Brandon wasn't exactly sure how Beth convinced him.
It started with a flyer. Pink. Obnoxious. Smelled like glitter. She'd waved it in front of his face like a flag of war.
"Party," she'd said, unapologetically chipper.
"Off-campus. The whole club's going."
He narrowed his eyes. "No."
Her smirk deepened. "C'mon. It'll sell the act."
"What act?"
"Our very real and not-at-all-made-up relationship," she said, leaning in close. "We've been skipping meetings and showing up together like we've been spending nights doing things, Brandon. You think Liv's not gonna keep talking if we don't make an appearance?"
He sighed. "You just want to watch me suffer."
"Well, yeah. But I also want an alibi that doesn't involve blood and hiding bodies."
And just like that—he was standing in a crowd of drunk college students, a red Solo cup in hand, wondering how he'd been emotionally blackmailed into agreeing.
The music was loud. The air thick with sweat, perfume, and the sweet stink of something definitely not legal being passed around.
Beth stuck close. Her hand in his. Tight grip. Flashing smiles at people who stared too long.
He thought it would feel suffocating—this charade—but it was… oddly natural. She leaned into him like they belonged to each other. Laughed at things he didn't remember saying. And when she pressed a cup into his hand, something dark and fruity, he took it.
Then another.
And then another.
Apparently, he was a lightweight.
Beth wasn't faring much better. She giggled—giggled—as he nearly stumbled into a potted plant. Her eyes glossy, her cheeks flushed. She looked soft, warm, dangerous in all the wrong ways.
Somewhere between the fourth and fifth drink, she whispered something about leaving.
He didn't argue.
They barely made it to her dorm.
Kisses collided in the hallway—hungry, unrestrained. They stumbled into walls, into each other, drunk on heat and momentum. Fingers grasped at fabric, at skin, at anything to pull each other closer. Her lips traced the curve of his neck, teeth scraping just enough to make him hiss, and his hands tangled in her hair like he couldn't bear the thought of letting go.
She gasped when his hands found the places she guarded most—hidden, tender spaces no one else had ever touched. He had no right to know them, and yet somehow, instinctively, he did. The way he touched her there, with surety and reverence, almost shattered her composure before the door even closed behind them.
Inside, she pushed him down onto the bed, climbing over him with deliberate, feral grace. Her fingers fumbled with his belt as if it offended her by existing. His breath came rough and fast as he watched her, eyes dark with awe and disbelief. He knew he should've said something—should've slowed this down. But her eyes told him the truth: neither of them wanted to pretend anymore.
When they finally came together, it was like gravity shifted—like the center of everything had moved beneath their skin.
Beth rode him slowly at first, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. Not gentle—precise. Dangerous. She moved with intent, her hips speaking a language he only half understood but couldn't stop listening to. This wasn't about sweetness. This was about possession.
Her nails bit into his chest, dragging down with a cruelty just shy of playful. When he thrust up into her, deeper, harder, she let out a low, delighted laugh. It wasn't soft. It was hungry. A sound that said, yes, that's it, give it to me. His hands skimmed along her waist and thighs, tender despite the chaos, and she met his gaze with something wild in her eyes—half challenge, half promise.
They kissed, messy and relentless, tongues dueling for control neither really wanted to win. When she rode him harder, he groaned, helpless under her, and that fluttering thing in her chest came back—worse now, sharper, like it might consume her.
Then he flipped her, catching her off-guard. She let him, just this once.
His rhythm changed—deeper, steadier, like he was trying to memorize her from the inside out. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, keeping him trapped there like she'd die if he left.
Her voice turned low and wrecked against his ear. "Don't stop. You don't get to stop."
He didn't. Couldn't. Each thrust was reverent, each breath drawn between clenched teeth.
She arched beneath him, and her nails raked down his back—leaving red trails that made him gasp. Her grin twisted, eyes alight with satisfaction. She liked that. She loved making him come undone.
His breath hitched. "Beth… I'm close."
"Then finish," she growled, voice thick with sweat and control.
He froze for a beat. "I'm not wearing a—"
"I don't care," she cut in, sharp and certain, pulling him deeper with her legs wrapped tight around him. "I want you to. Inside me."
His restraint shattered. There was nothing careful about the way he moved now—nothing held back. Just the raw, terrifying honesty of two people who'd burned everything else down and only had each other left.
She whispered more filth into his ear—urging him on, dragging him toward the edge with her voice alone—and he gave in with a strangled sound that barely resembled her name.
They came together, bodies locking, breath stolen. The world narrowed to skin and pressure and heat, and then broke open around them in perfect, blinding release.
Beth cried out, his name on her lips, unfiltered and right.
He collapsed against her, chest heaving, face buried in the curve of her neck. His lips found her shoulder—soft, slow kisses that felt like apologies. For the lies. For the damage. For the impossible thing building between them that neither of them had the courage to name.
And she held him there, legs still around him, not ready to let him go.
Not yet.
Brandon woke with a start.
The world was too bright.
His head was pounding like someone had replaced his brain with a marching band. He shifted—and froze.
Warm skin against his.
Soft breath on his shoulder.
Beth.
He looked down.
She was curled up next to him, one leg thrown over his, face relaxed in sleep. The blanket barely covered them, but there was no mistaking the truth: they were naked. Very naked.
His entire body went still.
His mind reeled.
He remembered everything. Her laugh. Her hands. Her voice in his ear. Thrusting deep into her. The taste of her lips.
And then—
Fuck.
He sat up too fast, head spinning. The blanket fell, and he scrambled to pull it up. The sudden movement stirred her.
She blinked awake, slowly. Her brows furrowed, lips parting on a soft sound as her eyes adjusted.
Then she looked at him. Down at herself. At the blanket.
Her eyes widened just slightly.
"Oh."
They stared at each other.
Neither of them moved.
Neither of them said a word.
Until finally, Beth groaned and flopped back into the pillow, dragging the blanket up to her chin. "Okay. So that happened."
Brandon swallowed hard. "Yeah."
Beth tilted her head toward him, one eye peeking open. "You panicking?"
"I'm not panicking," he said too quickly.
She smirked, and then—of course—Ashes picked that exact moment to leap up onto the bed.
The cat took one long look at both of them tangled in the sheets, sat down between them, and meowed. Smug. Judgmental.
Beth covered her face with a groan.
Brandon just stared at the ceiling.
Definitely not falling for each other.
Nope.
Not at all.