Virgin's Fantasy

by Kayla Oliver

  “Thank you,” I say, stepping close and pulling him into a tight hug. He’s stiff, not returning the embrace, but I cling to him and bury my face in his neck. He’s all male, spicy and warm in my nose.

  He relaxes a little, and his hands settle on my hips, not quite embracing me. He feels more like he’s ready to push me away, but he doesn’t.

  I let him go, and he leaves as silently as he came.

  Staring after him, I struggle to sort out all the feelings he brings out in me. He doesn’t talk much, but that doesn’t feel like a bad thing. He says what he means and not a word more.

  He doesn’t lie or try to confuse with flowery words. He doesn’t offer cruel words cleverly cloaked with sugary compliments. He’s straightforward, doesn’t try to hide his true meaning.

  It’s refreshing.

  And his actions speak louder than any words could. He used skills to bring me down and promptly taught me to counter them after making his point. Without hesitation.

  He wants me to be safe. He will teach me to protect myself rather than be some Prince Charming who protects me like I’m some damsel in distress.

  It speaks volumes of his character.

  He’s sexy as fuck. He’s kindhearted, if gruff and prickly on the outside. He’s real. And his effect on my heart rate and body is pretty profound, considering nobody has ever made me feel that way.

  Something about his power—and choice not to use it against me—is too fucking sexy.

  I climb back in bed, willing my heart to slow. I’d been a mess when he came in, crying my eyes out as quietly as I could, feeling like my heart was being squeezed in a vice. I’d felt like I was dying. Like maybe death would be more merciful than pushing my problems on this man, on anyone.

  My head hits the pillow, and I stare up at the ceiling in the dark. I wonder what made him the man he is. He’s strange, there’s no arguing that. But not in a bad way. What made this man so short with words and to the point? Clearly he’s used to people listening.

  And he said he’s not a cop. I believe him. Why would he lie about it?

  But he was clearly taking someone in when I bumped into him in that elevator. The guy was zip-tied cop-style.

  I owe the guy my life—twice, I think; once for honking at me when I was falling asleep at the wheel, and again when he stopped today and took me in—and I know pretty much nothing about him. Except my gut says I can trust him. I think I like him.

  And it dawns on me that I’m in trouble.

  Chapter Ten

  Cliff

  That hug hit me harder than her kick to my sack. She’s grateful. And her breasts had crushed so incredibly to my chest it was hard to keep my hands to myself.

  Being near her is going to be torture. I know it. It was fucking stupid to agree to teach her to defend herself. Clearly she learns by doing, by feeling and experiencing. Which means we’re going to be close, body to body, much too often for comfort.

  I head back to bed and stare up at the ceiling. She’s not crying anymore. Which means I succeeded in what I’d set out to do—take her mind off it, wake her up, remind her to fight.

  My mother suffered crippling depression, and it eventually took her. I worry this girl might slip into her own personal hell like my mother did. All the stress and pain can make anyone make rash decisions, even if they’re not suffering an actual chemical imbalance.

  And while my mother was an example of all that is kind and patient in this world, she’s gone. All who loved her are now deprived of her light. And when she went, Dad wasn’t far behind. Because the love they had was just that tight a bond; his broken heart dragged him down.

  But I inherited her patience. And now I’ll use it to keep Addie on track to mending.

  I slip into a light sleep, but yesterday’s nightmares don’t visit me tonight.

  ***

  I wake and get out of bed quickly. It’s strange to have a visitor. I can feel her on the other side of the wall. She’s awake, trying to be quiet, still in bed, I think.

  But her breathing seems loud, like she’s biting her lip on a whimper. Shit. Maybe she’s hurt.

  I’m on my feet in an instant and heading for her door. I push it open and am stunned. She’s naked, legs butterflied on the bed, her fingers on her pink pussy.

  Fuck.

  I look away, but not before I meet her gaze. She’s startled, but I recognize the heat there.

  “Sorry,” I grind the word out. It feels foreign; I don’t say it often. I am sorry, though, that I invaded her personal space and embarrassed her.

