I have dreamed of this moment for so long, his eyes darkening as he takes me in, sizing me up, deciding what he wants to do with me.

All because I lost a bet.

We’ve been friends for a couple years, dancing around what I thought—what I desperately hoped—was our mutual attraction. No, attraction was too wholesome a word for it. Lust. I feverishly, foolishly, furiously wanted him. Everything he did, the way he rolled up his shirtsleeves or took his glasses off when he was thinking hard, how he’d quirk an eyebrow at me if I was talking too fast, how our flirting got more and more dangerous, filled me with boiling desire.

“If you’re late to our study session one more time, I’m going to have to spank you,” he said mildly, not even looking up from his books. But that didn’t matter. My face had flushed, and heat pooled low in my stomach. I had showed up five minutes late the next day, half hoping he’d make good on his threat, but he’d only raised an eyebrow at me as I slid in my chair.

At night, he was the only thing I thought about as my hand slipped underneath my panties. I pictured his fingers there, swirling around my clit, plunging inside me. I pictured myself on my knees, his fingers knotted in my hair as he pumped into my mouth. I thought of his face in between my thighs as I begged him for more. And darker thoughts—my hands bound to the headboard, helpless, as he used me as he liked. His belt, snapping on my ass as he bent me over the bed. Torturing me with a vibrator. Blindfolding me, gagging me, binding me.

And now.

The terms of the bet were simple, one game of chess. If I won, I’d have the choice of having him in my bed, completely at my service, or having him write my final essay for me. If he won—

“You know the rules,” he says now, as calmly as if he’s explaining a philosophical theorem to me. “No talking. No moving.”

I nod, sure my wicked fantasies are written all over my face. “I know.”

“Alright,” he says, almost gently.

I swallow hard. He blindfolds me, and I stifle a gasp at the sudden darkness. Carefully, I bend over so my forearms are resting on the bed, and my ass is in the air. I’m wearing a tiny little miniskirt, and my face burns as I know he’s looking at my panties right now. My fingers fist around the bedsheets.

At first, nothing, and the anticipation is almost too much. What if this is it, if he’s just going to let me stay here foolishly, waiting for something that’s never going to happen?

And then—hands on my body, soft at first, exploring each curve. He roams over my breasts, the valley of my spine, my ass. The heat builds between my legs. Can he tell how wet I am already?

The hands grow more insistent. He wrenches my shirt down. I’m not wearing a bra, and my breasts spring free. He palms them, grabbing them roughly. I gasp, and he pinches down hard on my nipple.

“Remember the rules.”

I nod my head franticly, blindly, and he continues his exploration. I’m almost panting, dizzied by my blindness and the throbbing between my thighs. The word that comes to mind is ownership.

His hands roam under my skirt, over the swell of my ass, and I hear him groan.

“God, that time in the library, you were wearing this skirt and bent over to grab a book and I almost took you right there.”

I bite my lip hard to keep from moaning or begging him to do the same right now.

His fingers dart between my thighs, the touch so light and gentle, but to me it feels like a branding.

“I’ve pictured that ass again and again,” he says, his fingers digging into my flesh. “And you know what I thought about?”

I can’t help myself, I whine, arching my back towards him.

“I wondered what my handprint would look on your ass, how it would jiggle when I smacked it.”

Before I have time to register those words, I hear the crack of his hand against me. I gasp, but I keep my back arched, my ass raised, begging for more.

He pauses, and I think he’s admiring his work.

“Beautiful,” he says, and his voice is rough. “And you like that, don’t you?”

Smack.

His hand stays on my ass, kneading it. “Fucking gorgeous.”

I can’t stay silent, I’m desperate for more. I should be embarrassed, how I’m dripping wet and panting for more, but I can’t think at all, swaddled in this darkness and the haze of my lust.

A finger slips into me, and I rock my hips against it.

“Not yet,” he says. “I want to turn your entire ass red.”

Fuck.

He wraps one hand around my ponytail, pulling my head up, restraining me. With the other, he spanks me again and again. With each blow, the heat between my legs intensifies.

“God,” he pants, “I’m never going to get tired of this view.”

I think I’m moaning, but I’m beyond coherent thoughts or sounds. He delivers one final spank, then rips my panties down and plunges two fingers inside me.

“Alright,” he says. “This is what’s going to happen next. I’m going to fuck you, hard, and you’re going to come on my cock. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I gasp, then remember I’m not supposed to speak.

His hand cracks on my ass, and I grip the bedcovers hard. “Do you understand?”

I bob my head up and down.

“Good girl,” he says softly, and then he’s inside me.

I almost come right then and there as he fills me. He keeps one fist around my ponytail and the other at the base of my neck. I am his, completely his, to fuck as he likes. It is rough, like he promised, and his hips smacking against my sore ass is almost too much, but god, this is all I ever wanted.

“Come for me,” he grits out, and I do, the heat filling my body as I cry out. A few heartbeats later, I hear him give a groan as he comes too, and then we’re both collapsing side by side on the bed.

I lift the blindfold off my eyes to see him grinning ear to ear.

“You know,” I say, “I lost that game of chess on purpose.”

He smirks. “Of course I know,” he says. “You moved your king right into the path of my rook three moves in.”

“Hmm,” I say. “Rematch?”