by Kayla Oliver
“I use women, Camille.” My words are harsh. I need to put distance between us. And fast. I know the look in her eyes. She’s willing to forgive me for any wrong I might commit. Or might have already committed. Like invading her personal life. Like controlling a situation to get the outcome I wanted.
Her eyes narrow, as if she’s trying to figure out why I’m telling her this. “Nobody is perfect, Dakin.” Her words are sweet, her tone clear and gentle. Forgiving.
“I’ll only use you too,” I say, but she shakes her head.
“You can’t use the willing,” she teases, her voice lighthearted as she continues to stare me directly in the eyes. “Why are you doing this?” she asks, her brows meeting over a wrinkle in her forehead. I want to kiss the spot, but I resist the urge.
But I know what I’m doing. I’m pushing her away. I’m helping her. I’m saving her from the monster I really am. I have to protect her from myself.
No matter how much I’ll hate myself for it later.
“Women don’t stay the night,” I say, and there’s flash of hurt in her eyes. “The only reason you did was because I didn’t want to be responsible for a drunk minor.”
“I’m not a minor,” she says, her expression suddenly more wary. Good. She’s starting to be on edge. That’s what I needed.
And I ignore her response. “I had someone ready to follow you if you left today.” It sounds like a threat, and I know my true intentions are in there, but maybe she won’t see them. Maybe she’ll see me for the creep others have thought me to be.
“Why?” The simple question breaks my heart. She wants to believe I’m a good person. She wants me to be the good guy in this story. But for her sake, I can’t be.
“I don’t respect boundaries,” I tell her. It’s true. I’m not a good guy for her. And sure, I’ll admit I’m scared. I don’t want the responsibly of the pain she’s going to feel when she realizes that I’ve betrayed her. I want her to be on guard against me.
“Some boundaries are stupid,” she says, still trying in vain to talk around me. But she’s chipping around the edges.
“I don’t give a fuck if what I’m doing is okay or not.” That’s it. That’s the whole root of the issue. I’m selfish. I don’t give a fuck how other people feel. I don’t care if people get hurt. I just need to be able to sleep at the end of the night.
And I generally do.
The girls I sleep with know what they’re getting into, who I am. I don’t lie or trick them. But Camille, she’s different. She’s vulnerable. She’s a virgin who doesn’t understand that the first time will have an effect on her psyche. And I can’t be the one who she attaches to because of it.
“Bullshit.” Her word is soft, yet there’s steel behind it. “If that was true,” she says, her eyes slashing back and forth between mine, “you’d have fucked me last night.”
“I wasn’t interested,” I growl, and instantly the hurt in her eyes sends agony like a bullet through my heart. “You were drunk and disgusting.”
Her lips part a little and shock crosses those beautiful features. But the shock totally gives way to hurt.
“You’re lying,” she whispers, but I shake my head. There’s no going back. I’m going to push her away and I’m going to make sure she won’t come back.
Still, the hurt clears and her fingers reach out to touch my cheek. “You’re not a monster,” she says, her tone full of wonder as if she’s realizing it for the first time herself. “But you’ve done a great job of convincing people.” Her eyes meet mine and her lips take on a little pout.
But she’s wrong. Just because she’s seen a different side of me than other people have doesn’t mean she’s totally right. Just because I’m not the same with her doesn’t change who I really am at my core.
She lifts her head and her lips touch mine. The kiss is tender, sweet, and as much as I want to push her away, I just can’t bring myself to do it. With every touch she’s undoing knots I’ve tied for many years. She’s refusing to believe me; to listen to the things she doesn’t want to hear.
I push her away, but she’s playful and tries to come back up even as I keep my hand on her chest and hold her down. “You’re wrong about me,” I tell her, studying her eyes as the humor leaves them.
And as she struggles, I see her hope beginning to fade a bit too. I let her go and stand up, needing to put some distance between us.
Chapter Nineteen
Camille
Dakin holding me down was the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced in my life, but while he’s over there across the room like I’m some mutant he needs to be far away from, there’s still an undeniable draw between us.
