Kayla C. Oliver

Chapter One

Camille

I’m shaking. I’m so mad, so hurt.

“What are you trying to say?” I ask Jackson, studying his chocolate brown eyes like he’s going to say something that’ll change my life.

He’s calm as he runs a hand through his douchebag haircut. He’s wearing those skinny jeans I hate and those glasses I know he only wears to look cool. “You’re an ice queen,” he says, blowing his breath out like he’s vaping on the back patio.

“Because I won’t have sex with you?” He’s got me all wrong. He has to. I’m not an ice queen. I’m not a prude. Am I?

“Well, yeah. And because you won’t do fun shit with me,” he says, his fingers finding his phone screen where it sits on the table in front of him. The party invite is there. He’d asked me. I’d turned him down, but not because I don’t want to have fun.

Because I’m studying for finals.

Or… I was studying for finals.

Something snaps in my mind. I was taught to be this. To be perfect. To be pretty. To be sweet. To be loveable. I was top of my high school class. I studied hard, I worked at making sure my hair was pretty, my skin was flawless, and my clothes were fashionable, but not too flashy.

I didn’t overdo it. I didn’t show off. I was perfect.

“So you’re breaking up with me because I won’t party with you or put out?” I ask, finalizing it all in my head. Even as I want to scream and cry, I feel a steely fist closing around those emotions. Before he can answer, I seal my fate. “Fuck you, Jackson. Fuck you and your stupid haircut. Fuck you and your hipster bullshit. You’re not sensitive, or deep. You’re just a stupid prick who only wants to get laid.”

With that, I’m on my feet and out the door of his shitty apartment that I’d tried to convince myself was charming.

Tears fill my eyes, but I blink them back. I had worked hard on my makeup. It’s not worth ruining it for him. I head towards home, feeling pain and fury eating at my stomach lining like so much bile. And a plan forms.

I’m not going to class.

I’m tired of being perfect. I’m tired of trying to live for other people. I’m tired of doing what I’m supposed to do. I’m tired of being perfect.

As I open the door to my apartment, I pull off my shirt and let it drop to the floor. My skirt follows. In only my pretty lavender underwear, I stop before my full length mirror. My best friend, Amber, had left a note written in red lipstick on the mirror.

Camille, I love you! Good luck on your finals!

Boy is she going to be surprised.

They’re all going to be surprised. With sure hands, I grab that red dress that’s much too short. Taking off my cute underwear, I pull on the dress with nothing underneath.

I’m a prude, huh?

My hands make quick work of my makeup, darkening the eyeliner and making my lips a deeper red. My blue eyes look wild, troubled, and beautiful. But not perfect.

Pulling my black hair free of the bun I’d wound it up in, I let it tumble free. The thick locks are heavy and have just a hint of a natural curl at the ends. With my short dress, I look… sexy. Naughty.

Not like an ice queen.

I stand before the house. It’s more like a castle. No, more modern than a castle. More like a modern mansion. I know the owner by reputation alone. Dakin Dark is the son of an oil tycoon, but he’s made himself. With his own business in real estate, he’s built an empire that rivals his father’s.

And he is every inch the bad boy his name implies. The rumor mill whispers that he loves and leaves ladies, never having the same one twice. Perfect.

This is where the party is. Where Jackson will be. But he won’t be expecting me.

I walk in the door and a drink is instantly thrust into my hand by a guy looking me up and down like I’m a tasty treat he’s been craving. Perfect Camille doesn’t drink. She knows it kills brain cells and lowers inhibitions.

But I’m done being perfect.

I take the shot and cover my mouth as the burn ignites my nose, throat, and belly like I’ve consumed liquid fire.

“All right,” the guy says, nodding at me. I smile and push into the crowded room. All around people sit, talking, smoking, and drinking. There are several pool tables set up and I see Jackson on the other side of the room.

His eyes are on me, but I ignore him and take another shot. This guy doesn’t smile at me. No, he looks at me like he’d love nothing more than to rip me apart. But he passes me another drink and I take it, trying not to cough at the sting.

Warmth hits me first, and I know I’ve had too much, too fast.

But it feels… good.

Another guy grabs my hand and spins me like we’re in a ballroom. “You’re good on your feet,” he says, pulling me close to whisper in my ear.

“Not just on my feet,” I whisper, and his eyes narrow.

Someone else walks up and I face the new stranger. Why didn’t I do this before? These guys are incredible looking, so damn sexy, and not like the stupid, immature Jackson. They seem like they might actually know a thing or two about women.

The warmth becomes a giddy sense as music begins to rumble the floor and an AC-DC song comes on. I find myself on the table, but how I got there is hazy. But all eyes are on me, and I know my dress is too short.

But there’s Jackson, watching me with a look I’ve never seen in his eyes before.

Fuck him.

The music beckons, and I dance, feeling so very sexy, so incredible, so imperfect.

Chapter Two

Dakin

My phone lights up and I see the video text and open it. I know of the beauty dancing on the table, but I’ve never seen her like this. Another text follows it.

She’s 18.

I’m quick to respond. Thanks, Jake.

Jake’s always had my back. He knows that if word gets out that I’ve got a drunk girl who’s too young to drink, things will get ugly. And while I could easily pay off whatever officer who drops by, I don’t want that kind of thing on my head.

I’m quick to get to my feet and take the stairs two and three at a time. In the main room, I scan and see her still dancing on the table. I can see her legs clear up to her hips, and when she grabs the little skirt to swish it a little bit, I catch a glimpse of her cute, shaved little pussy. It’s a shock, but I shove away the thought. My cock pulses, and I wrap up in steely control.

I’m not controlled by my body.

On the other side of the room, I see him. Jackson, watching Camille. Beyond the obvious lust in his gaze, I see something darker. Murder. I’ve never liked the little fuckwit, hipster wannabe. He’s one of those guys who tries to pretend to be hard while being a little bitch.

With quick strides, I walk up to the pool table and press my shoulder to Camille’s thighs. With one hand around the back of her legs, I pull her off the table. She folds over my shoulder and I carry her like a caveman back toward the stairs and up to my cave.

She should know better.

As I walk, she’s raining blows on my back and trying to kick her legs. But with her bent over me like this, she’s unable to get leverage, and her pitiful hits aren’t enough to actually hurt me. I walk up the stairs with her. She’s such a tiny thing; I don’t even start breathing heavy.

In my room, I drop her on the bed, then internally curse myself. I never bring girls to my room. What am I thinking?

But she looks up at me with those big, blue eyes, her face white as a sheet. “How dare you,” she whispers, her beautiful eyes welling up with tears that only seem to fuel her anger. “If you touch me, I’ll scream--”

“I’m not going to touch you, princess,” I say, locking the door behind me. She looks so delicious on my bed. There’s an innocence to her as she sits, thighs pressed together, one foot drawn up a bit more than the other, her ankles shoulder width apart.

But I’m not looking up her skirt. I’m looking into those incredible blue eyes, thinking about how this girl isn’t the perfect Camille I remember from the days my sister was in high school. What happened to her to destroy her so thoroughly?

“I’m not drunk,” she says, as if suddenly certain that’s what I’m upset about.

She’s partially right. “But you were drinking,” I say, and her incredible eyes fill with shame.

“I was. But I’m not drunk.” She seems focused on that one little detail like it can save her. “I was kind of hoping to see you,” she says, a shy note in her soft voice.

Instantly, my hackles rise. Why? Why did she want to see me? We know each other in passing, and only because my younger sister and she were somewhat friends. Not close friends. Not good friends. Just… kind of friends. I don’t pretend to understand the minefield woman call friendship. It’s not like the friendships I’ve come to enjoy over the years. Jake and I would take bullets for one another. Women, though, seem more likely to shoot one another over an offhanded comment.

She’s watching me, as if looking for some acknowledgement to her comment. I’m not going to give her the satisfaction.

But she doesn’t seem to need it.

“You’re the perfect guy to be the next notch in my belt,” she says, and I feel humor rising within. But I keep it carefully locked away. I’m interested in where she’s going with this because I know for a fact she’s a virgin.

Thanks to that hipster shithead, Jackson.

But she keeps talking. “You’re so sexy, and I hear big,” her eyes drop to my cock, “things about you.” She licks her lips and I feel the urge to push her down and show her she’s playing with fire.

