Blair makes a choked sound and I give her a gloating look. I reach for a big canteen of water Sean carries around and hand it to Blair. It’s full to the brim. Her fingers are cold when they brush mine, accepting the bottle. Discreetly, I mouth how much she’ll earn—three hundred bucks.
“Dump it on yourself.”
My order is cold, hard, void of emotion. Bailey gasps beside me. Some of the packed tables around us are looking over, watching the scene unfold.
Blair remains still, jaw locked as she stares me down with fire burning in her eyes.
My hostile grin stretches wider. “Do it.”
Everyone around waits with bated breath, collectively leaning in. The tension and anticipation presses in from all sides. No one eggs Blair on, possibly aware of the same thing I am. The struggle is clear as day in the rigid line of her body and death grip on the bottle. I can guess what’s going through her head—pride versus how much money she needs.
To earn it, she’ll submit to my whims. She’s fucking crazy to do it, to willingly humiliate herself. But when she releases a small breath and inverts the water bottle over her head, the thrill that zips through me is undeniably satisfying.
In seconds Blair is soaked, her bra visible through the white shirt sticking to her skin. Her chest heaves and she tilts her head to let her hair hang in a dark clump covering her eyes.
A rough chuckle huffs out of me. “What a good girl you are, sticky fingers.”
Cheers and laughter erupt around the room. Jeers fly.
Blair stands there, dripping wet, shoulders trembling.
“You trained the bitch!” Trent crows.
“Good girl, good girl!” People taunt and shout amidst their raucous amusement. “Wet dog alert!”
“Something stinks!”
Several people at the next table over make kissing sounds to call to Blair like they would call a dog.
Blair endures it all in silence. She gave up on comebacks and reactions freshman year once she figured out people would go after her no matter what.
Her silent obedience is my reward to reap, the cruel laughter music to my ears.
“Dude,” Bishop mutters, plopping next to me on the bench. “What gives?”
I offer Bishop a secretive smirk.
My gaze sweeps over Blair, meeting the glare she gives me from behind her hair. The searing fury in those deep brown eyes tugs at my chest and lower, my stomach tightening. The room narrows to the intensity Blair directs at me.
In an odd sense of wonder, I look at her like this is the first time I’ve ever seen her.
With her attitude stripped back to this simple strength in her vulnerable state, I see beauty.
Blair is hot, if you can get past the fact she’s a criminal.
My fingers twitch for a different reason than the agitation I battled ten minutes ago, fingertips rubbing together to keep them from the sheer temptation of her perky, petite tits. Shit, if she moves a step, I might grab her.
“We have an arrangement,” I explain, snapping out of the weird bolt of heat that passed between us. Must be the see-through shirt. “This is part of it.”
Blair takes a bre
ath and hands me the empty canteen. “Lunch is almost over.”
“I’m not done looking at you yet,” I counter, leaning back on my elbows, taking my time studying her.
Bishop snorts. “You’re an evil dick, bro.”
“Don’t worry.” I waggle my brows and stick my tongue into my cheek. “She’ll get her reward.”