Something between us crackles and pops, and I’m not about to ignore it.
“You said you had someone ready to follow me,” I say, seeing how he’s staring me down. “Was it because you knew that Jackson was out there?” I mean, come on. He’s doing it to protect me. How can he try to use it as a reason he’s a bad guy?
It’s even clear that he’d keep it from me to keep me from stressing out about all if it.
And, when he doesn’t respond, I suddenly get it. He’s not pushing me away just for the sake of it, he feels guilty. I get to my feet and walk over to him with all the composure I can muster. He stays frozen in place and I pull him into a hug.
“I wish you’d trusted me enough to tell me,” I whisper, needing him to know I’m not blaming him. I’m not even mad. I wish he’d handle this with more grace, but I get that he’s human too. He’s allowed to screw up. “But I understand why you didn’t.”
He didn’t do it to hurt me. He did it out of a twisted idea of protecting me. As for the rest of his need to push me away, I assume it’s all part of the same issue. He wants to push me away. Likely to protect me.
But I’m a big girl; I can protect myself.
As I rise up on tiptoe, I kiss his cheek and wrap my arms around his neck. He’s all sinew and steel, unyielding, but I know he’s softening even as I expect him to close up. “It’s okay,” I tell him, but he pushes me away.
“I don’t want this,” he says simply, and I sense he’s telling me the whole truth now.
“Don’t want what?” I ask, curious about what’s going through his mind. What isn’t he telling me?
There’s ice in his blue eyes as he fixes me with that serious stare once more. “You.”
It stings and I falter back a step like he’d shot me through the heart. Everything in me screams that it’s a lie, that he’s just pushing me away. Maybe what I feel between us is what he feels too. Maybe it’s scary for him. I know it is for me.
But how far should I push? How much do I demand he tell me the truth, that I tell him it’s okay to keep hurting me in an attempt to protect me? While I’ll forgive him for doing what he thinks is right, I’m not a damned punching bag either.
I back off him and sit on the end of the bed to address the thoughts swirling through my mind. It’s important to me to handle this situation with grace and humor. Getting mad and bringing all of it to a boil won’t help anything.
“Okay,” I say simply, even though it kills me to agree. “Then I’ll stop.” There’s relief in his eyes, and I almost feel bad for him. “But first,” I say, and the wary expression that creeps over his features is satisfying. “I want you to give me a good reason why. Not just that you don’t want to. A reason that feels legitimate.”
I hold up a hand to silence the first answer that he’s about to throw out between us. “And I want you to think about it.” I look at him from under my lashes. “Because I know you don’t think I’m drunk and disgusting after what we just did.” I glance over at the bed, my cheeks stinging as I think about how he’d brought me to orgasm with his lips.
Pushing the thoughts from my mind, I push forward. “No BS about using me.” I resist the urge to roll my eyes at that one. “I’m a big enough girl to decide if you’re all wrong for me, so don’t try to protect me from yourself. I can make tha
t call.”
He suddenly looks like someone let the air out of him. His shoulders slouch a bit and his features relax. It’s all the proof I need to know that that’s exactly what he was doing. “I’m not stupid,” I say, my voice suddenly shy. “I’m a virgin, not an idiot.”
There’s a sense of victory washing over me as if this is a test of adulthood that I’m passing with flying colors. I’ve seen Amber have blowouts with the guys she’s with, and I promised myself I’d never be like that. I’m not going to scream, shout, and destroy love and trust for the sake of arguing. I’m not saying I’ll never lose my temper, I’m just saying I’d rather do my best to approach everything like this.
Calm.
Clear headed.
I smile at him, a small, shy smile designed to put him at ease. “First, I need to use the bathroom.” I’m on my feet and out the door before he can stop me. Two doors down, I find the open bathroom door and slip in. With a wistful glance at the beautiful glass shower box and the garden tub, I struggle to remind myself that I’m having a conversation.
But I’ll remember to ask him if he’d mind if I take a bath. That sounds heavenly right now.
