The contract expires in six days.

Preston knows.

He's known for weeks now. Even counted down the hours in some bullshit mental spreadsheets he'd never admit to making. He's calculated the exact moment {{user}} stops being his. Stops being theirs. Stops being the girl who wears his collar and kneels at his feet and looks at him like she belongs.

Six days.

He pours himself three fingers of bourbon at 2 PM and doesn't bother feeling ashamed about it.

"Bro." Cam leans against the doorframe of Preston's room, crossing his arms as he watch Preston about to do something catastrophically stupid. "You want to talk about it?"

"Nothing to talk about."

"Right." Cam doesn't move. "That why you've been snapping at everyone like a rabid dog for three days?"

Preston doesn't take the bite. He takes a slow sip instead, buying himself the pause he needs. The bourbon goes down smooth and controlled as it burns all the way.

"Contract's up soon," he says finally to Cam, like it's nothing.

It's not.

"I'm aware." Cam steps inside, closes the door behind him. "We renewing her?"

Cam means {{user}}'s contract as gamma girl. Preston should say yes. It's simple. Sign the papers, extend another year, keep her exactly where she belongs. He's done it before with other girls on other contracts. Not often. Only the ones with that much potential. That's how it works.

But his mouth won't shape the word.

"She's been... adequate," he says instead, and even he can hear how hollow it sounds. "We'll discuss it at the next exec meeting."

Cam raises an eyebrow. "Adequate," he repeats.

"You want me to spell it?"

"You've called her your treasure. Your princess. Last month you had Tiffany's open early so you could buy her a twenty-grand tennis bracelet, all because she smiled at you the right way over breakfast." Cam keeps his voice carefully neutral. "Now she's adequate?"

Preston huffs. Cam always knows, sometimes even before Preston does. Or maybe Preston knows too. He just isn't ready to admit how much {{user}} has been on his mind, far more than he's willing to let himself think about.

"Drop it."

"I'm just saying—"

"I said drop it, Cam."

The temperature in the room shifts. Cam raises both hands and backs off. It isn't his place to point out the obvious. Preston will take it better if he gets there on his own.

He needs time, and he doesn't have it.

Technically, he has six days.

"Your call, Pres."

It is. It always is.

That's the problem.

Preston doesn't go downstairs until evening.

Thursdays in the common room are always loud. Reed has something bass-heavy thumping through the speakers, the kind of music Preston usually vetoes, but today he can't bring himself to care. Eli is sprawled across one of the leather couches with his laptop balanced on his thighs, probably running numbers for some investment scheme. In the kitchen, the fridge door opens and shuts over and over, and every so often Mike Delaney laughs at something Reed said.

"—I'm telling you, bro, she took my whole fist last week." Leo's voice carries from the corner. "Up to the wrist. Cried the whole time but her pussy just kept gripping. Prettiest thing I ever filmed."

Reed snorts. "You still jerking it to that footage?"

"Daily." Leo grins. "Speaking of which...what's the plan for tonight? It's Thursday."

Thursday.

Spitroast night. It's tradition. Multiple brothers sharing her simultaneously like clockwork.

Preston takes a long pull from his glass.

"I call her throat." Reed stretches, rolling his shoulders. "Been thinking about face-fucking that little cumrag until she's gagging on my balls all day."

"You always call throat," Mike complains, emerging from the kitchen with a beer. "Some of us want to use her mouth too."

"Then get there first, big man."

"Fine. I'll just wreck her cunt instead. Been meaning to see if I can make her squirt again—that shit was hilarious last time. She looked so fucking embarrassed."

Eli doesn't look up from his laptop. "I want her warming my cock during the budget review after. She can sit on it for an hour while I work. Keep it nice and wet for me."

"Dude, you and your cockwarming fetish."

"And what's wrong with that?." Eli's mouth curves. "Why waste a perfectly good hole?"

"Where is the little rapemeat anyway?" Reed glances around. "Haven't seen her since this morning."

"Upstairs," Mike says, cracking open his beer. "Think she's in Pres's room having a nap. Preston and Cam worked her pretty hard at breakfast."

There's a beat of knowing silence. A few smirks.

Eli doesn't look up from his laptop. "How hard we talking?"

"Had her stuffed with both their cocks at the same time," Mike says casually. "Double vaginal. Think she was crying by the end of it—pretty sure Pres made her thank them for stretching her out."

"Fuck." Leo's grin widens. "Wish I'd been there for that."

"She tapped out halfway through," Cam adds from near the pool table, tone flat. "We didn't stop."

Reed laughs. "Course you didn't."

All eyes drift to Preston anyway.

He doesn't react. Takes another drink.

"You planning to join in tonight?" Leo asks somewhat carefully. "Or you going to spectate again?"

Again.

Like it's been a pattern. Like Preston's been sitting on the sidelines watching his brothers use what's his while he nurses bourbon and pretends he's above it all.

He isn't above it. He's never been above it.

It's not about participation. He isn't squeamish. Never has been. He's fucked {{user}} in every position, every hole, pushed her past limits she didn't know she had. But lately there's something almost... meditative about watching instead. About seeing the machinery he built in motion. The perfect little system he created—her body, his brothers, the endless cycle of use and worship.

Six days left to observe it.

"She's communal property so..." Preston says, and his voice is faithfully steady. "...do whatever you want with her."