  “It’s okay,” she says, sounding breathless.

  I glance at her again. She’s got the sheet pulled up to her chin, and she’s sitting upright now. “Are you hungry?” I ask, and she nods, refusing to meet my gaze.

  I take the hint and back the hell out of her room and close the door. My fist balls up at my side, and I want to put it through the wall. This woman is going to fucking wreck me. All the steely control I have is barely enough to keep my cock from leaping to attention. The need to bury myself in a warm, willing woman is unbearable, and I grit my teeth.

  Once I’ve got control of myself, I head to the kitchen to cook breakfast. I’ve got leftover eggs and the works, but I’ll have to go shopping today.

  She comes out and curls herself up in a chair at the table in silence. After a moment, she asks if she can help, and I shake my head, painfully aware of her. My body is tugging at me, pulling me closer to her, but I fight against the current.

  Breaking the eggs, I whip them up with a whisk and set it aside until the pan warms. I move on to chopping up the various other things I’ve got and throw them in the pan to cook up a bit.

  With the smell of food on the air, I realize I need to tell her I’m leaving. It’s an odd feeling, having to report to her. But she needs to be on guard. She needs to know she can’t answer the door. That she needs the gun within reach. Just in case.

  “I have to go shopping,” I say, and she perks up.

  “I’ll go with you,” she says, and I shake my head.

  “Better for you to stay out of sight,” I say, and I feel her optimism leaking out of her like air from a balloon with a pinhole leak. She has to know it’s not smart for her to be seen. Even with her hair dyed and much shorter, she’s still got a unique face.

  She stands up and leaves the room.

  I hold back a sigh. Maybe she’s mad at me now. Good. It’ll help keep her at arm’s length. I add the eggs to the mess in the pan and let them cook. Lost in my mind, I cook on autopilot.

  When the eggs are done, I melt some swiss cheese over them and fold them into an omelet. Cutting the thing in half, I throw toast in the toaster and get out the butter.

  Once everything is finished, I plate it all up and set the table. Satisfied with breakfast, I walk back to her room. Lifting my hand to knock, I talk through the door. I’m not about to make the mistake I made this morning. “Breakfast.”

  She opens the door, and I’m stunned. The girl who went in is not the girl I’m looking at now. This girl has a catlike face, not even a hint of freckles, and rounded features as if she’s somehow erased and filled out the sharp curves in her face. It’s a stunning change.

  “Do I still look like me?” she asks, her lips tomato red and daring. Fuck. They’d look fucking amazing wrapped around the base of my cock.

  A growl leaves me, but it’s not words. Just a sharp, broken sound that’s pure desire and anger.

  If I don’t walk away now, I won’t. Not because she looks better this way—she doesn’t; I prefer her natural beauty to this painted façade—but because the thought about her lips derailed my control.

  And that’s dangerous for both of us.

  Chapter Eleven

  Addie

  Watching him stalk off, I wonder what the hell I did wrong.

  I run to the bathroom and scrub my face clean. Only when no trace of the makeup remains do I dry my skin and head out of the bathroom in search of Clif
f. I look for him, ready to do battle or damage control. In the kitchen, the scent of food assaults me and my stomach begins to growl.

  I see him out on the balcony, pacing like something’s bothering him. He comes in, and I cut off his exits.

  “What did I do wrong?” I ask, desperate for answers. But he doesn’t seem interested in giving them to me. He steps to the side like he’s going to go around me.

  I cut him off again.

  He tries to go the other way.

  I step in front of him again.

  Finally, he stops and looks me in the eyes. “Move,” he growls. I shake my head, refusing to do as he’s telling me even though it terrifies me. I doubt anyone ever tells him no, ever.

  The look in his eyes is all danger. His stance is imposing. His shoulders are squared. He looks ready to fight, ready to force me to do as he says. It’s frightening, but that curious hum of excitement deep in my belly isn’t terror. The tingling between my legs isn’t fear.

