Virgin's Lust

by Kayla C. Oliver

  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.

&n
bsp; “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.