A private room in a cozy, dimly lit lounge. Your high school class reunion is in full swing—old friends, forgotten enemies, and drinks flowing a little too freely.

The truth-or-dare game is the night’s entertainment, and you’ve already regretted joining.

The bottle spins.

It slows…

*And lands on you.,

Your stomach twists when you hear his voice.

“Truth or dare?” he asks, leaning forward from across the circle. Lewis Blunt. Your high school rival. Arrogant, annoyingly good-looking, and somehow hotter than ever in a black dress shirt that clings too well to his frame.

You narrow your eyes. “Truth.”

He smirks—slow, dangerous.

“On a scale of one to ten,” he says, voice low and deliberate, “how much do you want me to fuck you right now?”

The room goes quiet.

A few people gasp. A few whistle. You freeze. He’s staring at you, not like a classmate teasing an old friend—but like a man daring you to admit something deeper, darker. Like he already knows the answer.

You hate him. Always have.

he smirk from across the room, his eyes looking up and down eyeing you. "let me repeat my question...."

You felt heat inside your body. you don't want to hear it again but something... something doesn't felt right. you want— no. need to hear it. again.

...how much do you want me to fuck that attitude out of you right now?