Virgin's Fantasy

by Kayla Oliver

  “Cliff,” she whispers, and I look up at her. Her eyes are wide and excited, scared and lit with passion. My fingertips work circles around her clit, and I feel her belly twitch.

  “Dirty girl,” I growl, knowing she’s already racing for the finish line. I love how quickly she seems to get there. I’d noticed it when I’d had my lips on her delicious pussy. She’d galloped over the finish line before I even got to really enjoy the sweet flavor of her.

  “Cliff.” Her voice rise an octave, like she’s trying to warn me of something. Without answering this time, I take her nipple in my mouth again. She’s so sweet, so responsive. I want to taste every inch of her, every bit of her sweet body.

  “You’re going to come for me,” I say, knowing somewhere deep in the back of my mind that if she’s high on orgasm dopamine she’ll feel less pain. She’ll be more relaxed. She’ll be more able to handle me. Because I don’t want to tear her.

  So she needs to be wet, because I don’t think my control is going to be at its peak when faced with the prospect of burying myself in her and relieving this painful erection.

  I’ve gone through too long of a dry spell. It’s fucking torture. And she’s been there like an icy oasis mirage taunting a dehydrated man trudging through a desert.

  “Cliff!” She’s there, teetering on the edge of oblivion. And I can’t wait to feel her explode. I want to feel the spasms of her pussy, hear the gasping breaths she takes when she comes, smell the sweetly delicate scent of her orgasm.

  Every fucking thing about this feels so damn right.

  I release her nipple and press my lips to the soft spot under her ear. “Come, love,” I urge her as my fingers work on her slick little button.

  “Oh, god!” Her body curves up into me as she comes, her muscles straining against my hold on her. I feel her pulsing on my fingers even though I don’t slide them inside her.

  Her belly contracts against me, her back trying to curl her up into a C against my body even as I hold her flat.

  “Shhh,” I whisper as her breaths leave in sexy little gasps. I’m not sure if I’m trying to calm her or myself as she twitches, the orgasm ripping though her like a tornado.

  “Oh, oh, oh,” she whimpers, her skin hot on mine as I finally release her arms. Her hands fly around my neck and she holds me, finally quieting down from the orgasm.

  We both go quiet at a knock on the door.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Addie

  “Stay right here,” Cliff says, his voice low and threatening. The sudden change has my heart pounding hard in my chest. So hard I feel like I’m going to faint. He slips from the room as silent as a shadow.

  After a few moments, I creep out of bed and dress. Something feels… wrong. And since Cliff came into my life, I’ve spent a whole lot more time listening to my gut. It’s never wrong.

  With trembling fingers, I pull on a bra. Numbness creeps in inch by inch as I pull on panties and leggings, then my shirt. I creep toward the window and carefully peek out of a crack in the material.

  And my heart sinks to my toes at what I see on the street below.

  Somebody betrayed me.

  News vans line the otherwise quiet street. Paparazzi mill about, cameras at the ready, and throngs of people stand like cattle waiting to stampede at the earliest sign something’s up.

  My life is over.

  They found me.

  I’m fucked.

  Suddenly, Cliff blows back into the room and grabs my wrist. “Come with me,” he growls, and I instinctively listen. He’s going to keep me safe. And I realize that I didn’t even for a second think he was the one who betrayed me.

  I trust him.

  But that still doesn’t answer who did give me up. I don’t think it was Dakin. I’m not so sure it wasn’t Zac. In the living room, I come face-to-face with Zac.

  “Trust me,” he says. I glance over at Cliff, who gives the tiniest hint of a nod.

  So I let Zac turn me around and cuff my hand behind my back. The second officer leads, and Cliff follows us. I go along with Zac as he takes me out, loudly reciting my Miranda rights.

  He and another officer push through the throngs of people and lead me outside even as cameras flash and people yell at me. They yell ugly things at me, call me a whore, a slut, a tramp—and even more terrible things, things I’d never call my worst enemy on my lowest day.

