Chapter Text
Alina gets the text while she's in her post-lunch calc class. She shouldn’t look at her phone when there are notes to be taken, but she has a feeling she knows who it is, and if she’s right, there’ll be all sorts of trouble if she doesn’t answer immediately.
She is right, as it happens. She hasn’t bothered to record him as a contact in her phone, so she just sees the raw digits that she wishes she didn’t have memorized by now. The message is succinct in the extreme.
Tits.
That's all it says, period included.
I'm in class rn , she responds. She can feel the irritation of the boys on either side of her. None of them like having a freshman girl in a 300-level math class, and texting instead of paying attention is probably more or less exactly what they expect of her. They can’t do anything to her, though, unlike the guy texting her right now.
Do you get to say no? is the answer she gets, and again, Tits.
Fuck. Fuck fuck. Hoping no one sees her blush, Alina raises her hand and asks permission to leave. She feels fourteen pairs of male eyes on her as she slips out of class to the bathroom.
It isn’t empty, but that doesn’t matter. She locks herself in the handicapped-accessible stall at the end of the row.
The phone in the back pocket of her jeans buzzes. Alina pulls it out and sees the new message. I’m waiting.
Asshole, Alina thinks. Arrogant piece of shit motherfucking asshole —
Her fingers fly over the screen. Wait a second longer, then.
She adds an eye-roll emoji for emphasis, but when she jams the phone back in her pocket, she knows she has to hurry. She unhooks her bra at the back and pulls it up along with her sweatshirt and t-shirt to expose her breasts, and holds up the camera, trying to get the angle right. He doesn’t insist that she include her face in the photos he makes her send him. It’s one of the very few mercies he grants her, and she suspects that she only gets so much because he doesn’t want to scare her so badly that she tries to report him to the school. Not that that was likely to get her anywhere, but —
Sometimes she wonders why he even wants to see her skinny little body. The breasts she sees on the phone screen aren’t so very small, but there are plenty of girls around with ones much bigger. So why is it Alina who’s pushing the send button?
You’re probably not the only one who does, or has, she thinks. If he does this to you, he must have done it to someone else. You’re not special.
She reminds herself that the thought does not hurt her as she waits for his response to the high-angle shot of her tits. She can’t go back to class until she has his approval.
His answer comes quickly. Take the shirt and bra off and try again.
I have to get back to class, she types.
I don’t care. Shirt and bra off.
Alina swears loudly enough that a girl outside the stall asks her if she’s all right.
“Just dropped something!” she claims weakly, but she’s already stripping the rest of her torso. She hangs sweatshirt, t-shirt, and bra on the hook on the door and gets the camera out again.
Half-clothed somehow feels more naked than naked in a place with only a notion of privacy. No one would look over the stall divider and see her taking pictures, would they? What will the professor think when she gets back to class so late? Will the boys in the class be able to tell somehow from the shame in her eyes?
Alina snaps one, two, three photos and sends him the one she thinks looks best. The response is almost instant.
Cute. Especially your puffy little nipples.
Pinch them so they get hard for me and send me another picture.
She fucking hates him. She puts the phone down anyway and cups her own breasts, brushing her thumbs over the nipples like he does. The fear and disgust at what she’s doing — acting like a slut in a public restroom for a boy she hates — at first block the pleasure and then, when it’s too much to pretend she’s not feeling it, make it strange. Alina is a little dizzied as she starts pinching and twisting her tits.
Soon enough they’ve tightened into tiny bullets and she thinks she’s ready to send another picture. Will this one be enough for him?
He makes her wait for what seems like hours for a response. She stands stock still in the bathroom stall, phone in hand, one arm across her breasts to shield them from the chilly air. Is he going to like what he sees? Why won’t he text her back? If he’s busy doing something else when he’s making her do this —
Finally she gets that buzz in her palm and looks down to see the words that will free her.
That’ll do for now.
She barely has time to feel relieved before more texts pop up on the screen.
Come to my room after dinner.
I want you at my door by 8 or you won’t like the consequences.
She thinks about making an excuse, maybe something about an exam, but he could and would check up on the details of her syllabus. Maybe her work-study? No, he knows her schedule at the campus cafe, and the last time she tried that, it really didn’t end well for her dignity.
Alina walks back to calc, dragging her feet, knowing that they will lead her to him tonight whether she likes it or not. And soon enough, the appointed hour is nigh.
The Sigma Sigma Nu house is much fancier than the one the Phi Kappas live in, even though the fraternity and sorority are allied. Phi Kappa girls were never an unfamiliar sight in these wood-panelled halls, but ever since the beginning of term, their visits have been very regular indeed.
Every boy Alina sees on her way to his room smirks at her as if he knows what she’s there for. Nik Lantsov, shirtless with a fat joint dangling from his mouth, even grins and flashes her a thumbs-up. She gives him a dirty look and takes the stairs two at a time to get away from him. He’s sure to tease her if he sees her blush.
The president’s room was the master suite of this house when it was first built for some rich family a hundred or so years ago, and it has a grand double-door entrance to match. As always, Alina hesitates before she knocks. She could run, run away from him, away from Phi Kappa, all the way away from this school, back to a shared bedroom with Anna’s current foster kids and maybe her old job at the Dollar Tree.