But I don’t. She’s been drinking. I don’t fuck drunk virgins, no matter how hard they try to convince me they’re not really drunk.

I’m not a fucking rapist. Consent requires two clear headed, straight thinking adults. I’m not a god damned saint, but I’m not that kind of monster, either.

My phone chimes and I take it out of my pocket.

Jake’s text is on the screen. Fuckwit is making a scene.

Thanks. I shoot back.

Throw him out?

Nah. I want to see how this plays out. I know Jake means well, but Jackson gives me a bad feeling, and I learned long ago to trust those feelings. They usually saved my ass in one way or another.

“I’ve got something more interesting than your phone,” Camille says, and I glance up at her. Her hand is on her thigh and she’s drawing the red skirt of her dress up inch by inch. Her red lips are pouty, and the darkness around her eyes brings out their striking blue.

Every bit of my body responds to her, but I shake my head. I’m not going to fuck her. No matter how much I might want to.

But it’s quickly becoming clear that maybe I should send her home. Still, I want to make sure that Jackson isn’t going to do anything stupid. With another glance at the beautiful offer before me, I take a deep breath. This is going to be harder than I thought.

Chapter Three

Camille

He’s so damned sexy. From the smoldering blue of his eyes to the thick, dark hair that’s lit blue in the depths of the black, to the thick fringe of eyelashes that line his eyes, to the slashing eyebrows that make him look almost angry, he’s drool-worthy.

Much more so than I remember.

But he’s not focused on me anymore. He’s back to his phone like it’s more interesting than I am.

“You know,” I say, rising up to my hands and knees. I wait until he looks at me to begin to crawl toward him in the sexiest way I can possibly manage. “You locked the door. Are you sure you didn’t plan something…” I lower my voice to a purr, “else?” I say. My tongue traces my lower lips and the sting of liquor eases a bit more.

His eyes follow my tongue and I know he’s warming up. But I want him out of the layers he’s wearing. That white shirt isn’t a huge barrier, but it’s struggling to conceal the power of his thick, strong arms.

His chest is clearly defined and I can see the outline of his abs as he stretches a bit and takes a step back. His eyes narrow a bit and I sense he’s weakening even more.

“You’ve been drinking,” he says again as if that is a reason to say no.

I sigh, feeling like I’m fighting a losing battle. How could I ever think I could be anything other than perfect, little virgin Camille? I’m such an idiot.

Besides, he’s the big, bad Dakin Dark. What does he care if I’ve had a few drinks? Can’t he tell that I want to stop being perfect, little Camille? I don’t want to be that sweet, innocent girl anymore. Can’t he tell that I want him to act on that expression I keep seeing behind his eyes? The one that’s all lust and tightly wound control?

I am not going to cry in front of him. As I sink back onto my backside, I sit, feeling miserable. If he doesn’t want me, I’ll go find someone else, then. “Fine,” I say, shocked at the petty, rebellious note in my voice. “I’ll find someone else who wants to fuck me. There’s a bunch of cute guys downstairs.”

I feel him tense up and know I’ve struck a nerve.

“Camille,” he says softly, and I look up into those penetrating, blue eyes that promise they know all my secrets. “I know you’re a virgin.”

Anger combusts in me like a match dropped into a lake of gasoline. “What?” I say, anger and shock darkening the word. “What, are you some stalker or something?” The accusation doesn’t even make him blink.

“You’re a damned pervert, right? Peeking into my bedroom windows at night and stuff?” My anger doesn’t seem to have an effect on him and I get out of his bed to poke an angry finger into his chest. But damn does it feel like I’m prodding steel. “Does your mother know you’re a sick peeping Tom?” I ask.

Suddenly, his fingers lock around my wrist and he twists my arm behind my back. I gasp as his hips press me forward and I find myself pinned between him and the bed. I lean forward in a feeble attempt to escape his grasp on my arm, but he’s got me tight.

And suddenly, I realize his hips are pressed tight to me. And there’s a hardness that my instincts tell me is his cock, rock hard, pressed into the cleft of my ass. A moan leaves my lips and I know I’m at his mercy.

And it’s fucking sexy.

He hauls me up and his free hand grabs my chin, holding my back flush with his front. His voice is little more than a growl in my ear, and I feel my knees weaken. “I’m not a fucking peeper.”

I want to agree, to admit I don’t really think he is either, but only a moan leaves my traitorous lips. It feels so good to have him against me like this, I can’t even think straight. I can feel my skirt riding up my hips as I struggle a bit and he holds me captive.

I want to press back on his cock, want to feel him push me down and shove it deep inside me. The warmth combusting in my belly becomes a tingling in the delicate vee between my legs.

“Say it,” he growls, and I whimper.

“You’re…” My breathless voice sounds sexy even to my ears. “Not…” I suck in a deep breath as I feel his cock pulse against my ass. “A peeper.” This has got to be the sexiest thing I’ve ever experienced. Being at his mercy, doing as I’m told. It’s a drug that’s wholly intoxicating, and I have a feeling it’s addictive as hell.

And I sense he’s not willing to let me go. I feel his breath on my ear, feel his forearm clamping down on my chest, and feel his heart slamming against my back. My own heart is racing at a breakneck pace that’s leaving me dizzy and I’m sure I’d faint if he wasn’t holding me upright.

“Don’t let go,” I whisper, and I feel him tense up behind me. His cock pulses against my ass again, and I resist the urge to struggle against him. I want to rub on him; feel him get harder. I want to tease him until he can’t help but push me down and bury himself deep inside me.

I want him to fuck me. I want him to give in to the pull of his body. I’m a virgin, but I know how the body works. I know he’s ready for me. And my body is ready for him. There’s a dampness between my thighs that makes them slide sexily together when I shift my weight a tiny bit. I can smell my own heat, my dampness.

It’s delicious.

Chapter Four

Dakin

I can smell the heat rising off her. She’s wet, ready for me and I can’t seem to fucking let her go. As I hold her, I feel my cock pulse and she moans in response. The tiny sound, a sweet mew of pure pleasure and need, destroys me.

I want her. I can’t deny that; my body is making it very clear.

But I also know better. It doesn’t matter that she’s saying she wants it now. I don’t want her to come to her senses after whatever the hell is going on with her passes and she goes back to being that pure, perfect picture of all that is good in this world.

I let her go, hating myself for it. It’s the right thing to do, but that doesn’t mean I really want to. “You’re on lockdown until you’re sober,” I tell her. She drops onto the bed and stays facing away as if trying to hide tears.

“I’m not risking people finding out that an eighteen year old was drinking at my house.” It’s mostly true. She doesn’t need to know that I have suspicions about Jackson, or what her ex was saying about her when she wasn’t around. If even a fraction of his bullshit was real, she’s safer here, with me, behind these doors. But only marginally.

And it has nothing to do with how much I want her, of course.

“You can’t keep me here,” she says softly and I can’t help but admire her spirit.

“I can’t,” I say honestly, “But I could turn you over to the cops for drinking underage.” That would be more than humiliating, and a mark on her perfect record. Somehow, though, with all that she’s done tonight, I have a feeling that doesn’t matter as much as it used to. Still, I can’t help but think that she might come to regret whatever it is that’s making her act so out of the ordinary tonight.

I’d be worried that Jackson drugged her, but he’d have told everyone. And he’d have kept her home for… other reasons. My gut tightens in anger at the thought, and I want to walk downstairs and punch the bastard in the face.

She’s quiet again and I find it more unsettling than comforting. Somehow, I’m certain that when she’s quiet, she’s plotting. When she turns around, I see her eyes are clear of the tears I expected. She just pulls herself back and settles on my bed while watching me closely.

“Why are you doing this?” she asks, her voice sweet and gentle. Her startling blue eyes are locked on mine, and I wonder how much I should tell her. I’m not some white knight. I don’t rescues damsels in distress. While I’ll help people who need it, this is way farther than I’ve ever gone to help someone. But there’s something in her eyes that’s so wounded, so defeated, I can’t help but want to be there for her. Something tells me she needs it.

“Because you need a friend,” I tell her. Her eyes widen, and she seems startled into silence.

When she does speak, it’s heartbreakingly evident she’s in more pain than she’s willing to admit. “I guess word travels fast,” she says.

“You could say that,” I answer, unsure of what she means.

