in her seat to look at her. "You knew exactly what you were doing."

Gretta shrugged. "Please. If it had been Gaby, no one would've blinked."

"She's not Gaby," Pauline snapped. "She's my sister. And you crossed a line."

Gretta leaned forward between the seats, resting her chin on the headrest. "You're just mad I looked good doing it."

James gripped the steering wheel tighter, knuckles pale.

"Enough," he muttered. "Let's just get home."

The rest of the drive passed in tense, loaded silence--broken only by the distant hum of the tires and the soft buzz of the radio that no one was really hearing.

When they pulled up to the house, Pauline got out first, slamming the door harder than necessary. She didn't look back.

Gretta stepped out a beat later, smoothing her skirt like she had all the time in the world. She leaned into the open window.

"Thanks for the ride," she said sweetly, popping her gum again. "Fun night."

She winked, then turned and followed her sister inside.

James stayed there for a while, engine off, hands still on the wheel.

Silent.

Staring out at the quiet street, wondering how the hell everything had gone so sideways