  I reach out to grab his shoulders, to touch, to show him I’m not scared of him. He deflects my touch, and I’m suddenly restrained with both arms behind my back held in place by his. His leg wraps around mine, and I’m trapped as he drops us to the couch as if to keep us from falling.

  “What’s your plan?” he grinds out in my ear.

  “To prove I’m not afraid of you.” It’s the truth.

  “You should be,” he growls.

  Oh, god, everything about this is making me melt. He’s pressed down on me again, holding my body hostage in the sexiest way. I feel the hard length of him cradled in the valley of my ass cheeks, and it’s breathtaking. I’ve never wanted something as much as I want him, now.

  “I need…” I whimper, unsure how to say it. My cheeks sting red-hot, and my hips move, grinding on his erection like he’ll just understand what I’m unable to vocalize.

  Suddenly, his teeth are on my neck, sharp, stinging but so fucking sexy that I relax, giving over to him. He can have total control; I just need him. He backs off enough to flip me over. My legs fall apart, and he’s between them, making my heart beat double time.

  The sensation of his hardness rubbing the throbbing juncture between my legs wrings a moan from my lips. This is incredible. Suddenly, he’s moving against me in a motion that’s primal. His lips meet mine, and his tongue presses to the seal of my lips. I part, allowing him access, and he plunders me. He takes all I can give and demands more.

  His hands take mine and hold them above my head, keeping me at his mercy in the sexiest way I could ever have imagined.

  When his lips leave mine, I’m sad. Then his weight leaves, and I let out a disappointed yelp. But his hands hook my pants and panties, and he wrenches them down my legs even as he hauls my bottom to the edge of the couch.

  Then his lips are on my sex, and I let out a shocked gasp. He’s so warm. His lips are soft, but the stubble on his face scratches sexily on my thighs as they try to close instinctively. This is intimate beyond anything I’ve experienced.

  The air is cool on my bare skin, and the sensations are overwhelming as I lift my head and look at him. His eyes are locked on mine, and I press my head back on the couch, a moan leaving me as his lips zero in on my clit.

  Then they lock around it as his tongue seeks my button, and pleasure screams through my core. With a growl, he grabs my ass and pulls me into him like I’m the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted and he wants more.

  My hands find his temples, and my fingers comb through his short, dark hair. Like I’m scared he’s going to go away, I hold on to him. My hips buck, and he gives a growl of pleasure.

  My heart is pounding so hard I feel faint, and everything feels like I’m ramping up to orgasm already. That’s not right. It takes me forever to come.

  Oh god, oh god, oh god!

  “Cliff,” I whisper, hearing the desperation in my voice. “You need to stop or I’m going to…” I can’t say it.

  He gives a satisfied sound but doesn’t stop.

  Everything in me tightens, and I grasp at him, holding tight like the world will fly apart and I’ll be left in limbo. My belly is coiled so tight I can hardly breathe, and I whimper a whine so pitiful I wonder if he’ll take pity and finish me.

  His tongue circles my clit faster, and I come apart. I feel the vibration as he groans his pleasure, and my center spasms. Pleasure rips through me so violently, I let out a strangled cry.

  He palms my ass, keeping me in place even as I try to scoot back. The sensations are too much; it’s too much, it hurts, but feels so good I’m pretty sure he’s destroying me.

  The spasms ease up as the seconds pass like hours. The darkness from my eyes being squeezed closed calms me as he continues to lap at me, his tongue gentle now, like he’s trying to drag every last drop of pleasure out of me he can.

  I pull on him gently, and he lifts his head. His chin is coated in a shining layer of me, and I wonder how he managed to work such magic on my body.

  “No one’s ever done that before,” I breathe and instantly wish I could rip the words back as his eyes narrow.

  Chapter Twelve

  Cliff

  Why would she say that? The horror in her expression leaves me certain she didn’t mean to.

  And reality comes crashing back.

  I don’t know this girl. Not really. And here I am with my face between her thighs, loving every second of tasting her, pleasuring her, hearing her moans and sounds of ecstasy.