Her eyes begin to sparkle and I see a new strength there. “I’m single and looking for someone to be a man.” There’s a harsh edge to her words, and I can’t help but wonder what happened between her and Jackson. Judging by what he’d said, he’d do anything to get her in bed. Hell, I’d only invited him in the hope that she’d say no.

Jake and Brice both hate him. Cliff thinks he’s a total loser, and he swore he’d take him down. And when it comes to the guys I work with, I trust them. I have to. I come from money, but my real passion – my day job – means I have to trust the guys I work with.

And all three of them think Jackson is the scum of the earth.

My phone lights up and I lift it, knowing several messages have come through. Jake, again.

How is she?

I shrug, though he can’t see me. Tipsy.

How much does she know?

Nothing. Again, something nags at me. Should I tell her the whole truth? Does she know what Jackson is? Did he hurt her?

Cliff is talking to him.

Good riddance. Cliff is no doubt recording any conversation that goes down. And he’ll turn that evidence over to the cops. And whatever Jackson has planned will never come to fruition. Not this time. Hopefully never again.

“What’s got you so intense?”

I look up at Camille. What do I tell her? That her ex is a scumbag who has likely planned something so unpleasant for her that it’ll damage her for life? No one needs that kind of shit hanging over their heads.

“Nothing,” I lie.

Her eyes narrow just a little bit. “Now the truth?” she says, and I can’t help but smile. She doesn’t take shit from anyone, does she? Would the old Camille have let that one slide in the name of being polite? I imagine she would.

Whatever change she’s dealing with, it seems to suit her.

“You got me,” I admit. “There’s someone I’m nervous about. He’s got a reputation for hurting girls.”

“Is he here?” she asks, her tone cool. “I bet it’s Jackson. Since we split, I bet he’s looking to plow some fifteen year old.”

My ears perk up. “Is that something he does?”

Her cheeks tinge red. “He said something to the effect of ‘if you won’t fuck me, I’ll find someone who will’ and I saw him with a girl who looked too young. But I don’t know for sure.” She looks away and I know she’s struggling to put it out of her head.

“So,” she says, looking at me again, her dark hair fanning out on the pillow as she grabs it in one hand and drops it over her shoulder. “Is this your bed?” There’s a light in her eyes I recognize. A heat that has my cock at attention again.

I sigh. It’s going to be a long night.

Chapter Five

Camille

God, he’s so sexy. Even when he’s not paying me any mind because of his stupid phone. But how to get him to pay attention? Even now while I feel so damn sexy, I’m unsure what to do next. I tried to get him to sleep with me and he said no.

He knows I’m a virgin.

“Did you grab my bag?” I ask him. He looks up at me from his phone, a spark of something akin to distrust in his amazing eyes. But he jerks his chin toward the chest of drawers on the wall. On top of it is the little black handbag I’d brought. I get up and grab it.

Unzipping it, I pull out my phone and see the foil wrappers of the condoms I’d packed. My cheeks blaze as I think about what I’d set out to do. And I remember what I must look like right now. This short dress with its plunging neckline gives a beautiful view of the space between my breasts. The shortness of it shows much more thigh than I’d ever shown before.

But I like the way it makes me feel. I feel free, sexy, like I could demand attention without ever saying a word. Even now, with a deep breath and a view of the pale flesh and gentle swell of my tits disappearing under the red material leaves my heart kicking and galloping in my chest.

How is he not even looking at me? I’m a fucking goddess.

Taking out my phone, I think twice. I was going to call Amber and tell her the shit that’s going on. But I don’t want to. She’ll try to talk some sense into me. Fuck that.

I tuck my phone back in the bag and take out one of the condoms. Maybe it was some silly hope that made me pack six of the damn things. Not that I’d imagined being surrounded by six guys or anything. I’d more hoped for one guy with a high libido.

With a deliberate crawl to the head of the bed, I place the purse on the bedside table and sit down. Keeping my back straight and pushing out my chest, I take the foil pouch and place it between my teeth while carefully holding it between my fingers.

Folding both my legs back so I’m sitting with them bent under me, I watch Dakin. He finishes his text or whatever and puts the phone in his pocket as his eyes meet mine. There’s a flash of heat in his eyes as he identifies the condom.

With a deep breath, I do my best to accentuate my tits. His eyes stay locked on mine, and I tear the condom wrapper. With a strip of the wrapper still between my teeth, I slide the condom out with one hand and put the rest of the wrapper on the bedside table.

He’s watching every move I make and I suddenly feel like a naughty stripper in a one woman show. This is like a private game of truth or dare where no one chooses truth. It’s a dare with him daring me to keep going and me daring him to get closer.

With my free hand, I take the bit of wrapper from my teeth, moving slowly as his eyes follow the movement. My tongue darts out to touch the damp bit of lube on my lips and I realize it’s got a sweet and odd taste to it. It’s not unpleasant, but I’m not going to start sucking on random condoms either.

The flash of heat in his eyes becomes an inferno and I know he’s enjoying the little show I’m putting on for him. Taking the tip of the condom, I place it between my lips and get on my hands and knees. With another deep breath, I make my tits strain to pop free of the plunging neckline. The chill of air tells me that at least half of each breast is free.

And his eyes drop to them like he’s starving before coming back to the condom between my lips. Perfect. I want him to think about his cock between my lips. What would it be like? I mean, I’ve heard all the stories. That guys taste salty, that it’s gross or at the very least, not all that awesome. But still, I can’t imagine anything being more sexy than such a selfless act designed to pleasure the partner. Wouldn’t that bring someone pleasure?

I’d like to find out.

As I crawl toward him, I know he’s weakening. He shifts like he’s adjusting something rather uncomfortable. All of his attention is focused on me, but he’s not staring at me. He’s merely attentive of my presence in the room.

It’s sexy to be on display before him like this, crawling slowly in his direction with my tits straining to be free for his viewing pleasure. At the end of the bed, I halt and take the condom from my lips. Offering it out to him, I give a coy smile and suggestively tell him he might need it.

He takes it and holds it a moment. “You know I won’t,” he says finally and my heart sinks. I sit down on the edge of the bed. This time, I spread my legs a few inches. Will he still say no when he realizes I’m not wearing underwear?

But he doesn’t seem to look.

So I grow bolder.

Rising from the bed, I walk over and straddle him where he’s sitting on the chair. Sitting square in his lap, I feel him shift and know he’s rock hard as I put my elbows on his shoulders and let my arms relax down on either side of him.

With my face near his and my hips begging me to rock against the hardness of him, I have to fight not to kiss him.

“Why don’t you want me?” I whisper, unable to stop myself from planting a little kiss on the corner of his lips.

“I do want you,” he says, his tone hard as if he’s steeling himself.

“So take me. I want it,” I say, my tongue darting out to taste that little bit of scratchy stubble beside his mouth. He tastes clean and warm, spicy and dangerous. I know I’m playing with fire and I can’t wait to get burned.

Chapter Six

Dakin

I need to stop this before it gets bad. She’s a beautiful girl and my cock is already straining so hard against the zipper of my slacks I’m worried I might bust the seam. I turn my head to the side to stare off at nothing, anything, something other than the suddenly sexy, nearly irresistible Camille.

This is going to be harder than I thought.

Sure, I want to stick to my guns and say she’s drunk, but she’s not acting drunk. She’s not slurring and her motions are effortless, not sloppy like someone who’s had too much. Her thoughts even seem clear.

But with all those reasons in mind, I know them for what they are: justifications.

“Don’t turn away,” she whispers, her breath cooling the spot beside my mouth where her tongue had tasted me. “Please just give me this,” she says, sounding almost broken.

“Why are you doing this, Camille?” I ask, hoping to steer things away from the pressure I’m feeling below the belt.

She sits back and I realize the room is colder without her close to me. My phone chimes, and I ignore it. Right now, I want to focus on her. I watch her eyes dart to my phone and study my reaction – or lack of one, perhaps – to it.

After I ignore it, she begins to tear up a bit.

“Jackson broke up with me,” she whispers, her cheeks and nose reddening a little like she’s about to cry. She’s still pretty, but there’s a vulnerable quality to her that melts my heart.

Which is weird as I’ve never considered myself that kind of guy.

