Page 145 of Filthy Elites

“Then you better get busy.”

Bile rises in the back of my throat, but I force it down as Miller lowers his jeans and reveals himself. His cock is already hard, probably aroused just from the idea of forcing me to do this. He leans his elbows back against the counter and it bobs freely in the air.

It lookshuge.

“The longer you take, the more likely you’ll get caught,” he reminds me, guiding a hand down his shaft. “There’s still time to keep the video private, but if they walk in on this, you’re done for good.”

The urge to flee overwhelms me, but I have no doubt Miller will make good on his promise. I bend my shaky knees and drop before him, eyeing his cock like it’s a venomous snake poised to attack. Grabbing the shaft, I run my fingers down to the tip, eliciting a hum and his toned belly caves inward. “That’s right,” he says, reaching down. He grabs my chin and pulls my face forward, thumb pushing between my lips. “Suck it.”

Our eyes meet as the soft velvet tip of his finger brushes against my lips, leaving a sticky trail. I can’t help but search the darkness of his eyes for some sense of humanity. Why is he doing this? Why is he risking his friendship with Royer when he can have any girl he wants?

There’s no answer, just the tight clench of his fingers as they thread into my hair.

My tongue darts out, and I taste him, salty and slick. “Like that, Reagan? Like the taste of my cum?”

His hips buck forward, pushing the length of his cock past the threshold of my lips, down my throat. Tears burn the corner of my eyes and I gag, pushing him away. Miller watches me as I wipe my mouth and cough.

“You’ve done this before, right?” he asks. “With Royer?”

I shake my head and my cheeks heat with embarrassment. “No.”

“Seriously?” The corner of his lip quirks. “Guess that tracks, sort of.” His fingers run under my chin again, a little gentler, and he says, “Well, quick lesson: I’ll set the pace, be prepared to take me deep, and no teeth.”

I open my mouth to respond, beg really, and he uses the opportunity to push his cock back in. He’s slower this time, not going quiet as deep at first. His blue eyes shine bright and his hand slides from my chin to the back of my neck. Once it’s clear I can take it, he increases his pace, thrusting into my mouth until I brace my hands against his hips and take over.

It’s the only way to keep him from choking me on his cock.

“That’s it, that’s it,” he mumbles, easing back against the cabinet again. I glance up and see his eyes half open, gazing down at me lazily. “Fuck, you’re good. I knew you’d be good. Sexy little kitten.”

The compliment sparks a conflicted physical manifestation. My cheeks burn. My chest swells. A damp heat builds between my legs. It’s not just humiliation butshame… worse? Pride. Knowing I’m making Miller Hansen feel good? Make his jaw slack and eyes glaze? That I’m overwhelmed by disgust that my body is reacting to his touch.

I focus on the rise and fall of his lower belly, the smattering of hair that travels down the lean muscle to the thicker thatch of hair surrounding his cock. I hear his breath change, a signal, I think, that this nightmare is almost over. His cock thickens and swells in my mouth and I’m distracted, unaware of his hands moving until I feel the graze of his hand over my breast. I flinch and he laughs. “You’ve got amazing tits and fuck,” he tweaks the tip. “Your nipples are hard. How wet are you? Just a little? Drenched?”

Fear claws at my chest. What if he touches me down there and feels the shameful, warm heat? The simple idea seems to spur him on, and he keeps his focus on fucking my mouth until his breath turns ragged and raw. Miller propels himself off the cabinet, punching forward, both hands grabbing the back of my head. “Hold on,” he groans, cock twitching in my mouth. I feel the heat of him, warm and thick, hit the back of my tongue. My throat seizes, but he holds me still, forcing me in place until he’s finished.

“Swallow it down,” he says, removing his cock, but not the grip on the back of my neck. His thumb runs along my throat. “Can’t leave a trace.”

I do as I’m told, the fear of getting caught as intense as the desire to get away. I push past the reflex to gag on the salty, thick cum, eyes burning with unshed tears. I’m still on my knees, aware of him wiping off his cock with a towel from the pantry drawer, when voices come from the parlor. Royer and Andrea. The sound jolts me to my feet, and I stumble forward, crashing into Miller’s chest. He laughs quietly and I look up at Miller. “Be careful.”

It’s a warning—but it barely processes as I try to reconcile what just happened. What he did to me. What I allowed him to do. How it made me feel. Gently, he wipes the cloth over my lips, removing any visible sign of what happened.

I run my fingers through my hair and straighten my shirt, thankful that I’m wearing pants so that there’s no imprint on my knees.

“You need to go before they—” I turn to face him, but he’s already gone. I blink at the aloneness, a wave of grief and regret washing over me, but then I hear my name and a tap on the door that leads to the parlor.

“Hey,” Royer says, sliding the pocket door into its case. “Sorry that took so long.” His eyes sweep over me, and he frowns. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, um,” I wipe under my eyes. “It’s just the stress of it all. I’m exhausted from rush, paranoid from hiding, and just excited about Bid Night.”

I stare at him carefully, hoping the excuses make sense. They aren’t lies. In fact, all three clarify why I let what just happened happen. I’m vulnerable and on edge. I just need to get through the night.

He slips his arm around me and presses his nose to mine. “Rush week sucks. I know you’re worn out. After tonight, everything will chill out and we can celebrate.”

His lips brush against mine, and I fight to recoil. Can he taste Miller on my mouth? On my tongue. His sweeps against mine, pulling me into a deep kiss. When we break apart, I glance over his shoulder, making eye contact with Andrea. Her lips curve into a small, twisted smile. I’m too numb from the last hour to even try to figure out what that means.

“Everything go okay with the Chancellor?” I ask Royer.

“Yeah, they’re just on edge after last year and the lawsuit, but we have someone in the main office running interference.” He runs his hand down my back. “She can’t stop tradition. Zeta Sigma has a reputation to uphold. Some bitch in administration isn’t going to stop us.” He looks over his shoulder at Andrea. “Isn’t that right?”

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