Her hand forms a fist and raps three times on the dark wood.
“Come in.”
Alina steels her face, her body, her whole soul, and enters. He’s sitting at his big desk in his big room, all far too well-furnished for a college student. There is a very faint smirk playing at the corners of his pretty mouth.
Alexander Morozova is different, and he knows it. It’s not just that he’s rich, or good-looking, because plenty of boys at this school are both of those. One of the words people use when they talk about him — and people talk about Alexander a lot — is focus. He seems to apply a laser-beam determination to every move he makes. The thing she hates about him the least — or is it the most? — is the way his gaze sometimes narrows in on her just like that, as if he wants to take her apart and see everything she keeps inside.
He looks her up and down, taking in her ill-fitting clothes with no particular pleasure in his eyes. At least she had the sense to go into Genya’s makeup drawer this morning. She can’t look that bad. Can she?
“Well?” When he speaks, everyone falls silent to make sure they can hear that low voice. Alina would like to be an exception. She isn’t.
She knows what he wants, what he thinks she owes him. He almost always makes her strip for him first. She shifts a little on her feet, unhappy as ever at being forced into this.
“I’m not asking, slut. Do you want me to come over there?”
She almost does — it’s so much easier when he’s the one who undresses her, touches her, controls her — but the last time she provoked him she couldn’t sit down without wincing for a week, and the punishment was so hard that she wound up taking her clothes off for him anyway. It’s more the latter fact than the former that makes her kneel down to unlace her bootleg Converses and shuck off them and her socks. That her sweatshirt is next is obvious, but —
Those cold grey eyes are watching her. Alina’s hands freeze. Jeans first, or shirt? When he solves this curve he always seems to optimize for her humiliation. She chooses to start with her shirt. Isn’t it more dignified to stand in jeans and a bra before him?
As he snickers, she realizes that the order she takes her clothes off for him doesn’t matter, and never will. What matters is that she does it.
The threat in his smile is growing by the second and she almost trips over herself getting the jeans off. Baring herself down to bra and panties is bad enough. Oh, why does she have to be so fucking poor, owner of the ugliest underwear in the history of Phi Kappa? All of her skin is flushing under his gaze. But it won’t be enough for him.
“Alina,” he says, and it’s a warning, but it’s also her name, from his lips.
She unhooks the bra and lets it slip off her shoulders. She thinks she sees him nod out of the corner of her eyes, but she won’t look. She can’t. After all, she has to take her panties off next.
Only fully naked does she remember that she has pride, even if he wants to strip it from her. She straightens up and meets the eyes that are taking in every bit of her unwilling amateur striptease.
Alexander doesn’t praise her bare body. The only reward she gets for her good behavior is a dubious one indeed: he’s pulling out that evil cock of his, already red and hard and pushing into the air for her.
“On your knees and down here,” he says, indicating the space under his desk with a jabbed thumb. “I want that hot little mouth of yours on my dick while I finish this proof.”
One of the many genuinely awful things about Alexander Morozova is that he’s a good student. His double major in math and economics isn’t an unusual combination, but a lot of those kids couldn’t so much as prove De Morgan’s law to save their own lives. Alexander isn’t like that. He’s undeniably good at math and a favorite with all the professors in the department. Once, when he was particularly pleased with her, he offered to help her study for a test, telling her with a smile that he’d gotten an A in the course when he took it. That’s one of the little moments she most resents him for: how dare he pretend that he gives a shit when shit is how he treats her?
She takes a step forward anyway, trying to give him the coldest glare she can so he doesn’t get any ideas that she’s begging for mercy.
“Ah-ah,” comes the smirking voice and the wagging finger. “On your knees, I said.”
It takes Alina a second to understand. He wants her to crawl to him like a dog.
And as she sees his smile widen, she understands one thing more: even more than that, he wants her to defy him so he has yet another chance to punish her.
She makes her choice and drops down on all fours. The hardwood floor is no fun beneath her knees. At least she doesn’t have to look at him as she makes her way under his desk. Only the moment when his thigh brushes against her ribs as she passes him is — awful — electric —
“Good girl,” he says, and to her shame, pats her on her head. “I like you down there. You know this is just where you’re supposed to be. Don’t you?”
“Fuck you,” she snarls, but it doesn’t mean much when she’s already naked and under his desk.
In fact it means so little that he doesn’t even threaten to punish her. He just laughs.
Alina still doesn’t understand why it was her he chose when the sorority’s problems meant that Genya had to agree to the Sigma Sigma Nus’ demands. It wasn’t like they liked each other. She called him an asshole to his face that first time they met, and — what did he call her?
She was only at that party because Mal was going. It hurt, of course, when he vanished upstairs with Zoya in what felt like seconds. After that, well, she knew it was stupid, but she started drinking straight vodka and chasing it with Franzia. When a tall dark-haired guy she didn't know teased her about how wasted she looked, she told him he was an asshole, and he called her a silly brat. And now she’s here, between his knees, under his desk, glad he can’t see her licking her lips with his cock inches in front of them.