She closes her eyes for a moment and I see her eyes darting back and forth under her lids like she’s trying to chase away the tears. When she opens them again, a single tears slips down her cheek and I reach out without thinking. Placing my fingertips on her jaw, I run the pad of my thumb under her eye to capture the lone tear and banish it from her face.

She draws in a ragged breath and I want to kiss her. More than anything, I want to kiss her.

But I don’t.

Her lips part and she speaks with great effort. “I don’t want to be a,” she lowers her voice like she’s sharing a secret with me, “virgin anymore. I don’t want to be a prude, or an ice queen.” She hesitates and I nod to silently tell her I’m listening.

I want to protect her. From Jackson, from herself, from me.

There’s a moment of silence before she speaks again. “I’m ready.” Her jaw sets stubbornly and I have a feeling I’m in for trouble. “And you’re not the kind of guy who’d be all sappy about taking my virginity.”

I’d feign hurt if it wasn’t true. I’ve never felt that being a virgin was some incredible quality of a woman. I’ve never felt that it makes anyone any more pure or perfect. I don’t have the urge to go where no man has gone before. If Camille feels that it’s a chore, she’s got the right opinion in my book. Public perception makes it such a bigger deal than it really should be.

In this world, there’s no such thing as innocence.

“It’s not something I’ve been so careful to keep,” she says quickly, as if to debate something I’m not arguing with her. “My parents were so intent on me studying and getting good grades there was just no room for boyfriends. But that reputation stuck, you know?” Her blue eyes are almost mournful as they meet mine.

And I feel bad for her.

My phone chimes again and again, I ignore it.

Her eyes dart to it, then back to my face as if she’s trying to figure out what I’m going to do next.

“So what do we do now?” she asks after a moment.

I open my mouth to answer but am drowned out by the sound of someone pounding on the door. Camille is startled, her whole body jolting and goose bumps breaking out over her skin. I’m on my feet and across the room quickly. Opening the door, I come face to face with Jake, who grabs my arm and pulls me aside.

Stepping into the next room, I face him. “What?” I ask, impatient.

“Jackson left.” Jake sounds stressed. But there’s a light in his eyes that tells me he’s still on it.

“Who’s got eyes on him?” I ask, needing to know where he went.

“The guys are looking around the house first, but someone swears he went outside.” Jake’s posture becomes threatening, but I know it’s not toward me. He’s pissed that Jackson gave him the slip. “He was threatening her,” Jake says, and I feel rage bubbling up in my gut.

How dare the fucker. I’ll kill him.

“So we keep him away from her,” I say, knowing it sounds much more simple than it is. “I told her she’s here until she sobers up.”

Jake nods. “I’ve got the blue ready.”

“Zac?” I ask, knowing that Jake’s friends with one of the cops. Jackson’s rap is pretty intense, but the cops have had a hell of a time finding out what’s just him talking big and what’s real. Still, the thought of him hurting Camille… it’s enough to make me see red.

“Why do you have such a hard on for him?” Jake asks, and I shake my head.

“It’s just a feeling, man.”

Jake’s eyes narrow and I know he’s not buying it. “She got to you?” he asks. There’s an out in his eyes, but I’m not taking the easy route.

“How old is Sam?” I ask and anger flashes behind his blue eyes. His little sister is only sixteen, but she looks older. And a guy like Jackson would go for her if he thought he could get away with it. “He’s an opportunity from statutory at best and who knows at worst?”

On the other side of the wall, I hear Camille cry out and my heart stops.

Chapter Seven

Camille

I feel so sad when Dakin steps out of the room for a moment. But I get that there’s something going on. I feel the tension in the air after the two guys walk off a few paces and into a new room. Peeking out the door, I decide I don’t want to listen to them. Whatever it is, it’s none of my business.

I slip out of the room and head to the landing of the stairs. From there, I see Jackson and I duck back into the room, hoping he didn’t see me.

Those hopes are dashed when he comes into the room and walks right up to me. His hand closes around my throat and I can’t even choke out a scream.

“Fucking finally,” he snarls in my ear and I whimper as my lips start to tingle. Forced to silence by his hand on my throat, I can only claw at him as he pushes me back onto the bed. Managing to get a leg between his, I bring my knee up. I hit his thigh and he grunts.

“You’ll pay for that, bitch,” he says and I feel the world beginning to fade. White spots dance before my eyes and I go totally still. Unable to actually talk, I merely move my lips.

“I won’t fight,” I mouth silently, careful to keep my body still and limp.

“I knew you wanted it,” he says, releasing his hold on my throat.

Gulping in deep breaths, I feel him paw at my chest and want to throw up on him. “You owe me this,” he says as I struggle to keep from passing out. “You fucking prude bitch.” His hands can’t manage to free me from the dress and I’m thankful. My heart pounds so hard I wonder if he can feel it.

I move my lips and he leans in as if to hear what I’ve said. And I smash my forehead into him. Pain flowers through me and I let out a yelp of pure pain and surprise as he stumbles back, rage in his features. There’s something more than rage. I see murder behind those cruel eyes.

In seconds Dakin and another guy burst into the room. Dakin strikes faster than a cobra and suddenly, Jackson’s nose is dripping blood as the other guy grabs his arms and hauls him out of the room.

Then Dakin is on me, holding me, asking if I’m alright. His fingers find my forehead and I hear him whisper that he’ll kill him. But I cling to him.

“Don’t kill him,” I whisper. “He’s not worth it.” He’s not. He’s a fucking piece of shit, but he’s never attacked me before. Not physically. He’s yelled at me; he’s been an asshole. But more often than not, he settles for silent disdain.

Still, he hadn’t been like that in the beginning. He’d been so sweet, so caring and deep. Or maybe I’d been too stupid to see him for the monster he really was.

“Are you okay?” Dakin asks, and I cling to him.

“He didn’t do anything. Not really,” I say, gulping back tears as I realize the ache in my throat. At the door, I see the other guy who’d dragged Jackson off.

“Should I call Zac?”

Dakin shakes his head, holding my cheek to his chest. I listen to the strong and steady beat of his heart and realize that I might be in more trouble if he hadn’t been right there.

“I’m sorry,” Dakin says. “I’m sorry I didn’t protect you.”

“But you did,” I whisper, feeling miserable.

Suddenly, I hear Jackson yelling and every hair on my body stands on end. “I’ll fucking kill her!” he shouts. “I’m the one who should be fucking her, not that piece of shit!”

My face blazes red hot and I feel Dakin stiffen. “Don’t listen to him,” he says, cupping a hand over my ear and keeping the other pressed firmly to his chest.

“Who’s Zac?” I ask, needing to think about something other than Jackson’s ugly words. Dakin seems surprised by the question.

“He’s a cop.”

“Why did you tell him not to call the cop?” I’m confused.

“Because you’ve been drinking,” Dakin says, and anger rises up in me. I push him away and stand on my feet a few feet away from him.

“What?” I ask, not believing my ears. But I do believe it. And my heart sinks like a stone. “I was attacked and you told them not to call the cops?”

Dakin sits on the edge of his bed, watching me like I’m a wild cat and he’s waiting for me to strike.

“Why?” I ask, tears beginning to crowd my eyes again. I hate myself for crying. I hate myself for being so weak and so pathetic.

He seems so matter of fact when he responds. “You’ve been drinking.”

At his house. He’d get hit with supplying a minor. He only cares about his own damn self. What an asshole.

“I’m leaving,” I say, misery threatening to drown me.

But he’s on his feet in a flash and his hand closes around my arm just above my elbow. “You can’t go,” he says, and I jerk out of his grasp.

“Too bad,” I say before turning toward the door. He’s in the doorway before I can get out, and he braces both arms on the frame and blocks me so very neatly. He’s imposing, his eyes are bright and narrow, and I know he feels like he’s fighting a battle he has to win.

Well, so am I.

“Let me go,” I tell him with as much authority as I can muster. He has no right to hold me here against my will.

“No,” he says simply and I look up at him, hating him for doing this to me.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask, and he studies my face as if trying to decide how to answer. And I know the next thing out of his mouth is bullshit.

“Because I want to keep you safe. Please stay.” There’s a sincerity in him that I want to believe, but I just can’t. If he really had my best interest in mind, he’d have called the cops.

Then again, my phone is in here. I could call the cops. The thought makes me pause, and I begin to wonder why I’m hesitating. Jackson tried to rape me, to kill me, possibly. Yet the thought of calling the cops on him still leaves me shaking in fear.

