Virgin's Fantasy

by Kayla Oliver

  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.