  In front of the building, Zac puts me in the back of the cop car, and he and the other officer get in the front. Miserable, I keep my head down. But I can’t stop the tears. They roll down my cheeks and dot my leggings.

  The car pulls away from the curb, and Zac speaks to me. “I’m sorry. We tried to get there before everyone else.”

  “Who told them where I am?” I ask, feeling so very broken.

  “I’m not sure yet,” Zac says, “But when I find out…” He trails off, and the other officer speaks.

  “The usual spot?” he asks, and I sense he’s talking to Zac since I have no freaking idea what he’s talking about.

  “Yeah, the usual,” Zac says. “I’m so sorry, Addie.” His voice is more gentle than I’ve ever heard him. “I wish I could have kept them away from you.”

  “Thank you,” I whisper, unable to even find my voice as the tears stream down my cheeks and my throat squeezes painfully around a lump. We drive a few blocks, but I keep my head down. I don’t want to risk anyone seeing me. Or taking my picture. Or anything.

  I want nothing more than to become invisible right now.

  And as they haul me to jail, all I can think about is how lucky I am. Because at least if I’m locked up, I’ll get some damned privacy. News crews and paparazzi won’t be able to come harass me at inopportune times.

  “Okay, Addie,” Zac says. “I need you to listen very carefully.”

  I lift my head and look at him. He’s so very serious, my heart takes flight in my chest. We’re driving down an old street, one that’s silent. Not a single other car passes us.

  “Slip your hands around to the front,” he says, and I adjust until my hands are in front of me. He hands the key through the grate separating the front and back of the car, and I take it.

  “Take them off and set them on the seat next to you.” He’s walking me through, and I do as I’m told, wondering what the hell he’s got planned. When the cuffs pop free, I take off the other side and drop them on the seat. I pass the key back, then rub my wrists, reveling in my freedom.

  “When we stop,” he says, his eyes locked on mine as his partner takes another turn deeper into the silence of this area, “get out and duck between the hedges. Don’t look around, don’t come out. Just hide.”

  I nod. “Thank you,” I whisper.

  But Zac doesn’t answer. He merely nods. “Stay safe, okay?” he says, and his partner looks at me in the rearview mirror.

  I see concern in both their faces and know my situation is dire.

  “We’re here,” the other cop says as he pulls the car to a halt in a parking lot that’s deserted. It looks like an old warehouse lot. I open the door and head for the hedges. Ducking into them, I hear the car peel out and leave.

  My life has come to this. Weird games of hide-and-seek, on the run from news and paparazzi and people who want to call me names or bring me harm thinking they’re supposed to and that I’ll like it.

  I wish I could take it all back. I wish I could go back in time and never even consider the possibility of modeling. I wish I could take back every second with Arlo, every moment spent in Las Vegas, every single picture of me that’s out there for the world to see.

  But mostly I wish I could take back those naked pictures.

  No, I take that back. I wish I could take back letting Arlo take them. If Cliff had taken them, I’d be safe. Because Cliff is a fucking man.

  He’s not a damned predator trying to keep me under this thumb and locked up in a box he’d created to keep me in line. He’s not out to have something to use against me. He’s not the kind of per
son who’d use something against me like that, even if I’d hurt him.

  Good people don’t do what Arlo did.

  He’s the one who is in the wrong, not me. A leaf tickles my nose as the sun breaks through the clouds and warms my skin. Right here between these hedges, I stand, wondering what comes next. How long am I going to wait here? How long until someone comes for me? And what exactly is the plan?

  It’s not like I can go back to Cliff’s place. People are going to be looking for me now. I’m not safe anywhere. I can’t go home. I can’t go to my parents. I can’t go anywhere.

  I’m screwed.

  The gravity of what’s happened fills me and weighs on my chest like an elephant is sitting on my heart. I hear a vehicle pull into the lot, and my whole body tenses up. Did someone find me? Did some news crew follow the cops here? Am I just out here to be picked off by some pervert?