As if this is some bad movie, I hear Jackson again, but he’s up here now, behind Dakin, talking in a voice that’s oddly calm and composed.

“Step aside, pretty boy. You swore you’d help me.”

Chapter Eight

Dakin

As soon as the words leave Jackson’s mouth, I want to kill him. But Camille goes white as a sheet and there’s a look of betrayal in her eyes that shreds my very soul to bits.

I can explain. I told Jackson I’d help him, but clearly not in the way he thinks I meant. I was going to help him by getting him locked up before he could really hurt anyone. Or kicking the shit out of him until he can’t fuck with anyone else. Still, while looking at the whole world crumbling in Camille’s eyes, I know I have to protect her first and explain later.

Seeing red, I turn and walk over to Jackson and grab him by the collar with one hand. Shoving him back, I drag his ass down the stairs, back first. His hands grab at my arm as I haul him down to the room of guests who have heard nothing over the heavy bass in the music they’re enjoying.

But the music stops as I jerk the struggling Jackson off the last step and onto his feet.

“This son of a bitch is a rapist,” I say loud enough for the room to hear. It’s so quiet I can hear Jackson’s heartbeat. “If he has attacked you,” I say, scanning the women in the room with a silent plea and an offering of strength, “report him. I know it’s scary, it’s hard, and it’s humiliating. But he’ll never stop if he’s not punished.”

I scan again, seeing uncertainty. “But you’re strong. Stronger than he is.”

While Jackson struggles, I let him go and he falls flat on his ass amidst sudden whispers and a few titters of laughter.

“I’ll fucking kill you and that bitch,” Jackson spits.

A small, cruel smile tugs at my lips. “Not if I find out what you’ve done first,” I say and his eyes widen.

“Did you just threaten me?” He sounds incredulous.

“Not a threat,” I say simply, “A promise. I’d watch my back if I were you.”

Jackson scans the crowd looking for a single, friendly face. But people are staring at him like he’s something they tracked in on the bottom of their shoes and I know I’ve destroyed him for this group.

And word will spread.

Jackson looks at me and lifts a finger to point at me. “You’re dead,” he says. Beside me, I feel Jake step by my side and cross his arms over his chest.

“That sounds like a threat,” he says softly, but I put a hand on his chest to keep him still.

Jackson’s eyes narrow and I see him snap. He lunges for me and I meet his face with a savage right hook that sends a shockwave up my arm into my shoulder. Everything gives as I smash him again. He hits the floor, but I’m only a second behind as I hit him again and again, with every ounce of fury and hatred in me lashing out at this son of a bitch.

Jake tries to grab me, but I shove him back with enough force to take him down and return my rage to Jackson.

“Stop!” I feel Camille’s presence rather than hear her.

Suddenly, she’s before me, her eyes on Jackson before they come up to meet mine. And I see something there I’d never expected: fear.

“You’re going to kill him,” she whispers over the sudden buzz in the room. I look up, seeing most of the group has dissipated, but those still around are staring at me, shock clear on their features.

But not Camille. She’s looking at me like she’s scared of me.

And I look down at Jackson. He’s bloody and bruised. Jake touches my arm. “He swung at you first.”

The room agrees with nods and a girl walks up to me and hugs me. “Thank you,” she whispers, before looking at Jake with a look that clearly says she has something to say. He takes her aside and I know he’s calling Zac.

It’s what I set out to do, but this isn’t how I wanted to get here.

Camille takes my fingers in her hand and rises to her feet in a graceful motion that sends my pummeling heart into overdrive. I follow her as she leads me off towards the bathroom. She says nothing as she takes my hands and moves them under the faucet.

I watch her attention to detail as she turns on the water, adjusting it to be warm and begins to scrub my hands and knuckles with soap. Her features are tight, worried, and I still see lingering fear there.

“How much did you hear?” I ask, needing to know.

She hesitates and her eyes meet mine. “Enough.”

As the water runs red, then pink, and finally clear, I sense she’s scared of me and I feel like a monster. I didn’t want her to see that. I should have had more self-control. I should have been a better man.

I don’t lose my damned temper. Not ever. This fluke will haunt me forever, I’m certain.

Camille rinses my hands, her fingers trembling and I want to tell her she doesn’t have to be in here with me. She doesn’t have to stay. She can go, but I need her to be safe. It isn’t about keeping her here to protect myself.

I’m not sure why I feel so protective of her. Maybe because I couldn’t help several of the other girls. I knew; there was always a nagging doubt about what he did behind closed doors. But I didn’t have proof, and I didn’t have a good way to get it.

“You can go home,” I say softly.

She looks up at me, surprised. “No,” she says, shaking her head a little, “We have a few things to talk about.”

That phrase makes my balls retract. Nothing good ever comes from that string of words in that order. But I’m sure as hell not going to tell her no.

Chapter Nine

Camille

I’m shaken. The last few shreds of hazy heat form the alcohol have left me clear headed and nervous. I missed something, something major.

I didn’t know Jackson was such a bad person. And hearing Dakin tell all the girls in the room that if he did anything to them that they needed to overcome their shame and step up, left me shaking and terrified. I was with a monster.

How did I get off the hook? Why did he let me walk away?

But the fresh memory of him attacking me in the room rises up. I didn’t get away. He was just playing me. He was letting me walk away so he could really enjoy it when I came crawling back.

With a towel, I dry Dakin’s hands and notice he’s still studying me as intently as he was in the moments after I’d told him not to kill Jackson.

A shiver runs through me and my blood runs cold. Dakin would have killed Jackson. And I know his friend tried to stop him, but Dakin threw the guy to the floor without breathing heavy and kept raining the wrath of hell down on Jackson.

“I’d never hurt you,” Dakin says in such a low voice I almost miss the words.

And I know he’s telling the truth. “I know,” I say, thinking back on how he’d been so adamant that he wouldn’t even sleep with me if I’d been drinking.

Our eyes lock and I feel my heart begin to pump double time. Still, some part of me whispers that he’s dangerous. I don’t know him all that well. And what I’ve seen is two sides of one coin. He’s kind and sweet to me. But someone who can lose their temper like that is someone who might blur lines of what’s right and wrong.

What’s to stop him from losing his temper at me?

But I can’t imagine it. He’s been so careful and protective of me I can’t even bring myself to imagine that kind of violence being directed at me for anything I could possibly do. Plus, if he did that because of what he’d accused Jackson of… I’ve got nothing to worry about from him.

“Is that why you wouldn’t let me leave?” I ask, inspecting the small scratches on his knuckles. They don’t look like they need to be bandaged, but I look around for some medical stuff anyway. I’d rather be safe than sorry.

I find a medical kit under the sink and take it out. “I’m fine,” he says, pulling away as I reach for him again, but I grab his hand and give him my best I’m in charge look. He relents and gives me his hands.

“I didn’t want him to follow you,” he says, watching me take out some antibacterial cream. I smear it on the cuts and take out some gauze.

“But you were protecting yourself, too,” I say, needing him to be honest with me. “You didn’t want people to find out I’d been drinking. You might have gotten charged with supplying a minor.”

But he shakes his head. “That was such a small part of it. I wanted you to be safe. I knew it was only a matter of time before things escalated with you. He’s got a pattern.” I sense his anger ramping up and know he’s blaming himself.

“Thank you,” I say as I place the gauze on his knuckles and grab a roll of medical tape. I look up into his eyes. “For making sure I wasn’t the next one,” I say, the words catching in my throat as I realize how close I was to disaster. He’d saved me from something horrible.

I wind the tape around his hands, feeling tears rising up to choke me. How had I not known? I mean, I had a creep vibe from him; I knew he wasn’t genuine. But I never would have suspected he was as bad as Dakin said he was. And judging by the number of girls who’d hung back to talk to Dakin’s friend who knew the cop, I had a feeling there was a long line of people that had something to say about Jackson’s crimes.

As I finish wrapping up Dakin’s hands, he reaches out and touches my face, but I can’t look at him. I can’t let him know I’m about to cry. I’m so damn stupid!

“Hey,” he says softly as I put the tape back in the bag. Both his hands come up to capture my cheeks and I shiver at the sensation of his rough fingers on my face. He tilts my head up and I blink back the tears. But there’s nothing more than worry and warmth in his eyes as he studies me.

