The Art of Love

by Kayla C. Oliver

“That’s unfortunate.”

  “It is.” I hesitated, then just asked. “Are we still on for Saturday?”

  She laughed. It wasn’t as bright as earlier, but it was real. “Yeah, we’re still on for Saturday. I have to go, but I’ll see you there.”

  She promised to call and tell me what she was wearing on Saturday, though I would have no problem spotting her. But she didn’t know that, so I agreed. I needed a plan for how the hell I was going to work this out with being Trent Parker, but I decided I’d jump off that bridge when I came to it. For now, I had someone else to break the news to.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Callum

  Trent met me in my office. I was a little worried because he’d insisted on giving me his decision in person rather than over the phone, and I didn’t think that sounded like a good thing. You tell someone in person when you’re trying to let them down easy, not when you’re giving them what they want to hear.

  But I agreed to the meeting, and now I was left waiting for him to get here. He was a little late, and my mind was wandering. I was thinking of Marnie McKenna, because my mind was traitorous like that.

  I thought of her long auburn hair and the freckles that were speckled delicately across her skin in delicious places that I wanted to kiss.

  Marnie was becoming a real problem for me. It was one thing to have sex with a woman, but to have it twice was starting to invite trouble. Especially since it didn’t stop there. I dreamt of her writhing beneath me. I woke up to a hard-on and thoughts of her. She invaded my mind at any given moment, and it took me hours to get her out again.

  It was driving me fucking nuts.

  It’ll be over with soon, I thought to myself. One way or another. When Trent makes his choice, we won’t have to deal any more with each other.

  I frowned. The thought didn’t settle me like it should have.

  About twenty minutes later, the door opened to my office and Trent walked in. He looked all smiles and very pleased with himself.

  Irritation spiked and I narrowed my eyes at him. “You’re late, you asshole.”

  He laughed at me. “Such a charmer, aren’t you?”

  “Honeymoon’s over, sweetheart,” I answered smoothly. “You’ll either choose Tarvish or S&W. No point in laying it on thick now.”

  “Excellent point,” he agreed.

  I waited for him to tell me already, but he milked it. He waited patiently in the chair, in no particular hurry, and basically watched me lose my fucking mind.

  “Jesus Christ, Trent, just tell me already! Who are you going to sign with?”

  Trent’s smile softened. “Tarvish.”

  I slumped back into my chair. “Really?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. That’s always been in the cards. We’ve been friends for too long, and I know how you feel about S&W. I couldn’t betray you like that.” He shrugged. “And I worked things out so I get what I want anyway. Theoretically?”

  That piqued my interest. “What exactly was Marnie offering you?”

  He smiled at me. “Nope. Still not gonna tell you.”

  I sighed. “Clearly it wasn’t enough.”

  “Like I said. I get what I want anyway.”

  I let the news sink in. I’d won. Trent was signing with Tarvish, and Marnie would lose the contract. Victory should have tasted like sweet ambrosia to me. But it didn’t. Instead, I was left with a sort of hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  Maybe it was that I didn’t earn it. Marnie worked her ass off to try and get Trent to sign, but all I did was get in their way and happen to have an in with Trent.

  All’s fair in love and war, I thought to myself.

  We went over the contract one last time, and Trent finally signed, the bastard. We agreed on a delivery date for the manuscript and a publication date for the final product. After that, Trent said he had plans to take Sara out to celebrate and invited me along.

  I shook my head. “Thanks, but I’ll pass. Not feeling it tonight.”

  Trent lingered at the doorway for a minute, then shrugged. “Suit yourself. Honestly, though. I think you should just tell Marnie that you’re into her. You’ll be a lot happier, and probably she will be, too.”

  Before I could think of how to respond to that, he was out the door, winking and throwing over his shoulder, “You never know. It could be true love.” I heard his laughter echo until the door closed itself after him.

  Marnie

  Just before I was leaving the office to get officially shitfaced at the bar in the hopes of forgetting how miserable I was—Trent Parker had gone with Tarvish and I hadn’t told Dorian yet—the door opened.

  “I’m headed out, Court. If anyone needs me, tell them they’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”

  When Courtney didn’t respond, I glanced up and saw that she wasn’t standing in the doorway. Callum Reid was.

  My body did its thing, responding to him instantly. I felt hot all over, and liquid heat pooled between my legs. My heart hammered in my chest, and my nipples hardened at the sight of him. It was ridiculous, but regardless of what was going on or whatever other feelings I might or might not have had, my body still wanted him.

  Badly.

  “What the hell do you want?” I snapped, because I didn’t like how instantly I was turned on by him. “I thought Parker would have told you by now. He went with Tarvish. Now will you leave my office alone?”

  Callum scowled at me, then closed the door behind him. I froze. Visions of us doing it on the desk—again—flashed through my mind, and the wetness between my thighs increased.

  “Not yet,” he told me.

  Sighing, I straightened and let my shoulders slump. “What do you want, Callum? We’ve had our battle. I lost, you won. What more is there?”

  For a second, he said nothing. He just stared at me like there was more, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to admit it yet. Or maybe I was just misinterpreting it and he was trying to calm himself down enough to speak. Either way.

  “I just wanted to inform you that Mr. Parker has had a change of heart.”

  I blinked. “What?”

  He nodded. “He’s decided to go with S&W Publishing instead of Tarvish.”

  Although he was saying those words, my mind was having difficulty processing them. I was left with this odd sensation of surrealism, and I wondered briefly if I was dreaming. Sexy Callum was in my office, so it was possible.

  “He… why would he do that?”

  Callum lifted his shoulders casually, then shoved his large hands into his trouser pockets. “I told him to.”

