Day 6: Jada (Go Big, Then Go Home!)

You step out into the sunlight with a hard-on and a heartbeat that’s gone from nervous to pounding. Jada closes the screen door behind you without a word. The air is hot. Loud music blares from a Bluetooth speaker perched on the hood of the sedan like this is a block party instead of a challenge.

And there she is.

Rebekah’s shirt is now unbuttoned to the navel, her breasts swaying slightly as she strokes herself beneath the hem of her skirt. One leg lifted against the bumper, her foot braced on the license plate. Her panties—if she ever wore any—are gone. She’s wet, flushed, and completely unbothered.

You’re not.

“What the hell, Rebekah?” you say under your breath, approaching fast. “You said public, but this is—this is brazen. What if someone calls the cops?”

“Then we’ll be famous.” Her eyes flash, and she curls a finger toward you. “But I timed it. Saturday morning. HOA president’s at tennis. Neighborhood kids are still passed out from their Friday night Red Bull rituals. This is our window.”

You glance down the street. A woman watering her lawn freezes, hose forgotten in hand. A jogger slows, earbuds still in, head turning as he realizes what he's seeing. And somewhere, two houses down, you spot it—a curtain, shifting. Watching.

Rebekah lifts her other leg up, planting both feet on the bumper now, her skirt hiked, her hands still working her clit. The car rocks with the movement.

“I’m ready,” she says. “Let’s get your points.”

You reach her, plant your hands on the hood beside her hips. Her eyes narrow with approval as you line up and slide in—slick and hot and completely exposed. She gasps, but grins.

There’s no tenderness. No kissing. Just rhythm and heat and nerves. The music masks your groans, but not completely. Every thrust sends a tremor through the car. Every slap of skin against skin is punctuated by the pounding beat from the speaker. She grabs your ass, digs her nails in.

“Faster,” she pants. “I want them to hear it.”

You glance toward the curtain again. Still twitching.

You thrust harder.

Rebekah bites her lip, then lets go and throws her head back, moaning openly. She’s putting on a show now—facing the street, eyes half-lidded, her breasts jiggling with every motion. You’re caught in it, drawn into her game.

She clenches around you suddenly, gasping.

“Don’t you dare finish before me,” she growls.

You don’t.

You hold back as long as you can, feeling her walls flutter, hearing her voice break into sharp cries. She grabs your hair, pulls you close, and whispers, “Come inside. Leave proof.”

The risk. The power. The audacity of her.

You do.

And then it’s over.

You stay buried in her a moment longer, both of you panting, the music still thumping like a heartbeat. Then you step back, tuck yourself away, and zip up. Rebekah lets her legs drop, skirt falling back into place like nothing happened.

Jada steps outside with your tablet and the College Spread interface still recording. She gives you a nod. No smirk, no judgment. Just confirmation.

Rebekah licks her lips and finally says, “Good. That’ll lock it in.”

“Was that really necessary?” you ask, wiping sweat from your forehead.

She shrugs. “Go big or go home.”

Rebekah adjusts her skirt lazily as you step back, still flushed, still hard-breathing from everything that just happened. Her lips curl into that familiar gamer smirk—the one that says this was only Phase One.

She leans against the car, barely buttoning her shirt. “You handled that better than I expected,” she says, like she’s giving you a match rating. She glances at Jada who is holding your tablet. “Video’s clean?” Jada nods. “Good, I expect you’ll be topping the leaderboard soon. Especially with me as your manager.”

You nod, still trying to center yourself. “You’re... completely insane.”

She shrugs, grabbing her phone from the roof of the car. “Insane wins games.”

“What do you mean by ‘managing me’?” you ask.

As you move to grab your tablet, she steps in close again, lowering her voice.

“Look, I know you said I can’t be in the game this year. At first I thought it would be fun just to compete with you on a one-to-one basis like I said, but I want more. I want to own a piece of you. I want your wins to be my wins. And I want to dictate the dance steps.”

You frown, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“You’re still going to share your cards with me every week,” she says, “but I’m going to be the one selecting which challenge you have to go for, and I might include another challenge I want to see you include. For me.”

You blink. That’s a hell of an ask, but at least you wouldn’t be competing with her. “And what’s the reward?”

She grins. “I win games. And if I’m your manager I’ll do everything I can to make sure you win games too. Want research? I got research. Need a special item to woo one of the Ladies? That’s my quest and you’ll get it. And you find a kinky bitch who is more into girls or heavily into threesomes? Why don’t you ask Jada here about that.”

You’re about to ask more, when a low sound reaches your ears—whoop-whoop. Your blood goes cold. Sirens.

She hears them too, but doesn’t flinch. “They’re blocks away. Probably took a neighbor a while to get through.” She waves toward the yard. “By now? All they’ll find is a couple kids drinking bubble tea.”

You glance around—shirt straightened, pants zipped, tablet under your arm. The camera’s off. There’s no evidence of what just happened. Rebekah urges you out of the yard too, telling you to go before they arrive. Still, your pulse doesn’t settle until you’re out the gate and halfway down the street. Only then do you let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding.

Behind you, somewhere past the trees, red and blue lights flash through the dusk.

Week 5 is complete. Rebekah Flores, Jada Washington and Freya Anderson are all waiting for you to lock in their points as part of a straight flush. Points will soar. As to your Nerves, they’re absolutely shot.

And Rebekah is absolutely NOT done with you yet.