“It’s okay,” he says. Suddenly, he leans in and places his lips on my forehead. My arms slip around his shoulders and I cling to him. He’s warm and safe, reminiscent of home and love.

His arms come around me and I just cling to him like he can wipe away all the fear, all the humiliation, and all the uncertainty I feel right now. “I’m sorry,” I say, feeling like an idiot. I’m here crying and nothing even really happened to me. Sure, Jackson kind of attacked me, but compared to the other girls, I feel like I’ve got nothing to complain about.

He didn’t actually get to hurt me. He raped them. I can’t complain about being grabbed by the throat.

“You’re safe,” Dakin whispers, his lips still on my forehead.

I pull back and gather up the last remnants of my self-confidence, composure, and strength.

But Dakin seems bothered. “Don’t close up,” he says gently and I smile at him through the sheen of tears in my eyes.

“I’m okay,” I say. Because I am. He didn’t rape me. I got lucky, and I need to stop feeling sorry for myself. Besides, didn’t I leave the house hoping to go home without my virginity?

Oh, hell no, I think. I did not just give myself that stupid, victim blaming line that I wouldn’t have dressed that way if I didn’t want to get raped line. Fuck him for making me even go there in my mind.

“I should have let you kill him,” I whisper.

Chapter Ten

Dakin

I see it in her eyes. She’s blaming herself. But her struggle begins to fade and she looks up at me again. “Why did he think you were going to help him?” she asks, and my heart begins to sink.

It’s not what she thinks, but I’m certain it’ll look bad no matter how I tell her. So I lie. I’m not proud of it, I feel like shit, like a total asshole for not being honest with her. But I don’t see any good coming from the truth.

“I was going to help him get home, but I guess it was ambiguous.” There’s a flash in her eyes and I know she knows I’m not being totally honest.

I take her hand and we leave the bathroom and head back up to my room. Since I know she might decide to leave, I’ve got to go talk to a few of the bodyguards I trust. I’ll have them follow her and keep her safe.

“Stay here,” I tell her. “Lock the door behind you.”

She perches on the bed and nods.

“Do you want to talk to the cops tonight?” I ask, needing to give her the option. She shakes her head and answers in a clear voice that’s unmistakably strong.

“I’ll give them a statement tomorrow if they even want one from me,” she says, her hand creeping up to her throat. The skin there is a tiny bit red, but I’m not sure it’ll even bruise.

“There’s enough on him…” I say, knowing that she’s rethinking talking to the cops at all. The girls who are going against him will all build a pretty solid case, I’m sure. And I know the DA. He’ll gladly push to hang Jackson out to dry.

She nods and I step out. But I don’t walk away until I hear the soft snick of the door lock.

Downstairs, the party has dimmed a bit, and the girls who needed to talk to Zac are gone. Jake is smiling ear to ear and I know he’s trying to get the party back into swing. Several of the buddies I rock climb with are in the group and I see fresh drinks being poured.

I walk over to the group I’ll gladly rub shoulders with. Brice lifts his drink in my direction. Jake’s eyeballing me as I take the drink Shane offers me.

“Damn, man,” Brice says, shaking his head.

But I’m here to talk to Cliff, who’s standing to my right with a sullen expression. “If she leaves, man, I need you to keep an eye on her.”

Cliff nods, downing his drink and leaving the group.

“How’s the other guy look?” Brice asks me, and I shrug.

“Like hammered shit,” Jake says. He nods at my hands. “Little lady?” he asks, arching an eyebrow at me in a knowing manner.

I nod, not willing to talk about it.

And I see it, that moment where the guys look at each other and glance at me. They fucking know.

“She’s gorgeous,” Brice says, and I feel anger rising up.

“Stay the fuck away from her,” I growl, knowing what Brice would do to a pretty girl like her. He might be my friend, but she’s just a sweet, unassuming girl and I’ll kill him.

He nods, and I know I’ve failed the test.

“It’s not like that,” I say, needing them to know I just feel responsible for her while she’s here, in my house, and tipsy. “She’s been drinking and she’s not thinking straight.”

The guys nod, but Brice is looking at the ground, Shane’s looking past me, and Jake’s staring at me like I’ve lost my mind.

“You can’t get attached, man,” Jake says, and I shake my head.

“I’m not.”

But Shane lets out a low, gruff laugh that makes me want to smash his face in. “Attached? She’s got you hook, line, and sinker.” He pats my shoulder. “I’ll see ya again, never.”

“Bullshit,” I say, hating the joke that if I’m with a girl, they’ll never see me again because she’ll rule my life. “Are we going out climbing this weekend?” I ask, needing to steer this sinking ship another direction.

“We are,” Brice says, elbowing Shane as he chokes on his drink, “You’re gonna be under the whip.” He mimes cracking a whip and I feel my jaw clench.

“Fuck off,” I mutter before leaving the circle. I don’t need their shit. Today has been terrible enough. We might be friends, I might trust them with my life, but clearly they’re all blind mother fuckers if they think I’m in love.

As I head back toward the stairs, I wonder where Cliff went. Likely outside. If he’s not watching her, he’ll be contacting someone to do so. But he’ll handle it. That’s why I asked him. So I turn and head outside, hoping to bump into him.

He’s out on the bench beside the house with his phone in his hands. But he’s aware of me. I know it in the change in his body language. He’s a big guy. He’s well over six feet, with dark hair and olive skin. He blends in, other than his height.

Somehow he can melt into a crowd and just fit in. It’s a talent he uses to his advantage. But what unsettles people who don’t know him is how quiet he is. He just listens and rarely speaks unless he’s got something real to offer.

I sit beside him and pull my phone from my pocket.

“What’s the worry?” he asks me quietly and I choose my words carefully.

“Jackson attacked her. She’s been drinking and is… was intent on losing her virginity.” I know he’s turning his head to look at me out of the corner of his eyes, but I don’t meet his stare. “I’m not a piece of shit,” I say, hating that I even have to explain myself. “With everything that’s happened, I’m not sure she’s still feeling like getting laid.”

But Cliff says nothing and I wonder if I’m just projecting my worry onto him. Since when do I second guess myself and what people think about me like this?

She’s fucking messing with my head.

Chapter Eleven

Camille

All the stress is weighing on me. I feel it crushing my soul and I want to relax. But with Dakin gone – even with the door locked – I feel like I’m in danger. What if Jackson comes back to finish what he started? Will I ever feel safe again?

Putting my head in my hands, I take a few deep breaths.

I’m okay. The cops would have arrested Jackson. With all the girls stepping up to tell their stories of him, there’s no way he’s not sitting behind bars right now. Right?

As I calm myself down, I realize how tired I am. My brain is struggling against my body. My body wants to sleep, but my brain is running a million miles a minute.

But I know that tomorrow, in the light of day, all of this will look a hell of a lot less terrifying and a lot less ugly.

The thought of Dakin’s face as we talked in the bathroom swims back to the edge of my mind. There’d been something so broken in him, something so raw and frightening. But he’d also told me he’d never hurt me.

And I trust him.

Maybe I’m crazy. Scratch that, I am absolutely crazy. But something about him just digs at me. The way he studies me, the way he seems to look right through me into my very soul… it just makes me sure there’s so much more to him than I thought in the beginning.

And he’s every inch the bad boy I thought he was… to a point.

Then again, what kind of bad boy has a girl practically fawning all over him and begging him to fuck her and just says no because she’s been drinking? That sounds oddly like someone who’s a good person.

Throwing myself back on his bed, I stare up at the ceiling. Overhead, I see stars beyond the skylight and wonder what it would be like to have him right here beside me.

The confines of the dress are feeling like a bit too much. But I’m reminded how very sexy I feel as I look down and see the flesh of my tits struggling to escape the plunging neckline. In this foreign place, I’m suddenly excited like I’ve never been before.

This is Dakin’s bedroom. A place where he’s undoubtedly fucked plenty of girls. But instead of being grossed out, my body hums to life. What if I was one of them?

Better yet, what if I was the last one?

Fuck it, it’s my fantasy, I’m going all out on it.

Studying the stars overhead, I run a hand down my flat belly and let my fingertips trace the gentle jut of my hip bone.

