Hit It and Run (Harper's POV)
The realization brought a quiet rush of relief that I hadn't expected.
Then the problems set in.
Derek was still on top of me, and his penis was still inside me. I could feel the heat of him clearly — that scorching warmth, that full, stretched pressure that made it impossible to think about anything else. Fragments of what had just happened flashed through my mind uninvited, and heat crawled up my face before I could stop it.
No. Stop. Don't think about it.
I pressed both palms flat against Derek's chest and pushed. He didn't move. I pushed again, harder this time, and when he still didn't react, I gathered what nerve I had left and shoved with real force. Finally, he rolled to the side.
I let out the breath I'd been holding and eased myself off the bed. The moment my feet touched the floor, my legs gave out completely, and I crumpled straight down onto the carpet.
I gritted my teeth, forced myself upright against the burning soreness in my thighs and the uncomfortable fullness that hadn't quite faded, and started
Realizing this, I let out a quiet breath of relief.
Then the problem hit me.
Derek was still on top of me, and his penis was still inside me. I could feel it clearly — the burning heat, the full, stretched pressure. Fragments of what had just happened flashed through my mind unbidden, and heat rushed to my cheeks.
Stop.
I couldn't let myself think about it.
I pressed both palms flat against Derek's chest and gave a tentative push. When he didn't stir, I gathered a little more courage and pushed harder. Finally, he rolled to the side. I let out the breath I'd been holding, eased myself off the bed as carefully as I could — and the moment my feet touched the floor, my legs buckled completely. I collapsed straight down onto the carpet.
I forced myself upright, fighting through the aching soreness in my thighs and the uncomfortable, lingering sensation still deep inside me. I took a few steps toward the door, then remembered my pajamas abandoned in the bathroom. I doubled back, retrieved them, pulled them on, and stumbled out of the bedroom.
Once I was in the hallway, I instinctively slowed my steps, terrified of waking Vaughn somewhere on the same floor. I made it back to my room without incident, and only then did the tension finally drain out of me. I wrapped my chest binding back into place, strip by careful strip, changed into a fresh set of pajamas, checked that everything looked normal, and lay back down on the bed.
I stared up at the ceiling.
Everything that had happened tonight played through my mind in a loop.
God.
I screamed inwardly, without making a sound. How had things ended up like this? Tomorrow I had to avoid Derek — sleepwalkers didn't retain memories of what they'd done, but if he picked up on anything, every plan she'd made would fall apart. Somewhere in the middle of that thought, exhaustion pulled me under.
The next morning, I had barely finished getting dressed when the curtain over my bedroom doorway was shoved aside and Derek walked in.
The moment I saw him, every muscle in my body went rigid. My hands balled into fists at my sides, and my heart lurched into an unsteady rhythm.
Had he figured something out?
I swallowed the panic, kept my face neutral, and asked with deliberate calm, "Derek — is there something you need?"
His cold eyes settled on me and stayed there. The silence stretched. I was just working up the nerve to say something else when he spoke. "Last night," he said, "did anyone enter my room?"
My heart skipped a full beat. My expression didn't change. "I went to bed early," I said. "I never left my room." I let a beat of silence pass, then added, with a carefully manufactured look of confusion, "Derek — did something happen?"
He didn't answer. He just kept watching me. I pressed my fingernails into my palms hard enough to sting, using the pain as an anchor to hold my face still.
After a long moment, Derek spoke again, his voice flat and stripped of any warmth. "Harper. Stay away from Vaughn. If you keep getting tangled up with him, it won't end well for you." He didn't wait for a response. He turned, pushed the curtain aside, and walked out.
I stood exactly where I was. Cold sweat had soaked through the back of my shirt. Only when his footsteps had faded completely did I finally exhale.
I hadn't even finished releasing that breath when I heard his voice again — from out in the hall, lower now, like he was on a phone call.
"Look something up for me. Find out who came into my room last night. Whoever it was left a pair of strawberry-print underwear behind. While you're at it, figure out when a woman got onto campus."
My mind went completely blank.
Strawberry-print underwear.
I stood frozen, the blood draining from my hands and feet. In my rush to pull on my pajamas and get out, I hadn't noticed — I'd left my underwear behind in Derek's room. And now it was in his hands. Could he trace it back to me?
No. He couldn't find out. I had to get those underwear back.
I spent the entire morning sitting in class without absorbing a single word. My mind turned over the same problem on a loop: how to retrieve them before anyone identified them, how to make sure my identity stayed buried. Whatever the teacher said that morning, none of it reached me.
Then, during the break between classes, I caught the sound of hushed, excited voices from the row in front of me.
"Did you see the post on Twitter? Someone actually got into Derek's room last night — and slept with him!"
"Oh my God, I heard. Who would have the nerve? Which girl would seriously do that?"
"And she left her underwear behind — strawberry print — I mean, wow, tacky and shameless at the same time..."
"Derek, of all people. Some trashy woman actually did that to him. Disgusting."
I gripped my pen so tightly that the tips of my fingers went white.
Flashes of last night surfaced in my mind — the closeness of it, the heat — and I pulled in a slow, deliberate breath, forcing the shame and the panic back down. Then I pulled out my phone, opened Twitter, and found the account they'd been talking about — an anonymous campus gossip page that ran on student submissions and was always blowing up.
The pinned post was right at the top.
[SUBMISSION] Word is someone snuck into Derek's room last night and slept with him. She left a pair of strawberry-print underwear and disappeared. Photo attached.
I tapped into the comments and scrolled.
@kingsley_2025: Which girl has a death wish that bad?? Sleeping with Derek — she's not afraid of dying fast enough??
@ella_c_04: There are no female students at this school. Had to be someone from outside.
@max_thewall: No female students, sure. But there are female faculty...
@anonymous_101: Whoever she is, she's a legend. Hit it and quit it and left the underwear as a trophy.
@charlie_wood: Derek must be absolutely losing it right now lmaooo, first time in his life someone's gotten one over on him.
@real_emma_white: Strawberry print though... honestly kind of cute. Good taste.
I let out a quiet, careful breath.
I was still reading when a broad, warm chest pressed against my back from behind. An arm reached past me, and long fingers landed directly on my phone screen. Vaughn dipped his head close to my ear, his chin nearly resting on my shoulder, his breath warm against my skin. When he spoke, his voice was lazy, unhurried, and edged with amusement.
"Strawberry underwear? Hm. I think that style would look really good on you."
Every muscle in my body locked up. I nearly dropped the phone.
Before I could react, Vaughn's hand had already moved from the screen to the small of my back. His fingers traced down the curve of my spine with slow, deliberate ease — and then lower, until his hand settled on my ass and gave a light, unhurried squeeze.
A soft sound escaped me before I could stop it. I caught myself a half-second later, remembering where I was, and swallowed it back down.
Vaughn let out a low laugh against my ear. "So responsive."
