The Rival's Dare

The elevator jolted hard, then froze with a gut-clenching grind. The lights flickered once… and then silence.

I exhaled through my teeth. “Of course.”

A beat passed. Then I heard it—that voice. That annoyingly calm, arrogant, too-smooth voice I knew like a bad habit.

“Let me guess… you think this is my fault somehow?”

I turned slowly, already dreading the sight I’d find—and there he was, leaned casually against the elevator wall like this was a joke. Like he wasn’t the one person I’d rather be stranded with a snake than share a square foot of space with.

Callum Reyes.

Top of the class. Top of every competition.

And top-tier asshole, in my opinion.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I muttered, folding my arms. “The universe just clearly hates me.”

He smirked. “Maybe it’s punishing you for being so hostile to someone so charming.”

I stared at him. “You are the most self-absorbed, manipulative, smug—”

He held up a hand, mock-serious. “Careful. Insults are like confessions in reverse.”

I rolled my eyes so hard I saw stars. “Do you ever shut up?”

He tilted his head, that maddening half-smile on his lips. “Only when someone makes me.”

The elevator felt tighter by the second. It wasn’t just the space—it was the air between us. It had always been charged, sharp, like lightning right before it strikes. Every debate in class, every stolen competition win, every narrowed glare across the library aisle—it was always something with him.

And now here we were. Trapped. Inches apart. No exits.

He stepped closer—not much, just enough that I felt it. That subtle shift in energy, like gravity itself had turned and aimed us straight at each other.

“You know what’s funny?” he said quietly. “For all your hatred, you’re still staring at my lips.”

“I’m staring at it because it never stops running.”

His smile widened. “Want me to give it something better to do?”

“You’re disgusting.”

“You’re flustered.”

I huffed and turned, trying to ignore the heat rising in my neck. But then his voice came again—lower, rougher.

“You hate me but you'll melt right here if I touch you for just a sec.”

I blinked. “What?”

He stepped behind me now, his presence like a hum against my back.

“Simple,” he said. “You’re always so sure you don’t want me. So prove it. Let me touch you—just once—and if you don’t react, I’ll back off. For good.”

I laughed once, bitter. “You think I’m weak enough to melt just because you lay a hand on me?”

His voice came closer, next to my ear. “That sounds like a yes.”

I turned sharply to snap at him, but he was already reaching—his hand brushing a damp strand of hair off my face. His fingers grazed the line of my cheek, and I looked at him in disdain. Then he pulled me into him, his grip tightened on my waist. I tried to pull away but he grabbed my wrist.

My breath caught and he leaned into my neck and sniffed me in. My neck twitched at the sensation of his lips grazing over my neck. My pulse began racing faster, heat forming in my clenched wrist.

“I’m not reacting,” I whispered.

He smirked, voice low. “Sure you're not.”

He pushed me to the elevator wall and caged me with a hand beside me. His palm slid to the side of my neck, thumb brushing the edge of my jaw. At the close proximity, I felt myself being hypnotized by his scent. It wasn't new but my hatred for him never let me take notice of it in the past.

The air between us thickened with every gliding second and his sharp eyes staring directly into mine made me forget that I was supposed to be resisting.

He leaned in slowly until our lips almost met. He paused right there as if asking for permission to go further. But when I didn't react, he planted a kiss on my lips, licked it lightly and let it deepen

I was equally shocked when I closed my eyes and grabbed his head, returning the kiss. His lips were soft and smooth and his mouth tasted just as sweet as strawberry.

The kiss deepened and soon his hands went down to my a*s. He grabbed it in his palms and squeezed it. I moaned but the kiss didn't break. My hands were ruining his perfectly styled hair but I didn't care; my pleasure was suddenly more important than any other thing. I felt my panties go wet and I began to twirl my hips. He got the cue and reached under my skirt. He shifted my panties and found my wetness.

His fingers played around it and then he put in just the tip, fastening the kiss. I widened my legs a bit and he glided in. He started thrusting in and out very fast. My tight p**sy swallowed his long and thin middle finger but it ached for more. Then he added his pointer finger and maintained the pace. My mouth widened in moans and I couldn't keep up with the kiss even if I really wanted to.

He went on his knees and looked up at me. I didn't say a word as he pulled my panties off my waist and made it slide down to my feet. I held up my skirt before he could ask and expanded the space between my legs just enough for him to get a proper view of my swelling pink c*nt. It badly needed a d*ck.

He held my hips and brought his tongue to my cl*t. His tongue probed deep on it, hungrier and focused. Then he inserted his fingers into my p**sy, slow and steady. I moaned and pressed my hands to the wall. It was the only support I could find. What he was doing to me was enough to make me fall to the ground but I needed to stay strong to get the best of it.

My moans matched his thrusts—slow and attractive. But when he went faster, my breath hitched and I tried to adjust to the new pace but it was literally impossible to keep up. He had gone too far and I couldn't hold on anymore. He continued thrusting fast and deep, his tongue on my cl*t unrelenting, despite getting the cue that I was about to c*m. Soon my juices began dripping down his fingers. Only then did he pull out and the rest of it poured to the ground.

He stood up, casually wiping his hand with the handkerchief he always kept in his pocket. Then he slipped both hands back in, watching me with a quiet smirk as I reached for my panties, cheeks burning with heat. I was so embarrassed, I couldn’t bring myself to meet his eyes.

We were so caught up, we didn’t even hear the soft chime or notice the hiss of the doors sliding open. By the time reality returned, our stop was already gone.

I shifted awkwardly, fixing my skirt and smoothing down the heat still clinging to my skin. He walked over to the panel, pressed a new floor, then looked back at me with a smirk that held both victory and something else I couldn’t name.

“You were supposed to stay strong,” he said quietly, smugly. “But you didn’t.”

I bit my lip, but the shame pulsing inside me didn’t ease. The elevator began to hum again, moving slowly—too slowly. I kept my eyes away from his, my pride barely holding me together.

When the doors finally opened at my floor, I stepped out into air that felt thinner… lighter. But just as I crossed the threshold, I heard his voice behind me—low, deliberate.

“Don’t act like this is over,” his voice cut through the air—deeper, darker now. “You haven’t even dared me yet.”