What would it feel like if they were his hands? How would Dakin touch me? Would he be gentle as if worried he might break me? Would he be rough and demanding? My hips tilt as my fingers find the bare skin of my thigh and inch up, tickling, teasing, and leaving a trail of goose bumps in their wake.

Tracing over the top of my thigh toward the delicate flesh if my inner leg, I run them up as if to touch my pussy, but fall short. There’s no coming back from this. If I get off to him right here in his bed, right now while he could walk in, I’m never going to live it down if he walks in.

Then again, if he walks in, maybe he’ll put me out of my misery.

I can live through a little humiliation. I’ve lived through worse, right?

My fingers slide sexily on the moisture between the folds of my pussy. It’s delicious, and I hear the sound of how wet I am as I touch and explore. All the while, I see Dakin in my mind’s eye. I can imagine him over me, teasing me with his fingers to prepare me for more, for him.

A moan breaks from my lips as my body hums to life. Sensations crash from everywhere in contrary waves. My belly tightens and my hips buck into my hand as if I’m just going too slowly.

Pressing my eyes closed, I whimper and bite down on my lower lip. I don’t want anyone to hear me. That would be worse than him walking in on me.

Not that him walking in on me would be a bad thing, judging by how my body responds to the thought with more moisture and a burst of pleasure in my belly.

With my free hand, I tug the neckline of the dress and let my tits free of the confines they’ve been imprisoned behind. Their pale complexion is broken by a few scattered freckles and the dusky rose coloring of my nipples.

My hard nipples.

Damn, I guess this fantasy is better than I imagined. With my free hand, I squeeze one of my nipples and choke back a yelp of pain and pleasure at the sensation. My fingers find my clit and I work quick circles around the delicate button.

The dress covers nothing that should be covered now. It’s just hiding my belly and ribs while my tits and pussy are on display. And it’s fucking sexy.

Rubbing my clit with one hand, I continue teasing my nipples to tight little points while struggling to keep my noise to a minimum. Every tweak of my nipple sends sparks of pleasure bolting straight to my core.

And my fingers move faster as the pleasure begins to increase and increase. Fuck, would he lick me? Taste me? Tease me to orgasm before finally deciding to take the disgraceful stigma of virginity from me?

Sucking in a shuddering breath, I feel my belly coiling up tight and my hips begin to jolt as I reach the edge of orgasm and teeter cruelly. It’s incredible torture, the best and worst thing I’ve ever experienced, and all I want is to just come.

Suddenly it all crashes over me as Dakin’s name leaves my lips. My teeth slice through my lower lip and I taste the sharp metallic bite of blood as everything in me hits overdrive. I feel faint, on the edge of something great, and my core is a coiled spring ready to release.

And shockwaves explode out from my core in an intense circus of pleasure. Moans and Dakin’s name leave my lips over and over, quietly, but so loud to my ears I’m both afraid and exhilarated that he’ll hear me and know I’m in his bed, thinking about him fucking me.

And that I’m coming while thinking of him.

As the twitching of my core wrenches every last bit of breath from my lungs, I suddenly see the stars overhead again. It’s as if the world had faded out slowly without my notice and suddenly blinked back in.

The clenching of my pussy begins to slow and my whole body relaxes as I just stare out the skylight. I feel wicked and delicious, sexy and spent, exhausted and ready to be gathered up in Dakin’s arms.

But he’s not here. My fantasy dissolves, but my resolve to find out if the man measures up to the fantasy solidifies in my mind.

Slowly, my breaths begin to return to normal and I feel my eyelids growing heavy as the world begins to drift off into darkness.

Chapter Twelve

Dakin

Whatever’s got me so worked up over her has got to be in my head. Or maybe it has something to do with her plot to get me to fuck her. Whatever it is, I need to get her out of my system. I’ll wait until tomorrow when I won’t have to worry about my conscious screaming that I’ve taken advantage of her.

But for now, I’m going to check on her. I need to know she’s okay. I need to know it with every ounce of my being because I know I’ll never forgive myself if something bad happens to her while I promised she’d be safe. She’s in my house, under my care, I need to know she’s alright.

At my bedroom door, I try the handle. It’s locked. Instead of knocking like a normal person might do, I’m compelled to force it. It’s like something deep within me is taking over and the part of my brain in charge of rational thought is simply away on vacation.

The door releases with an almost inaudible sound. The handle turns easily in my hand and I peek in on her.

And the scene I see is enough to instantly have my cock at attention and my whole body intent on joining her. She’s sprawled back on my bed, legs spread, fingers on her pussy, tits pointing to the ceiling and her eyes closed.

She’s fucking sexy and I want to destroy her.

“Dakin,” she moans and my cock strains against my pants as I back out of the room and close the door, certain she didn’t hear or see me.

Standing there, feeling my heart pump in my chest and feeling the thump of my pulse in my cock, I’m struggling against the urge to burst back in and fuck her.

I’m not controlled by my cock.

But she’s in there, thinking about me while she fingers her sweet pussy.

She’s also been drinking.

But said she wasn’t drunk. She’s not drunk!

It’s worth the risk.

I’d never forgive myself.

Pulling my arm off the wall, I resist the urge to strike out and smash my knuckles through the drywall. Before I can do something I’ll regret, I turn and walk down the hall.

Like I’m wasted myself, I stumble down the stairs, not even caring if I make a noise now. Downstairs, the party is back in full force. Music thumps and lights flash, creating still snapshots of pretty girls moving in time to the beats.

As I step off the last step, two pretty blonds instantly flank me, each leaning into me like I’m the one person they’ve been waiting for all night.

But I want them gone.

I want Camille.

Still, some caveman throwback part of my brain promises that if I fuck these girls, I’ll be calm for Camille. Hell, it’ll allow me to be more gentle when I fuck her. When I take her god damned virginity. Fuck, it sounds nuts, like some stupid fluffy chick flick. Some annoying rom-com I wouldn’t watch unless I needed some noise to sleep through.

But I know I won’t fuck these blonds. Because if Camille finds out, it might hurt her. She might misunderstand. She might think that if I sleep with these girls, that I don’t want her. It’s best to wait until I can talk to her, be open with her, because, for the first time in my life, I actually care what she thinks or how she feels.

Fuck. Maybe I am going nuts.

I step away from the girls and see the shock in their faces as I wave them away. But I’m not interested. I’m worried about the girl upstairs and the guy who threatened her. Even with Cliff on the job and all the guys promising to let me know if anything happens, I’m still nervous.

I find Shane in the room and bump into him. “Have you seen Zac?” I ask, and Shane shakes his head.

“The girls are down at the station,” he says, almost yelling to be heard over the music. “You really had them coming out of the woodwork. Fucking heroic, bro.”

I shake my head. “You’d have done it if it were your house.” He would have, too. I know that there’s a level of respect when you’re at another man’s house, but Shane, of all the guys, would have called it if I hadn’t. “Where’s Eek?” I ask, wondering where his on again, off again girlfriend, Ericka, is tonight.

“Off tonight,” he says simply, and I wonder what the hell is going on between them. I know that they’ve got a weird relationship. It seems almost like a convenience thing, someone to take home to their parents, or maybe just a total fabrication of an entire relationship. But getting Shane to cop to anything is like trying to get a dog to speak English.

“I’m here if you need to talk,” I tell him and he nods.

Jake comes up on my right and grabs my arm like he’s about to pull me into a hug, but he stops short to whisper-shout into my ear. “He’s out.”

There’s only one he that Jake could be talking about. Jackson.

I jerk my head toward the back door and we head toward it. Once we’re outside, I see Cliff studying something and know we’re safe to talk.

“What do you mean out?” I ask Jake, who’s looking a bit green.

“The cops are looking for him. There’s a warrant for his arrest, but he slipped the noose.” Jake’s shaken, and I wonder what the fuck happened.

Cliff turns to look at us as I demand answers. “Weren’t you watching him?”

“He had to pee, man. Next thing I knew, he was out the window and gone.” Jake’s pissed, I can see it in how he clenches and unclenches his fists.

Without a word, Cliff leaves the yard and I know he’s going hunting. Part of me wants to say a prayer for Jackson, the rest of me hopes Cliff kills him.

“Watch his back.” I tell Jake, who nods and chases Cliff.

I turn and look up, over my shoulder, toward my bedroom window. If Jackson shows up here to hurt Camille, I’ll fucking kill him.