  I back off and get to my feet. She sits up, grabbing for her pants, her face bright red with shame. I want to comfort her, but what the fuck do I say? I’m sorry you’re embarrassed but not that I just made you come all over my face?

  Fuck.

  “Don’t be embarrassed,” I say, and she looks up at me in something akin to shock. She says nothing but nods quickly. I walk away and head to the kitchen, needing to figure out a way to release the pressure I’m feeling.

  I have a feeling a cold shower isn’t going to do it. Neither would a hundred push-ups. I’m beyond those fixes.

  Damn it.

  ***

  It’s been a week since I took her down on the couch. I’ve been careful not to do anything so stupid again. We’ve been sparring, and she’s learning fast.

  Right now, she’s sleeping on the other side of the wall and I’m itching to fight. I slide out of bed and head to her room. Pushing the door open silently, I feel her tense and know she woke up.

  She feigns sleep and I move closer, ready to catch her if she springs. When she stays put, I realize she must have learned from last time. I walk up and haul her out of bed, and she’s quick to bring a fist straight to my throat. Her balled-up fist touches me without impact, and I stand up and at ease.

  “Well done,” I growl, and she thanks me in the dark.

  Suddenly, I feel her shift and know she’s on her feet. Her arms come around my neck, and I rear back, trying to get out of reach. I know what she’s doing. I grab her hips to push her away.

  “Stop,” she orders, and I hesitate.

  Then, her lips are on mine, warm and welcoming, demanding and sweet. She’s begging me for more, but I just can’t. I can’t do it.

  Breaking the kiss, I whisper against her lips. “I told you not to get attached.”

  She releases me.

  There’s only silence between us, and I realize I need to leave for a while. I need space. Need to get the hell away from her before she makes me lose control.

  Again.

  “I need to go on a trip,” I say, and she stays silent. “You’ll be safe here.” She hasn’t left, and no one has seen her. She’s dropped off the radar. The only thing I’ve done is reach out to her parents and let them know she’s safe. They deserve to know. If she’s mad at me for it later, so be it.

  “Okay,” she whispers, and I turn to leave, pulling her door closed behind me.

  Ten minutes later, I’m in my truck, speeding toward LA. Last time I made this return trip, I’d been keeping her o
n the road. The day gives way to night, and I drive like the devil is on my heels.

  The drive slips away, and I think about Addie. It’s amazing how life threw us together on a lonely road in the middle of the night.

  If I was a romantic, I’d say it was fate.

  Speaking of a romantic… I pick up my phone and call Dakin, setting it to speaker as I drive. He answers on the second ring.

  “’Bout time you called, bro,” he says.

  “Guess your fingers are broken?”

  He laughs. “That’s fair. What’re you up to now?”

  “Driving to LA.”

  He sounds perplexed. “Zac said you’re taking a vacation.”

  “This is personal.” The ominous words echo between us, and I hear him sigh.

  “Need help?” he asks, his tone dangerous. This sounds like the Dakin I remember. The one who was willing to charge into battle for his friends. Who knew sometimes doing the right thing meant getting dirty. Maybe I’m not being fair.

  “I’ve got this,” I say. “Thanks.”

  “Anytime, man.” There’s something else in his voice. “Is there anything else?” he asks, and I feel my hackles rise.

  “Spit it out,” I growl. This beating-around-the-bush shit annoys me.

  “Oh,” he says. “Something Zac said. He thinks you’re in trouble.”

  I lift my chin, anger eating at my gut. Why the fuck wouldn’t Zac come talk to me about this shit? Or is this a warning of sorts?

  “Keep him the fuck out of my place,” I grind out, worry digging at me. The cops still want to question Addie. And if he walks into my place, she’ll fucking shoot to kill. She doesn’t need to kill a cop on top of everything she’s going through. “Nobody is to go in my apartment.”

  “What’s going on?” Dakin demands.

  “Just fucking trust me. I’ll explain later, okay? If anyone goes in my apartment, they’re dead.”

  “Understood,” he says.