Dead Man’s Hand 4

Blair

Anger bubbled up as I yanked the dress up, tying the halter around my neck before letting my long hair fall back down my back.

My eyes stung with tears. I knew they wouldn’t fall because I just wasn’t the crying type. But I had never been so humiliated in my entire life.

Fender had used me like I was nothing more than a piece of meat, leaving me naked and bare for everyone to see.

It didn’t matter that I had wanted to fuck him or more specifically wanted him to fuck me. I was humiliated.

No man in my entire Nineteen years had ever said no to me when I offered him seconds. I was good at sex. Better than good. I had been told on numerous occasions that I was phenomenal. And yet Chelsea’s dad had turned me down flat.

Like whatever had just happened between us was the end of it. It wasn’t.

I would say when we were finished. Not him.

I always called the shots.

“What the fuck do you think you are looking at?” I growled to the sea of eager Male faces.

No one answered, one laughed