Chapter Thirteen

Camille

I blink, looking into the billions of motes of dust that glitter like gold flakes on the rays of the morning sun. Beyond the light, the windows are open, letting in the chilly morning air as I sit up and try to remember where the hell I am and how I got here.

It comes back in bits as I sit up.

The little red dress…

I look down.

I’m naked. No red dress. Not a single speck of clothing. Looking over my shoulder, I see I’m alone. There’s no imprint on the other side of the bed that might leave the impression that I wasn’t alone last night. No, it looks like I slept in the middle of the bed all by myself.

But I don’t remember taking off the dress.

What do I remember?

Jackson dumping me.

Attacking me.

Dakin protecting me; pummeling Jackson to a pulp.

My cheeks sting red as I feel my thighs slide together and remember touching myself. Looking into the blinding sunshine again, I realize that I should be in class right now. I bet I’m way late, I might miss it again.

But I’m not doing that anymore. I’m not fucking perfect. I’m not a prude ice queen. Last night, I’d drank. I danced on a table. Dakin fuckin’ Dark carried me up to his bed like a damned cave man.

Sure, he didn’t fuck me, but he’d stepped up to bat and protected me when I needed him to. He also helped a host of other women who’d been preyed on by Jackson. He’d been a damned hero. And he hadn’t even fucked me when I’d pretty much begged him to.

I think I need to admit he’s not the monster I thought he was. Maybe he is in other ways, but the rumors I’d heard – and believed – were clearly exaggerated.

But it doesn’t distract from his charm, oh no, it only adds to it. Where he’d seemed like a good person to sleep with last night, now he seems like the perfect guy. He won’t be sappy or romantic. He won’t be clingy and weird. He’ll just love me and leave me.

He’s perfectly imperfect.

And I’d be lying if I said I’m glad I woke up alone. I want nothing more than to be beside him right now, sharing a few kisses and sneaking off to enjoy my walk of shame all the way home. Let people judge me. I’m not ashamed to be so wholly womanly and sexual.

I’m a damned goddess. Let people come at me, judge me, and pretend they know me. They’ve got no fucking clue and I don’t give a damn what idiots think about me.

Glancing back at the bed, I find myself wishing again that he was there.

As if answering my thoughts, the door opens and Dakin walks in, a tray in his hands. He flashes me a devilish grin and I feel suddenly shy.

“Where are my clothes?” I ask, my voice sounding much more playful than I feel. And when Dakin hits me with a stare that’s all heat and need, I’m speechless.

“I’m sorry,” he says, the preface making me a bit nervous, “I worried about how tight it was.”

“You undressed me?” I ask, my heart thumping as my mouth suddenly feels dry as a desert stone. He places the tray of food across my lap and I’m stunned by the beautiful simplicity of it.

There’s a plate with fluffy scrambled eggs, toast with what looks like honey, and several strips of crispy bacon – a total win for him since limp bacon is the only thing that makes me iffy on bacon – a side bowl has hash browns, another holds strawberries and blueberries, and there’s a glass of milk and one of ice water with lemon in it. And to complete the whole thing, a simple white vase holds a single yellow rose.

“Wow,” I breathe, needing to thank him even as I want to demand answers about his undressing me. Did he touch me? Did he stare at me and think about how much he wanted me? “Thank you,” I say as he sits down on the edge of the bed beside me.

“I was a gentleman,” he says, his blue eyes arresting me in a way I’ve never experienced before. It’s like I can’t even breathe. All I can do is focus on him and the words leaving his lips. “But it took every ounce of self-control I have. Don’t expect it again.”

His words send a shiver through me as his mesmerizing eyes pull me right into whatever he wishes of me. I’d do anything he wanted. Everything he wanted. All he’d have to do is suggest it right now and I’d be sunk.

“Now eat,” he says, taking a bottle from his pocket. “For the headache.” He places two of them on the tray and I take them, hating the nagging pain thumping under my temples. It’s just a tiny pinprick of pain, but I don’t want it becoming a full-fledged migraine, so it’s better to nip it in the bud.

“You’re not slipping me E, are you?” I joke.

“I’m not supplying you any more than I already have,” he says, but there’s another side to his words. “But if you do something like that, please stay with someone you trust.”

The words slip from my lips before I can stop them. “Like you?”

Again, he fixes that stare on my face that sends my heart into double time. “Don’t trust me,” he says, his voice low and controlled. “That’s a mistake.”

But I know better. He talks a tough game, but he’s a good guy under it all. There’s no coming back from what he’s done already.

“Help me eat all of this,” I say, picking up a piece of toast. I take a bite, hoping it’ll help calm the ache in my belly. The crystalline honey is delicious on the otherwise dry toast, and I close my eyes and savor it. “This is perfect,” I say on a sigh.

When I open my eyes, Dakin is watching me. His hand moves toward my face and the pad of his thumb touches the corner of my lips. Then he leans in and his lips close on the spot he’d touched. I feel his tongue, warm and silken, and turn into him.

His hand cups my cheek and I press my lips to his, needing him to kiss me. I’ve needed him since last night. His tongue traces my lower lip and I open to him. Our tongues meet and I feel him stiffen before he breaks off and backs up a bit.

I grab his wrist and he turns to me. “Please stay,” I beg, shame not even a concern in my mind.

Chapter Fourteen

Dakin

Her fingers are soft on my wrist, but her eyes hold me like shackles. She’s so sweet and soft, so perfect, it’s destroying me. I nod, swallowing hard. This is stupid. I’ve only got so much self-control.

And knowing she’s naked right here, under my sheets, on my bed, is enough to kill me.

Her fingers release me and I watch her pick up the toast and take another bite. Once more, her eyes drift closed as if she’s exploring every nuance of flavor. And once again, I find myself wondering if she’d have the same expression if I tasted her sweet pussy.

Fuck. I’m rock hard and this is torture.

I settle next to her on the bed and put my hands under my head. Overhead, fat, fluffy clouds drift by. Last night, she’d been right here, looking up at the stars, touching herself and moaning my name.

“So what are your plans for the day?” she asks, and I find myself grateful for the diversion.

“Taking care of you,” I say, surprising myself. It’s true, though. Either I’m watching out for her here, or I’m keeping her safe after she leaves. With Jackson on the run, I’m not sure I want to risk not keeping eyes on her. If he hurts her, I’ll never forgive myself. “Do you have class today?” I ask.

She shrugs. “I do, but I’m not going.” She sets the toast down and takes a drink of the milk before looking over at me. Her eyes are a mixture of sadness and strength that moves my very soul. “I’ve only ever done what people tell me to do. I’m in college because my parents wanted me to be. I’m not doing it for me.”

I nod. “So what do you want to do?” I ask, curious if she’s made any plans.

She hesitates, and I know she’s thinking before she responds. “I’m not sure,” she says, her honesty heartbreaking. “Is there supposed to be some eureka moment? Some second I know exactly what to do?” she asks, all seriousness and worry.

I’ve heard this before, though. “I don’t think so. I think we’re conditioned to do what we think is right. Get a good job. Go to college.” I stop talking and tuck a stray lock of her dark hair behind her ear before continuing.

“We’re children being told to pick one thing and do that thing, though we know now, as adults, that we change day by day.” I smile at the irony of it all. “And what seemed perfect even a month ago might be torture now.” I nod at her as she blinks at my words. “Like you’re learning.”

“You’re right,” she says. “But how do I know what I want to do?”

I can’t help but smile. “That’s the million dollar question, love. Not I, nor anyone else in your life, can answer that for you.”

Her eyes meet mine around another bite of toast. She chews in silence for a moment. “How did you know what you wanted?” she asks finally.

Her honesty is refreshing. I’ve never had someone just… ask. People assume. They draw their own conclusions with the precious little information they have. And they’re often wrong.

“I do what I must for the family business. But my hobbies are where I find fun.” I can’t help but smile and she arches an eyebrow at me in a clear question.

“You have hobbies?” she asks, humor coloring her tone.

“Oh, you’re cute,” I tease, and she grins. The sudden brilliance of it steals the breath right from my lungs and I freeze.

But she’s not done. “So really, what hobbies?” she asks, finishing her piece of toast while watching me.

“Rock climbing.” I watch her face shift. She’s curious, not judging.