I wash my hands and look at my face. There’s no sign of my drinking. No change that shows I got a bit naughty. I look the same as I did yesterday. The makeup I’d been wearing looks like I’d washed it off last night. My skin is clear, and I just look like me.
Maybe it shouldn’t be weird, but it is. There’s no proof outwardly that anything has changed, but when I really think about it, everything has changed.
Chapter Twenty
Dakin
I stare at the door, feeling utterly shocked to my core. Not only is she the most levelheaded woman I’ve ever met, she’s got the patience of a saint.
This is going to be harder than I thought.
Maybe words won’t be enough. Maybe I need to scare her. Really put some fear into her that will settle any doubt she has that I’m some white knight who’s going to save her or protect her.
Hell, I’ll never forgive myself for it, but she’s not backing down.
Firing myself up, I try to figure out how to tear her down and destroy her in a way she’ll be able to recover from while hating me as a product. No part of me wants to actually hurt her, but I’ve got two choices. Either I hurt her now before she’s any deeper vested, or I hurt her later after she’s fallen in love with me.
Or worse, after I’ve fallen in love with her.
Is that the crux of it all? Am I doing this for her? Or for myself? Am I worried about hurting her or being hurt? Because she’s nothing if not ready for everything. She’s proven to be more adult and levelheaded than even I have been up until now.
The door opens and I glance over at her. Her cheeks are still pink as if walking in here has reminded her of what I’d done to her on my bed. “I love that tub,” she says, her voice still holding that shy undertone.
She’s a walking contradiction of power and vulnerability, harmony and fire, submissive and firm. It’s a saccharine mixture I want to explore. I want to discover her. And as she sits on the edge of my bed as if aware she might need to bolt at any moment, I struggle to keep myself under control.
It feels like with every second that ticks by, so does my self-control.
She lifts her head, her chin rising like she’s silently challenging me to battle. I see it in her eyes, in her features, in the subtle set of her eyebrows.
“So,” she says, her eyes locked on mine. “What’s your reason?”
I don’t answer. Every muscle in my body tightens like I’m ready to spring. I feel my hands begin to shake and I know I need to walk away. I need to step out. I need to get my thoughts in order before I lose control.
Never has anyone pushed me like this. Never has a woman so calmly pushed me to my limits and demanded answers for the things I’d said.
Anger suddenly flashes in me and I stalk up to her. She shrinks away and I feel more than a hint of satisfaction at her fear. I fucking told her that I’m not a white knight. I’m not here to protect her. I’m the one she needs protection against.
I push her back and pin her down. My lips claim hers. I’m demanding she surrender and she does. Still, I’m rough enough to leave bruises as my tongue seeks hers out. She whimpers into my mouth, but her hips are bucking into me.
Fuck, I need to bury myself in her.
I release her lips to sink my teeth into the soft skin of her neck. She cries out as the skin flowers red under my mouth. Still, some part of her is moving with me, working with me. Her hips are working against me like crazy and I sense she’s getting off on this.
It’s incredible.
My hand finds her throat and I hold tight as she grabs my hand. But she’s not struggling against me, she’s holding me in place. My lips touch the skin between her breasts and I want more. Grabbing the dress, I wrench it down. The sound of buttons scattering is dull to my ears as her perfect, luscious tits pop free of the yellow material and rock with the violence of the motion.
With a hungry growl, I pull one of her already tight nipples into my mouth. She’s sweet, soft, and as I look up at her, she’s lost. Her lips are red, her cheeks flushed, and there’s an excitement sparkling in her eyes.
But not fear.
Why not fear?
My fingers on her throat are tight, but not so much that she can’t breathe. And she’s not struggling. No she’s moving with me, but not fighting. Why not? She can’t possibly like it rough like this.
I like it rough. I like the struggle, the fight of two bodies coming together in explosive, hot, demanding sex. She whimpers, the sound all sexy excitement, and I have my answer. This isn’t helping my argument, it’s hurting it.
I release her nipple with a responding pop and take the other. My teeth tease and my cock pulses between her legs. She’s still trying to rub on me, and her heat sinks through my clothing and feels like heaven.
