15. The Prize

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The Prize

"D on't touch her," says a voice, strong and commanding, cutting through the tension like a knife. The crowd parts, and there he is. Professor Stratford.

For a brief moment, intense relief steals my breath.

He's here to save me.

Except he barely spares me a glance, his gaze locked on Luca as he strides into the circle of onlookers with an air of undeniable authority.

Stratford's voice rings out, clear and resonant. "She belongs to me."

My breath catches in my throat.

He's not here to save me. Of course not. Because he's one of them. No white dress shirt or suit for him. He's in a freaking robe, belted by a rope, the hood thrown back. He's here to keep me all to himself, like a toy he doesn't want to share.

Luca's face contorts with anger, his eyes flashing dangerously. "If she's yours, then you can explain why she tried to expose us."

He stands there, unflinching, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. "The invitation she received was not a regular one," he says. "It was a test, one I orchestrated so that I could be the one to punish her."

My mind reels. He's been manipulating me, stalking me, all along. He's admitting it, right here in front of everyone. And now, he's claiming ownership over me, as if I'm a prize to be won in their twisted game.

"It doesn't fucking matter," Luca says. "I'm president of the Society. Which means I can punish our enemies whenever I want."

A low rumble. "You dare to take what's mine?"

The air between them crackles with tension, the crowd holding its collective breath as they face off. Luca sneers, his eyes gleaming with malice. "If she belongs to you, then prove it."

Stratford turns to me, and for a moment, our eyes meet. There's a fierce possessiveness in his gaze that sends a shiver down my spine. "She's been mine all along," he declares, his voice dripping with conviction. "I arranged to mentor her for the Tempest Prize. I've been fucking her at every mentorship session. "

Everyone snickers. A few guys whoop and holler. They sound young. Not one of the parents. One of the guys my age.

The world tilts under my feet. He's been pulling the strings this whole time, shaping my path, manipulating my choices. And yet, there's a part of me that can't help but feel a twisted sense of relief. He's here, claiming me as his own, and in this moment, it's the only thing keeping Luca's hands off me.

Is he any better than the monsters that surround us, or is he just another wolf in creepy society clothing, fighting for the right to devour me?

Stratford's gaze never leaves mine as he steps forward, extending a hand towards me. "Come, Anne," he says, his voice leaving no room for argument. "It's time for your punishment."

The word hangs in the air, heavy with implications.

My punishment. At his hands.

Considering he already spanked me earlier, I'm not sure what else he might do. There's always the chance there is no punishment, that he's saving me, protecting me, but I'm afraid to believe it. The disappointment might hurt worse than his hand hitting my ass .

Hands release me, and I start to push myself up from the table.

"Don't fucking go anywhere," Luca says.

"You don't want to challenge me," Stratford says, his voice low.

Luca's smile is cruel. "It's not a challenge. She's yours, you say. Fine. Have the chubby little slut. But you forget, this isn't a personal punishment. It's for the entire society to enjoy. Do it here."

Stratford's jaw clenches, the muscle ticking in his cheek as he struggles to maintain his composure. "You want to watch me fuck her?"

Luca crosses his arms over his chest, his eyes glinting with a challenge that is both thrilling and terrifying. "If you want to prove your claim over her, to assert your dominance, it must be witnessed by the Society."

Stratford's gaze locks onto mine, and for a moment, I see a flicker of something that looks almost like regret. Then it's gone, replaced by the cool, commanding mask he wears so well. "Very well," he concedes, his voice betraying no hint of emotion. "Let the Society watch if it wants."

They close ranks around us, their faces a sea of eager, predatory eyes. My skin crawls under their scrutiny, and I can feel the walls closing in on me .

Panic flares within me, bright and hot.

This can't be happening. Not like this, not in front of all these people. I take a step back, my eyes wide with alarm, but there's nowhere to run. The crowd has us encircled, their bodies a living barrier that holds me captive.

Stratford reaches for me, and instinctively, I recoil. We shared intimacy only hours earlier, but this is different. He is different—cloaked in the Society's robe, a stranger to me, a powerful figure who commands the room with an air of brutal authority.

With a swift, almost violent movement, Stratford pulls me close, his fingers digging into the flesh of my arm. The harshness of his action startles me, and I gasp, my eyes locking onto his in a silent plea for mercy. But there's no mercy to be found in his gaze—only a dark, consuming hunger that sends a shiver of dread coursing through my veins.

"Be a good girl, Anne," he murmurs, his lips a mere whisper from my ear. His voice is a low rumble that resonates deep within my core, stirring a mixture of fear and arousal that I can't quite suppress. "You can get through this."

I'm not sure I can.

