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Ella had been to this house hundreds of times. It was a three-storey townhouse just North of London, converted into a student home in the mid-1990s.
With two large bedrooms on each floor, two bathrooms, a pretty decent kitchen and living room, and a reasonably big garden, it was perfect for that lifestyle despite falling a little bit into disrepair.
She had lost count of the fun times she'd had between those four walls. Now in her third year at uni, aged 20, she'd had drunken one-night stands, witnessed ridiculous fights and pranks, pulled all-nighters studying and partying. She'd seen and done it all... at least, she thought she had.
The house was busy. There were probably around 40 people there, too many to keep track of, to be honest. The kitchen and living room were the hives of activity, but people were off in other rooms having casual sex and doing everything you'd expect from a group of teenagers/early-20s students.
Ella was chatting to one of her best friends in the kitchen, drinking a beer straight from the bottle. The room was loud with overlapping conversations, the faint bass of music thumping through the walls. The sharp tang of spilt beer mixed with the faint smoke drifting in from the garden. Someone was laughing loudly nearby, the sound cutting through the buzz of chatter like a spark.
Ella felt at ease, the kind of comfort that came from knowing every nook and cranny of the place. She wasn't expecting anything special tonight, another typical student party.
She was wearing a cute outfit—a long-sleeved white tank top with thin, horizontal black stripes across it over a soft, unstructured white lace bralette, a short black denim skirt and transparent black tights, and black and white sneakers. She'd picked the outfit for comfort more than anything else, but it didn't escape her notice of how well it suited her. The tight, cropped tank top hugged her petite frame, and the short black denim skirt showed off just enough leg to keep things interesting. She wasn't trying to attract attention, but she was clearly getting it.
Her wavy blonde hair was up in a short ponytail, and winged eyeliner, mascara, subtle eyeshadow, and gorgeous red lipstick accented her beautiful blue eyes. She looked hot. Really, really hot. Her petite body, with wide hips and an ample butt, and her small but perfectly perky boobs were all standing out, drawing the eye of anyone at the party.
In particular, she was drawing eyes from across the kitchen. She laughed at something her friend said, tilting her head back slightly, her ponytail swaying with the motion. It was then she felt it—a prickling sensation, as if someone was watching her.
Or rather, not someone, but several someones.
She glanced casually over the lip of her beer bottle and saw them: four pairs of unwavering male eyes fixed on her from across the kitchen. Her stomach did a little flip, and she quickly looked away, heat rising to her cheeks.
She kept looking over out of the corner of her eye. Her friend's words became a blur, drowned out by the magnetic pull of those four sets of eyes across the room. She could feel their attention like a physical weight, their gazes roving up and down her body, pausing as if lingering on each curve. It wasn't just a passing glance—it was deliberate, calculated, and completely unabashed.
Her stomach fluttered, a mix of flattery and nervous energy, as her mind began to race. Why were they staring? What were they thinking? What did they want? The questions came faster than she could answer, each adding to the warmth rising in her chest.
She smiled, just barely, the corner of her lips curling in a flirtatious tease. Her fingers tightened slightly around the beer bottle, and she brought it to her lips, taking a slow, deliberate sip. The cool glass
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