The Unfinished Business

“Beg for it,” Lukas growled, his voice was rough against the shell of my ear. His thick, heavy cock was a branding iron against my clenched hole, a relentless pressure promising nothing but brutal entry. “Tell me you want my fucking cum in your ass.”

I shivered out of fear, my entire body a wire pulled taut. My cock was already spent and sensitive, giving a pathetic throb against my stomach. “Please… Lukas… please don’t—”

“Wrong words,” the other guy, Marcus, chuckled from somewhere behind my head. A hand slapped down on my bare ass cheek, the sharp sound echoing in the room, and the sting blooming into a deep, humiliating heat. “He needs the right motivation.”

Lukas’s spit-slicked thumb pressed against my pucker, not entering, just rubbing that tight, terrified ring of muscle. “You remember how you’d strip me in the quad? Spill my books? Laugh with your little friends?” His thumb pushed further, just the tip, but it felt like a burning, stretching intrusion. My back arched, and a broken sound tore from my throat. “This is me spilling something in you, Aiden. Now fucking ask for it.”

The memory of how I got here was a blur of pain and shame and a terrifying, awakening hunger.

*

The world swam into focus with a dull throb behind my eyes.

I blinked, the gritty feeling behind my eyelids matching the coarse texture of the sheets beneath me.

My head pounded lightly.

The last thing I remembered was the shortcut to the bar, then a sharp sting in the neck, and… nothing.

I tried to move my arm to rub my eyes and felt a deep, total weakness. Not just tired, drained.

I looked around. The room was empty and run-down. The paint was peeling a pale, yellowish color, and a single bare bulb hung from the ceiling, its bright light making my headache worse. I sat up, and saw that I was shirtless.

A door I hadn’t noticed creaked open.

My heart hammered against my ribs. “Who’s there? Let me go! I’ll call the police! I swear, I’ll—”

The figures stepped into the light, and the words died in my throat.

It was Lukas, and two other guys, Marcus, built like a linebacker, and Jax, lean and smirking. Lukas leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, and a slow, cruel smile spread across his face. He was dressed in jeans and a tight black tee that stretched over his chest.

“The police?” Lukas’s voice was a low, mocking drawl. He pushed off the frame and walked forward, his boots were steady on the floorboards. “You think they’d believe you? The rich kid who got himself into trouble at some downtown fetish club? The one who signed a waiver?” He stopped by the bed, looking down at me with an intensity that felt… terrifying. “This isn’t a scene, Aiden. This is payback. Remember Philosophy 301? Senior year? How you and your minions made my life a living hell?”

I tensed up. The venom in his tone was unnervingly authentic. “That was… that was long ago. We were kids. We all moved on.”

“You moved on,” Lukas leaned down, his face inches from mine. I could smell his cologne, it was something woodsy, and his breath was warm against my face. “You got your fancy job, your fancy life. I got a fucking complex. Now it’s my turn to be the one in charge.”

His hand went to my hip roughly and possessively, and I gasped. “Wait—”