He clearly is bored with her hesitation. Big hands grab her skull and there are fingers forcing her mouth open. He jams her down on his cock like he’s stabbing her with it.
If she weren’t just a little used to this by now she would choke. He always makes her start deep, even if she’s just supposed to be his —
“You’re a good little cockwarmer,” he says, letting her pull back enough to breathe around his dick. Why does her stomach flutter with pleasure even at such filthy praise? “Now stay right there until I’m finished.”
Alina could be studying right now. She should be studying right now. Or she could be watching TV with the girls back at the house or riding her bike to get ice cream with Mal.
She’s doing none of those things. The next hour of her life is going to be spent on her knees, more or less immobile, trying to keep her neck and knees from screaming at the strain as she makes her mouth a wet little sheath for Alexander Morozova’s dick.
He more or less ignores her. She has no idea what he’s doing up there, but she hears typing sounds. It smells like his sweat down here. It should be unpleasant, but —
All she thinks about when he has her down here is all the rest of the stuff he’s done to her. Alina was a virgin who’d never even touched a dick at the beginning of this semester. Now it feels like there isn’t a part of her body he hasn’t used for his pleasure.
Every once in a while he reaches down to trace her jawline or pet her hair. It’s very stupid that she spends every moment that she isn’t thinking about his hands or mouth or his big mean dick wondering if he’ll touch her again. When he rims the lips that are distended around his thickness with a finger, she realizes that she’s wet.
She squeezes her thighs together. If she drips on his floor, he might make her lick it up again.
The typing above her head stops.
“That’ll be good enough for Botkin,” he muses, more to himself than to her. “Fucking finally.”
That’s all the warning she gets before those hands are on her skull again and he’s pulling her throat back and forth on his cock. He seems to like using her like this, even when he fucks her cunt, seems to enjoy making her a little toy that moves at his will for his pleasure while he stays still.
He only pulls out for a brief moment to push his balls into her mouth — she accepts them, hair and all, and sucks for a moment — before his dick is back inside her, hitting the back of her throat with every thrust. She can’t keep herself from gagging but he doesn’t care.
Alexander comes in her mouth with a groan. She tastes the salt and bitter. “Good girl. Good girl.”
Is she really?
“Fuck. Fuck. Sweetheart —” He finally lets her off his softening dick.
She sneaks a look up at him as he collapses back into his chair. Even Alexander looks soft and sleepy and almost harmless like this, his dark eyelashes fluttering closed. God, they’re so long, longer than hers.
But he recovers soon enough, and the asshole is back. “Up here. Sit on my desk and spread those legs.”
Alina obeys, although it’s a strain to move after so long spent immobile on a hard floor. She has to turn her face away when she realizes that the slick between her thighs has dripped down her legs and all of it is perfectly visible to the most evil guy at school. He doesn’t miss any of it, of course. He’s grinning as he reaches out to pet her sopping cunt.
“You really are always desperate for my cock, aren’t you, baby?” he says, thumbing her clit over and over. “I can’t believe you got this wet just from keeping me in your slut mouth. If you hadn’t bled all over my sheets the first time I fucked you I would never have believed you weren’t whoring around with that limp-dick Oretsev or anyone else who wanted you.”
“Mal doesn’t want me,” Alina says. For some reason the thought doesn’t hurt one bit. She just wants Alex to know he’s wrong for once.
His gray eyes narrow and he looks so angry that she freezes in fear. And then the moment is over. He dips two fingers into her hole and then pulls them out to slap her clit. “Whatever you say.”
“Are we done here?” she snaps, ignoring both pleasure and pain. “I have problem sets, you know.”
“I could help you with those, if you want.”
Her glare is all the answer he deserves.
He smirks back. “Or maybe the best thing I could do for you would be to help calm you down before you go back home to study, hmm? Do you want that, baby?”
His fingers close around her ankle and he dives in to place a kiss on her inner thigh. She trembles. But she will not ask. “I don’t want anything from you.”
“I ought to give it to you anyway,” he says, not letting go of the ankle, looking up at her from between her thighs, mouth drifting close to her clit. “It’d teach you better than to lie to me.”
She is lying. What she really wants is for him to go down on her for two or three times however long he just had his cock down her throat. He’s done it before. But if Alina isn’t a good liar, she’s at least a stubborn one. “Haven’t I done enough tonight? Let me go.”
“Fine,” he snaps, and releases her, pushing himself back in his chair to give her room to get up. “We can discuss your attitude further over the weekend. Go do your homework, baby. I’ll text you.”
Alina dresses in so much hurry she forgets her bra and has to stuff it into her sweatshirt pocket as she flees. She almost bumps into David and Genya on the stairs — David’s face red as a lobster, she doesn’t want to know why — but barely even takes a moment to greet them. She needs to escape this house, escape him, if only for tonight.
What she doesn’t want to admit is that she’ll still be thinking about him when she goes back to her room. And if her fingers will go play with her clit in imitation of his after her problem sets are done, and if she’ll make herself come with his name a litany in her brain, well — Alina is a stubborn, stubborn liar indeed.