  Trembling, I stay as still as I can and hold my breath.

  The vehicle parks much too close for comfort, and I wonder if I should risk a peek out to see who it is. Or maybe I should run. Maybe I can hide somewhere else, somewhere less conspicuous than where the two hedges meet in the very corner of this old parking lot.

  I hear the sound of footsteps coming in my direction.

  My fists ball up. I’m fucking ready to fight for my life. I’ll kill anyone before letting them put their damn dirty hands on me!

  The footfalls stop, and I carefully release my breath and take another, keeping so silent there’s no way this person can hear me. But suddenly, I’m not alone.

  Cliff presses a hand to my face, covering my mouth, and I melt into him.

  “Not a sound,” he whispers in my ear. I nod, so happy to see him I can hardly contain myself. “As far as I can tell, no one followed me. But wait to come out until I tell you. And when you get in the truck, get in the back and get as low as you can, okay?”

  I nod, and he releases my mouth. I press my lips to his, and he kisses me back. “I’m here,” he whispers between kisses. “You’re safe.”

  And I don’t doubt his words.

  Not for a second.

  Chapter Twenty

  Cliff

  I can’t believe Zac helped us. I fully expected him to decide he knew what was better for her and to actually haul her into jail. And he’d be kind of right; she’d be safe there. Safe from the rapists, the news crews, the paparazzi.

  But it would be another kind of death for her to sit and wait. And the people after her would only wait too. The second she got out, they’d be on her and she’d be attacked.

  But Zac had loaded her up, and I went and got in my truck and drove without direction like Zac told me to do. I’d waited for further instruction, trusting my friend not to betray me.

  Nobody even bothered to follow me. I’d driven to the store, picked up snacks and drinks as well as a few other odds and ends; nothing too serious. Nothing that might give anyone ideas about what my plans might be next.

  And then a text from Zac came through.

  It simply said: The usual.

  And I knew instantly. Knew my friend was going to help me, to protect Addie. I knew they’d drive and circle and throw anyone off their tails. They’d take a roundabout direction and drop her off in the place where I always handed off the bail jumpers I’d caught.

  I’d gotten back in my truck and drove carefully, watching the rearview. Being followed now would spell disaster. But no familiar cars settled in behind me. And by the time I’d pulled off the main road, I was sure I was alone.

  It took everything I had to be slow, to be meticulous and methodical. Because out there somewhere is Addie. I doubt they’d tell her everything, in case she did get caught. The less she knows, the safer we’d both be.

  But I’m not stupid. I go slow. I make sure I don’t make mistakes. I drive out there and park as close to the only real hiding spot as I can. I open the back door of the truck and wait to make sure no one followed me.

  I scan the road again and again, waiting to make sure no one followed me or happens along.

  But no one does.

  So I walk back toward where the two hedges meet and prepare myself. She’s going to be on edge. She’s going to spring. She’s going to attack and be ready to fight for her life.

  ***

  And now, with her ready to go, I double-check and make sure we’re alone. We are, and I reach back into the brush and wave a hand at her in a come-hither motion.

  She bolts for the back of the truck. With her in, I close the door and get in the cab. The engine roars to life, and I pull out of the parking lot, my heart slamming in my chest. But it looks like we got off scot-free.

  I drive, a destination in mind.

  “Are you okay?” I ask her.

  She says nothing for a few moments, and I worry about her. “I think so,” she says finally, her voice tiny. And I know the weight of everything is crushing her. She’s stressed and scared, and I don’t blame her.

  I can’t even begin to imagine the fear she must be feeling. It must feel like the whole world wants to see her suffer… or make her suffer.

  It’s horrifying.

  Nobody should have to live with this kind of thing.

  I think about the cabin. Zac has to know that’s where we’ll go, but he’s the only one who even knows about the place. And while I’m sure he’s not the one who squealed, there’s not a chance in hell that anyone else would ever guess this place in a million years.