Fuck, she’s going to destroy me.
I jerk back and hear her suck in a deep breath. But she’s not letting me go so easily. She launches herself off the bed and into my arms, her legs winding around my hips. Spinning her with her momentum, I drop her on her back on the bed. We fall in a heap of lips and hands. I kiss her hard while her fingers struggle to free me from my pants.
Grabbing her hands, I pin both her wrists above her head and she whimpers.
“Please,” she gasps, her hips still bucking into me like she’s close and I’m denying her.
As reason slips away, I get ready to fuck her like this. With her dressed, her perfect tits out, her skirt pushed up her hips. With my clothes on, only free enough to ram into her with every throbbing inch I’ve got, ready to make her scream in pain and pleasure.
Some vaguely familiar song plays and she stiffens under me. It takes me a second to realize her phone is ringing. And she’s frozen, taken over by the unmistakable face of sheer terror.
Chapter Twenty-one
Camille
That ringtone… it’s Jackson calling me right now. While Dakin is over me, fucking rocking my whole world.
He halts, and I sense the extraordinary struggle within him to stop right now. “It’s Jackson,” I whisper and he’s quick to get off me and move around the bed to grab my phone.
“Should I answer it?” I ask, terrified and seeking validation and answers from Dakin. Why would Jackson be calling me? He’d threatened me. He’d threatened everyone I love.
Dakin takes out his own phone and thumbs the screen while handing me mine. “Answer,” he says in a no-nonsense tone and I nod.
Accepting the call, I hit the speaker button, needing Dakin to hear and back me up no matter what happens or what Jackson says.
“Hello?” I ask, hating how innocent I sound. Like I have no idea what’s going on. He’s going to see right through that. And it’s going to piss him off.
“Whore. How long did it take you to let Dark fuck you?” he sounds furious and spiteful. Hell, he soun
ds unhinged.
Staring at my phone as the seconds tick by, I answer his rude question honestly. “He hasn’t fucked me, Jackson, but that’s none of your damn business. We’re over, remember?” I say all too sweetly as he begins to make sounds that resemble an angry pug snorting. “I can fuck whoever I want.”
“The fuck you can.” His voice is so dark and threatening I feel my hands begin to shake. I set the phone on my lap so I can ball up my fist and try to hide the trembling. “You better not be lying, for your mother’s sake.”
My blood runs ice cold. “What did you do to my mom?” I ask, ready to kill him with my bare hands if he’s hurt her.
“Nothing yet. But what I do to her depends on you.” His voice takes on a calm that’s more terrifying than his anger. I glance up at Dakin who’s furiously texting on his phone.
“Here’s what you’re going to do,” Jackson says. “You’re going to meet me at the spot. You know which one. If you bring anyone, I’ll fucking kill her.”
“What do you want?” I ask, needing to know why he’s doing this to me. I feel tears threatening on the edge of my vision, and I know I’ll never forgive myself if I cry because of fucking Jackson. I’ve shed enough tears for this asshole. He doesn’t deserve any more of my energy.
But this is my mom he’s threatening. What had I said to her last? That I was off to class? She didn’t even get a chance to see how much I’m letting her down. Pain sears through me and I struggle to keep it together.
“What you owe me,” Jackson snarls. “All you had to do was see how stupid you were being last night. That you fucked up by dumping me. Then we’d have gone back to my place. I’d have fucked you all night long. And you’d be a real woman now. My woman.”
“Nobody owns me,” I say, a feeling of incredulousness bubbling up in me. Does this asshole really think that taking my virginity will make me his slave or whatever? This is nuts. He’s fucking lost it.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” he says. The only thing more unsettling than the situation is the way he’s talking. He’s so very calm, so very reasonable. Like he’s not delivering lines like how I owe him my virginity. No, he sounds like he’s ordering a burger and a shake. Just a relaxed, calm tone, like it’s no big deal. “I own you. I groomed you. I pushed you until you broke. You were supposed to get mad and show me how much a woman you really are. You were supposed to fuck me.”