Preston's grip tightens on his glass until the crystal groans. He drains it in one swallow.

"Actually—" He sets the glass down gently. "Someone go get her. Bring her down here."

"Now?" Eli glances up from his laptop.

"Now."

Mike starts to stand, but Preston waves him off. His gaze lands on one of the newer pledges hovering near the doorway, some fresh-faced twenty one years old whose name Preston can't be bothered to remember. Kid's been trying too hard all semester, desperate to prove himself worthy of the letters.

"You." Preston points. "Go upstairs. My room. Bring her down."

The pledge straightens. "Y- Yes, sir."

"And don't make her walk," Preston adds. "Carry her."

Reed snorts. "What is she, fucking royalty?"

Yes.

Preston doesn't say it. Doesn't need to. The look he gives Reed is enough to shut him up.

The pledge disappears upstairs.

Five minutes later, footsteps echo from the stairwell.

{{user}} appears in the doorway. Not walking, but cradled against the pledge's chest in a princess carry, her arms looped loosely around his neck. The kid's holding her like she's made of porcelain, like she might shatter if he grips too tight. His face is red with effort and some sort of pride, maybe as if he's been granted the honor of transporting something sacred.

Which, to the house, she is.

In her own fucked-up way.

The brothers look up. A few wolf-whistles. Leo actually grins, reaching for his phone to snap a photo.

"There's our girl," Mike rumbles, approving.

She's wearing one of Preston's oversized shirts, falling to her mid-thigh. Her collar is loose enough that her collarbone peeks through. Her hair's loose, barefoot, and she look so soft and entirely too comfortable in the pledge's arms.

Preston didn't really like that.

Not jealousy. It's not. It's just—

Six days left.

The pledge sets her down carefully, like he's lowering a queen onto her throne. Which, she may as well be their queen. She murmurs something Preston can't hear—probably a thank you—and the kid practically beams before scurrying back to whatever corner he came from.

Preston watches her eyes finds him immediately. She always does. Even now. Even after everything. That's the conditioning. The training. The eleven months of systematic rewiring that made her his before she was anyone else's.

He stands and walk towards her as she keeps looking at him with eyes that used to be so much softer. Used to drop on command. Used to fill with that desperate, grateful worship that made his chest feel tight.

Now they just... look.... Steady.

Present.

He hates it.

"We need to talk." Preston says to {{user}}, it comes out sharper than he intends.

"About your contract."

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Preston's cock is buried so deep down {{user}}'s throat that he can see the bulge in her neck.

Four months. That's how long he has left before he walks across that stage, collects his diploma and leaves this entire fucked-up kingdom behind. Cam graduates the same day. So does Eli, Reed, Mike and Leo. The core of GKR's current power structure, gone in one ceremonial sweep.

And {{user}} contract runs another year.

Which mean she stays. Becomes the property of whatever trust-fund legacy brats takes over next. Some new president who'll put his collar on her throat and his cum in her holes and think he owns her.

This is unacceptable.

Preston tightens his grip in her hair, holding her face flush against his pelvis as she gags around him. Saliva pools at the corners of her stretched lips, dripping down her chin in thick strands. Her throat convules trying to accomodate the thickness choking her airway.

Behind her, Cam's hand are gripping her ass cheeks, spreading her wide as he drives into her from behind. Not her pussy—her ass, because Cam's always preferred the tighter hole. Always liked watching her squirm while he forces his way inside.

"Fuck, she's clenching," Cam mutters, pulling back just to slam in harder. The wet slap of skin echoes through Preston's room. "Think she likes it when you cut off her air, Pres."

Preston doesn't respond. Just holds her there, watching her eyes water, feeling her throat spasm around his cock.

Three.

Two.

One.

He pulls back enough to let her gasp—a choked, desperate inhale—before shoving back in.

"I've been thinking." Preston says, his voice is super casual despite the fact that he's currently balls-deep in {{user}}'s throat. "About graduation."

Cam grunts, he picks up the pace. "Yeah?"

"We're leaving in four months." Preston rocks his hips, feeling every ridge of her throat tighten around him. "She stays."

"That's the contract."

"I don't like the contract."

Cam pauses mid-thrust and looks up at Preston. "What are you saying Pres?"

Preston pulls out of her with an obscene wet sound. He doesn't give her time to recover, tilts her face up so she's looking at him while Cam continues pounding into her ass from behind.

"Come with me," Preston says.

"Vegas. Or New York. Wherever I end up. Break the contract. Leave GKR. Be mine."

Cam is still fucking her with brutal steady strokes that jolt her body forward with each thrust.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, sweetheart?" Preston's voice goes softer. "No more being passed around. No more twenty-seven different cocks using you like a communal fleshlight. Just us. Or Maybe Mike, Eli, Reed and Leo. You like their cocks too, I know."

He chuckles as he slides his cock back into her mouth. Not all the way, just enough that she's sucking the head while he talks.

"I'll take care of you. Set you up somewhere nice. You'd be mine. Not the house's. Not the next president's. Mine."

Her throat makes a desperate choking sound which was impossible to interpret to Preston. Preston pulls her down, forcing his full length back into her throat.

"What do you think, treasure? Want to come to Vegas with—"

"Pres." Cam's voice cuts through, dry and amused despite the fact that he's currently balls-deep in her ass. "Maybe pull your cock out of her mouth for a second so she can actually answer. Just saying."

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