Page 95 of Betray Me
“I’ll help you relax,” he promises, rubbing his length against my clit. “You’ll sleep well tonight. You’ll think about what it’s like to have my cock filling you for hours.”
“Please.” I’m babbling, words cascading out of my mouth in an attempt to translate the feelings coursing through me. “Please make me relax.”
He drives into me, one long stroke. His thickness buries deep, and the impact makes me squeak. He doesn’t wait for me to adjust. He moves his hand from his cock to between my legs, driving a finger up and into me to rub my G-spot. The sharp twinge he sends shooting through me nearly brings tears to my eyes.
Each push in spreads the sensation through my core. I’m trembling now, shaking with the aftershocks, feeling more hotness spill between my legs. He slams into me again, and again, this time with both his semi-erected cock and finger. The impact jolts through my body, and the slap of our flesh is louder than the outside wind.
Each stroke loosens the building tension in my belly a little more, and waves of coolness spread through me. I’m breathing harder, thrusting my hips up to meet his probing touch and moaning as we crash together.
It builds so rapidly, I don’t know what’s happening until it’s over. My thighs clench around Max’s back, my toes curl, and he covers my mouth with his other hand. The noise that comes from me is foreign—something high-pitched and frantic that feels like it comes from someone else’s body.
Wave after wave of burning intensity crashes through me. His arms close around my shoulders, pulling me upright andbringing my writhing body to his. He holds me while I moan, stroking my hair with gentleness that surprises me, given the pounding force of his cock pulsing in me yet again.
Finally, the overwhelming wave recedes. I’m left a shaking mess of sweat and endorphins. “I love you,” I breathe, unable to contain my gratitude for how easily he always draws my pleasure from me.
His palm presses against the small of my back as he gently lowers me to the mattress. “You liked that, yeah?” he murmurs, still touching and holding me as his softening cock slides out.
“More than liked.” I wriggle against him, my head falling onto his shoulder. The sex releases the emotional build-up, making me less tightly wound. The storm still surges outside, but inside the warmth of our shared body heat, I’m content to luxuriate in a level of physical intimacy I’d never even allowed myself to imagine.
“Do you think we can really do this?” I ask quietly. “Pretend to be normal students while secretly investigating a conspiracy that reaches into every level of power?”
“I think we’re exactly the right people for the job,” Max replies, his fingers combing through my hair with gentle precision. “We know how to perform roles that aren’t quite true. We know how to gather intelligence without arousing suspicion. And we know better than anyone what’s at stake if we fail.”
He’s right, but the weight of that responsibility sits heavy on my chest. Tomorrow we’ll have to wake up and pretend to be Belle Gallagher and Max Brooks, college students returning to finish their education. We’ll attend classes and eat in the dininghall, and participate in the careful social performances that define campus life.
But beneath the surface, we’ll be hunting monsters who wear human faces and call themselves friends.
The thought should terrify me. Instead, lying in Max’s arms in a room that once represented everything I hated about myself, I feel something that might be anticipation.
I’m ready for the nightmare to end.
Chapter 34: The Founder’s Tale
Now
The morning bells of Shark Bay University chime across the campus as I fasten the navy blazer that once felt like a prison uniform but now carries a different weight. The familiar gold trim catches the early light streaming through our dorm window, and for a moment, I’m transported back to my earlier days here—when I was my father’s perfect spy, gathering intelligence on Luna Queen while believing myself untouchable in my designer armor.
“Strange how it feels the same but completely different,” Max observes, adjusting his tie with hands that are steadier than mine. His uniform fits him like it was tailored yesterday, the expensive fabric a reminder of the wealth that shaped us both into weapons for our families’ wars.
The invitation had arrived before dawn, slipped under our doors on cream paper that whispered of old money and older secrets:Breakfast. My office. 7 AM. Come hungry for more than food. – S.H.Mrs. Harpsons’ elegant script carried the weight of promised revelations, and after yesterday’s rescue at sea, we need answers more than we need safety.
Luna and Erik wait for us in the corridor outside the administration building, both immaculate in their pressed uniforms despite everything we’ve endured. Luna’s emerald eyes hold the wariness that’s kept her alive through years of family exploitation, while Erik’s protective stance speaks to hisunderstanding that authority figures in our world rarely offer help without expecting payment.
“Any theories about what this is?” Luna asks quietly as we climb the marble stairs toward Mrs. Harpsons’ office.
“Hopefully the truth,” Erik replies, his hand unconsciously checking the concealed knife I know he’s taken to carrying. “We’re running out of people to trust.”
Mrs. Harpsons’ office occupies the entire top floor of the administration building, with floor-to-ceiling windows that command views of the campus like a general surveying troops. When she opens the door to greet us, she’s already dressed immaculately despite the early hour, her silver hair perfect and her cat-eyed glasses reflecting the morning light.
“Come in,” she says warmly, gesturing us toward a mahogany table set for five with china. “I thought we should begin properly, with real conversation and food that won’t poison us.”
The spread is impressive—fresh fruit that must have been flown in from the mainland, pastries that smell like they came from a Parisian bakery, coffee that makes the dining hall offerings seem like punishment. But it’s the thick manila folders stacked beside her place setting that capture my attention, documents that suggest this meal comes with long-overdue revelations.
“Please, sit,” Mrs. Harpsons says, taking her place at the head of the table with the natural authority of someone born to command. “I know you have questions. About my family’s connection to this place. About why I haven’t been more… proactive in my investigations.”
She pours coffee with practiced grace, her movements deliberate and controlled.
“My great-great-grandfather founded Shark Bay University in 1847,” she begins, settling back in her chair with the air of someone preparing to tell a long and painful story. “Josiah Harpsons was an idealist—he believed education could be humanity’s great equalizer, that children from all backgrounds deserved access to knowledge that would let them shape their destinies.”