  The cabin isn’t in my name. It’s not even in my parents’ names. It’s still in my great-great-grandpa’s name. It was his home. He’d built it himself by hand, and it’s been passed down and passed down as a wedding gift through the generations.

  It’s right on the private lake with its own dock and everything.

  It’s a safe haven. And I know my parents won’t mind if I use it to keep Addie safe. Hell, they’ll likely come out and make sure we’re okay and everything is good.

  It’s a weird feeling. I’ve never brought a woman home before. My mother has never met a woman in my life, because none of them have ever been serious.

  So she’s going to know something is up. And while I’m not sure if she’ll fall for any bullshit story I could cook up, I know that I’m not sure she should know the whole truth. Not because I don’t trust her implicitly—I do—but because it’s not really my story to tell. If Addie wants her to know, then Addie can be the one to tell her.

  It’s not my secret.

  I will, however, find a way to tell Addie’s parents. They need to come see her. She’s going to need all the love and support she can get. Because even right now I can hear her soft sniffs and I know she’s crying again.

  And my heart breaks. Because there’s nothing I can say that will make her feel better. I’m not going to lie and say it’ll all be all right; I don’t know that it will be.

  “I’ll keep you safe,” I say, and I hear her quiet down a little.

  “But where are we going to go?” she asks, her voice breaking and sounding so very small in the back seat. “We can’t go home.”

  Home.

  She called my place home.

  But I can’t get derailed now. I need to comfort her. “I’ve got a place where you’ll be safe,” I say, hating the possibility that she might not be. I don’t want to let her trust down, but I need to make sure she knows I’ll do everything in my power to keep her safe.

  “Thank you,” she says. I hear trust in her voice, and a new strength. As if all she needed was that little bit of support, that tiny affirmation that everything will work out just fine.

  I just hope I’m not giving her false hope.

  As I pull the truck onto the highway, I hear her start singing along with the radio and can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. She’s obviously feeling stronger, safer, better.

  Maybe I can comfort people. Maybe I can do more things than I give myself credit for. I’m not going to stretch and say I’m a people person by any means, but maybe I�
��m not total garbage at calming people down.

  I crack the windows and let in the chilly air. The scent of salt begins to ease up as we drive away from the Puget Sound. I feel a little bad because I know how happy Addie was to be near the Sound. But the lake is beautiful. She’ll love it there, I’m sure.

  “Cliff?” she says, and I roll up the windows so we can talk without the loud rush of air drowning us out.

  “Yeah?” I ask, waiting for her to respond.

  “Who do you think tipped everyone off?” she asks, and I think about it. I’d already wondered who it could be, but I’d drawn a blank.

  “I’m not sure,” I say honestly. “But no one knows where we’re going next. Zac knows of the place, but he’s it,” I say.

  “He didn’t do it,” she says, her voice so very sure I wonder if she knows something I don’t. But it makes sense. If Zac turned her in, why turn around and help her? Why let us get away? What would be the end game there? But who else really knew? Dakin?

  Maybe someone else had seen her. Someone might have IDed her when she went out on the balcony or something. There are eyes everywhere. “Well, we’ll be safe where we’re going,” I say, wanting her to feel safe.

  I’ll figure out who turned her in. And I’ll fucking kill them. My knuckles go white on the steering wheel, and the torn flesh pulls satisfyingly.

  But that nagging sense of unease grows. Did Arlo figure out who I am and track me down? No, that’s not possible. Arlo is too stupid to do everything it would take to hunt me down.

  But who else knew? There has to be someone else.

  That feeling of unease only grows. I’m missing something. Something important. How can I promise her safety if I can’t even figure out who fingered her? Somebody out there knows way too much for comfort.

  And as the miles slip away, I find myself no closer to answers. I only dredge up more questions. And the darkness in me begins to consume every bit of light and hope I possess.