He touches my breast in a firm, possessive hold. I wince, still tender from the slap Luca gave me. Stratford's eyes narrow. He moves to my other breast, caressing, somehow turning my nipple hard. How can I possibly find this arousing? I can't. I don't. I won't let him twist me this way.

I squirm in his grasp, a futile attempt to escape the relentless onslaught of sensation. But his grip is unyielding, his touch a brand that sears through my clothing, marking me as his. The crowd watches, their eyes avid, their breaths a symphony of hushed whispers and barely concealed moans.

He reaches down to test my readiness, rough fingertips circling my clit. I gasp. This is a violation. And yet, my traitorous body responds to his touch, heat pooling between my legs, readying itself for him. I hate myself for it, for the way my body betrays me, for the pleasure that builds within me.

"Look at you," Stratford says, turning to face the crowd. "Envious. Hungry. You were so desperate to watch me claim what's mine. Is that what power means to you? Your faces pressed to the fucking glass? I'll show you power."

They're rapt, their attention fixed solely on us, their expressions a mix of lust and jealousy. And in that moment, I understand the depth of Stratford's power, the control he wields over these people—over me.

He owns me, body and soul.

There's nothing I can do to escape his grasp.

He climbs on top of me, mounts me. It's animalistic.

Even though I'm completely naked, he doesn't remove the robe. It chafes against my skin, a coarse reminder of the brutality of this act. I'm pinned beneath him on the cold, hard surface of the table.

And somehow, my secret muscles clench.

He shouldn't have this effect on me—not here, not like this. He pushes aside his robe and slips inside me. It's faster than he usually goes with me. That thought rings like a bell through the illicit pleasure of it. He's already inside me, his cock filling me, stretching me, claiming me.

I close my eyes, trying to shut out the faces, the whispers, the shameful reality of what's happening. Then I feel Stratford's breath, warm against my ear, his voice a low, insistent murmur that shatters my defenses.

"Let them watch you come," he growls, the rumble of his words somehow vibrating through my clit. "They wish they were me, fucking you, owning you. They're jealous, Anne. You're the one everyone wants. You're the prize."

The raw possessiveness makes me moan. Despite my fear, despite the eyes upon us, I am lost in the sensation of him moving inside me. He grounds the base of his cock against my clit until pleasure overwhelms my senses, obliterating everything but the feel of him.

My orgasm tears through me.

A sound of hoarse surrender tears from my lips.

His control shatters and he buries himself deep inside me with a final, shuddering thrust. His cry of release reverberates through the cavernous space, a triumph over the Society's power struggle.

For a moment, I am weightless.

The bliss of orgasm is a temporary relief.

Stratford withdraws from me, his weight lifting off my body as he stands. His cum leaks down my thigh. The reality of our situation comes rushing back. Nausea consumes me. I've just been used, displayed like a trophy for a room full of strangers. I lay there, exposed and shivering, my mind afire with self-loathing.

I can barely look at the faces surrounding us, their expressions a grotesque blend of lust and envy. Some of them have already started shedding clothes. Two girls are kissing. A guy holds a woman in front of him, his hands beneath her dress, her arms over her head. My body is still trembling from the aftershocks of my orgasm, a betrayal that leaves me ashamed. I've been on display, a spectacle for their amusement, and it's a violation as sharp and visceral as a blade.

Stratford stands beside me, his robe falling back into place with an air of casual indifference that makes my stomach churn. He looks out at the crowd, his gaze sweeping over them with undisguised contempt. "Scurry into your dark little corners and fuck each other," he announces, his voice carrying across the silent room. "It won't be as good as if you had her."

I'm not sure what to think.

He just forced me to have sex with him. Didn't he?

It seemed like he might be trying to help me, but it couldn't have been consensual, exactly, when my clothes are torn tatters on the ground.

Why would he taunt them if he's only trying to protect me?

Stratford turns to Luca, his eyes glinting. "Don't ever challenge me again," he warns, his voice a low growl that resonates with authority. Luca's face hardens, but he doesn't argue. It's clear that Stratford has established his dominance over the Society and everyone present.

At least, for the moment.

Stratford may have manipulated and used me, but he also saved me from a far worse fate. My emotions are a tangled mess, a confusing blend of fear, gratitude, and a newfound vulnerability I can't seem to shake.

He somehow procures another robe and drapes it around me.

I shiver, not wanting to wear it, not wanting to be naked. There's no recovering my dress from the rags it's become.

"Come," he says, extending a hand towards me.

I can't bring myself to trust it. I hesitate, my eyes darting between his outstretched hand and the door that promises an escape from this madness.

"It's time to go," he says, his tone devoid of any warmth or tenderness.

I don't know where his loyalties lie, but it doesn't really matter.

He's my only escape.