"Bro, I’m telling you. Like, not even exaggerating, this girl sucks my dick like my balls are holding her family hostage,” Dave was saying, sprawled out over one half of the couch, red solo cup balanced in his fingers with the casual expertise of someone who'd been perfecting this pose since freshman year. The living room had that particular aromatic bouquet of weed and spilled beer that serves as the unofficial cologne of American higher education. Dave couldn’t even smell it anymore, he’d gone nose-blind to it, it was just there, ambient.

The lights were dimmed to that perfect level where everyone looks mysteriously attractive and your judgment gets correspondingly mysterious as well. Someone had plugged in Dave’s iPod and the music was loud. The kind of loud that got the cops called, but the cops had better things to do than bust up a party like this most nights, so the party went on. It was some pop shit girls liked, Dave couldn’t even tell you what, probably something about heartbreak or dancing or heartbreak while dancing. He'd figured out something that should probably be studied by anthropologists: if you let girls control the music at your parties, they get exponentially more drunk when their songs come on. It was like Pavlovian conditioning, but for sorority girls and Top 40 hits. They'd shriek "It's our fucking song bitch!” and immediately start downing about 150% more alcohol. If Dave applied even half this strategic thinking to his actual studies, he'd probably cure cancer. Instead, he used it to get girls naked in his pool

Masen snorted, He was slumped on the floor with a beer between his thighs, looking like he'd given up on standing upright about three drinks ago "Wait, is this the barista girl or the cater waiter?”

Dave, the little shit, grinned. "Same girl. I got no idea where she works man I just call her that. That shit is cute, like lemme see that ass sticking out the back of an apron, damn” He held his cup out for Leo to splash more vodka in it. "She seriously came so hard last week she got a nose bleed like swear to GOD I’m not lying bro”

Dominic, leaning against the wall with his hood up, just gave a low laugh, the kind that meant he was picturing it. You could tell he was probably scrolling through his mental catalog of collected photos, trying to place her face. Or other parts. Dave couldn't give less of a shit about Dominic's digital archive. He wasn't a nudes guy. Or really, he wasn't a tech guy. Dom had tried to tell him once about how to get the pictures off the digital camera and onto the computer and he almost fucking died he was so bored before Dom was even halfway through the word 'digital'.

Leo turned his cup upside down. Empty. For now. "What’s that pussy like, though?"

Dave’s grin turned lazy. “It’s Fuckin’ insane. Like it’s so fuckin...soft and hot God damn” He tilted his head back, remembering, letting his voice go all wistful and philosophical, like he like he was about to give a speech at his fiftieth anniversary party. "She gets so wet, man, I swear I had to go to the doctor and get my shit checked out make sure I wasn’t leaking. I nutted in her and it was like dropping Pop Rocks into a Coke bottle. Like it just gushed around me. You could hear it."

Masen howled. "Bro!"

"Nah, for real." Dave gestured vaguely toward the stairs. "Changed the fucking sheets after. Could’ve wrung ‘em out. My dick was so fucking happy bro it was crying like a bitch at a wedding.”

Dominic smirked without looking up from his phone. "You’re disgusting," and then with that deadpan calm of his. "You keepin' her on payroll or what?"

Dave busted out laughing and tipped his cup toward him, pointing with it and sloshing som liquid onto the already sticky floor. "Bro, I pay her tuition. That pussy comes with a receipt."

Leo let out this weird laugh-snort thing and pushed himself off the wall, his empty cup dangling from his fingers as he positioned himself by the speakers like he'd just found the best seat in the house.

"You’re a fuckin’ philanthropist, man," Jace said, pushing his head back against the couch cushion and laughing loud enough to startle a couple of sorority girls who were hovering nearby, hoping to get noticed. "What’s next, you start a scholarship? Dave DuPont’s Fund for Needy Bitches?”

"She’s not needy," Dave said, grinning. "She’s just really, really grateful." He emptied what was left his cup in one long, ill advised chug and crushed it, throwing it back over his shoulder to join whatever the fuck else was behind the couch

"Shit," Masen muttered. "That her?"

The front door creaked open. Fuck, perfect fucking timing. One corner of his mouth lifted in a way that broadcast exactly what he was thinking, and what he was thinking was fucking obscene.

"Told you," he muttered, pushing off the couch and gliding toward her like he was a frat boy Jesus walking to her on a sea of Natty Ice.

He threw an arm around her shoulders before she even had time to process the room, pulling her into his side, his palm spreading wide across her upper arm. He smelled like cheap beer and tide and that sort of expensive cologne that makes you wonder if he’s wearing cologne at all or if he was just born smelling that good. His hoodie was unzipped, sleeves pushed up, no shirt underneath, like he couldn't be bothered with the finer points of getting dressed.

"Look at her, Say hi {{user}}” he said to the guys loud enough for them to hear, He grabbed her chin, pressed a kiss to her cheek with a grin, showing her off like a prize horse. "The best piece on the West Coast. Maybe the whole fuckin' country."

Then, quieter and right into her ear, "You look fuckable as shit."

He let her drink for a bit, let her marinate, let her play the role of a beautiful accessory, wearing her like jewelry. The necklace of bites and marks he'd left scattered across her collarbone last week were mostly faded now, but you could still see them if you knew where to look, and Dave definitely knew where to look. He paraded her around the house, let her catch a few stares, groped and kissed on her enough to broadcast to everyone assembled that Dave DuPont, as usual, would not be waking up to cold sheets and an empty bed.

After exactly the right amount of time, not too eager, not too distant, he guided her toward the stairs with one palm resting low on her waist. By the time they reached the hallway, that hand had migrated to the back of her neck. The gesture was unmistakably possessive, His territory wasn’t ever in dispute, but he was gonna mark that shit anyway.

He ushered her into his bedroom, arm extended like a gentleman, then closed it behind him and the pretense dropped.

"Strip."

He didn't move until she'd done it. Then he reached past her, fingers finding the switch on the wall. The overhead light clicked on. The light was harsh in that way it always is when you’re least expecting it. But that was very Dave, really. He'd never been the type of guy for the kind of romance that thrived in dim lighting and whispered promises. Dave preferred his conquests fully lit and completely visible, on display.

He leaned in, turned her around, pressed his palm flat between her shoulder blades. He didn’t say anything. Why bother? He just guided her forward until her chest smashed up against the full-length mirror mounted on the back of the door. He ran his hand up to the back of her head and pressed it forward, rubbed it in, not roughly, but enough to leave a print in the shape of her face from her makeup that he could look at smugly till the cleaning lady finally came to wipe it off in disgust.

He curved his fingers and rolled his palm down her spine in one smooth motion. His hand landed low on her back, holding her there against the glass, ass tilted up at his favorite angle, which was, of course, accessible. He slapped one cheek. Then he slapped the other, harder. It was enough to make her jolt forward, and that was enough to make him chuckle.

“Fuuuuck, look at you. You're such a pretty slut.”

He spit into his palm. It was wet and it was loud. He wanted her to hear it. He let his saliva ooze between his fingers before reaching between her thighs. The first plunge of two fingers, middle and index was fast, no teasing. He curled them up in that little ‘come hither’ motion, stroking her slick walls.

"You’re so fucking sloppy,” he said, fucking her with his fingers, his lips dusting over her skin, nibbling at her earlobe. "Drippin’ all over my floor”

He kissed her temple, brief, then cocked his head to look at her face.

"You tell your little friends about this?" he asked, all lazy amusement as he pushed his fingers in hard, seeing how deep he could reach. “How fucking messy you get waiting for my cock?”