  And just like that, the old familiar anger was back in full force. “You son of a bitch. I don’t need handouts, okay? I do a damn good job, and I don’t need your fucking pity.”

  “Jesus, it’s a damn gift,” he growled at me. I liked how low his voice was, the way it seemed to rumble around in his chest first. “Stop being so stubborn and accept it already.”

  “Gift?” I demanded. “Why would you give me a gift in the first damn place?”

  “Because you’re fucking sexy and I can’t get you out of my head and I like you, all right?”

  We both fell silent. It seemed like neither of us could believe what had just come out of his mouth. He likes me. I felt like a schoolgirl with a crush, giddy and a little stupid.

  Shaking my head, I laughed at him. “Jesus, you’re an idiot.”

  He grinned at me. “You’re a pain in my ass.”

  Although I tried, I couldn’t keep the smile off my face. He liked me. It was such a stupid thing to be giddy over, but I was.

  “Does this mean you’re going to fuck me on my desk again?” I asked calmly.

  His eyes flashed darkly, and his mouth turned into a wicked smile. “I was thinking we’d get drinks or something first, have a real date, but I’m not going to say no to an invitation like that.”

  He came to me then, his hands grabbing for my skirt immediately and jerking it up over my legs. I helped him out by undoin
g my shirt buttons and pulling out my breasts, yanking them out of my bra to give him access. His hand grabbed for my panties and tore them off me, his other hand going to cup my mound.

  Our mouths collided and I blindly fumbled with the zipper of his pants. I undid them, reaching for his massive cock. He was hard already.

  We didn’t do it on the desk this time. Instead, he lifted me up by my ass and I wrapped my legs around his middle, putting my bare center against his hard member. Then he slammed my back against the wall. He pulled back enough to position himself at my entrance, then didn’t hesitate before sliding in.

  I cried out, clutching at his shoulders. He entered me, driving toward his own release. The angle was perfect, putting friction on that little bundle of nerves above my pussy with each stroke.

  His rhythm was hot and fast. This was about embracing what was between us, whatever that was, and just tossing caution to the wind.

  It was glorious.

  His hands alternated between holding my ass and massaging my breasts. His mouth kissed and sucked on my neck until I was pretty sure there would be a hickey later, and I cried out over and over again until we both tipped over the edge.

  He lost himself in me, then slipped out. We were both panting, exhausted but sated. He once again stumbled heavily into my chair, but this time he jerked me down with him. I landed haphazardly across his lap.

  For a while, we were quiet, but finally, I looked at him and said, “I just want you to know, I generally wear the pants in the relationship.”

  He laughed, the sound rumbling low in his chest. “I’d rather neither of us wore pants. Or anything else. I like you much better like this.”

  His eyes raked over my exposed breasts and dipped between my legs where my pussy was still visible.

  “You’re impossible,” I told him, but I kissed him anyway. It was a real kiss, not fueled by anger or sexual drive. Instead, it was the start of something real. I didn’t know where it would go or whether or not it was a good idea, but I felt better for taking the risk.

  When the kiss broke, he smiled at me. “A real date?”

  I nodded. “A real date.”

  “Maybe sex after?” he asked hopefully.

  I laughed. “Nope, not this time. I don’t have sex on the first date.”

  Virgin’s Desire (Bonus)

  Kayla C. Oliver

  Chapter One

  Camille

  I’m shaking. I’m so mad, so hurt.

  “What are you trying to say?” I ask Jackson, studying his chocolate brown eyes like he’s going to say something that’ll change my life.

  He’s calm as he runs a hand through his douchebag haircut. He’s wearing those skinny jeans I hate and those glasses I know he only wears to look cool. “You’re an ice queen,” he says, blowing his breath out like he’s vaping on the back patio.

  “Because I won’t have sex with you?” He’s got me all wrong. He has to. I’m not an ice queen. I’m not a prude. Am I?

  “Well, yeah. And because you won’t do fun shit with me,” he says, his fingers finding his phone screen where it sits on the table in front of him. The party invite is there. He’d asked me. I’d turned him down, but not because I don’t want to have fun.

  Because I’m studying for finals.

  Or… I was studying for finals.

  Something snaps in my mind. I was taught to be this. To be perfect. To be pretty. To be sweet. To be loveable. I was top of my high school class. I studied hard, I worked at making sure my hair was pretty, my skin was flawless, and my clothes were fashionable, but not too flashy.

  I didn’t overdo it. I didn’t show off. I was perfect.

  “So you’re breaking up with me because I won’t party with you or put out?” I ask, finalizing it all in my head. Even as I want to scream and cry, I feel a steely fist closing around those emotions. Before he can answer, I seal my fate. “Fuck you, Jackson. Fuck you and your stupid haircut. Fuck you and your hipster bullshit. You’re not sensitive, or deep. You’re just a stupid prick who only wants to get laid.”

  With that, I’m on my feet and out the door of his shitty apartment that I’d tried to convince myself was charming.

  Tears fill my eyes, but I blink them back. I had worked hard on my makeup. It’s not worth ruining it for him. I head towards home, feeling pain and fury eating at my stomach lining like so much bile. And a plan forms.

  I’m not going to class.

  I’m tired of being perfect. I’m tired of trying to live for other people. I’m tired of doing what I’m supposed to do. I’m tired of being perfect.

  As I open the door to my apartment, I pull off my shirt and let it drop to the floor. My skirt follows. In only my pretty lavender underwear, I stop before my full length mirror. My best friend, Amber, had left a note written in red lipstick on the mirror.

  Camille, I love you! Good luck on your finals!

  Boy is she going to be surprised.

  They’re all going to be surprised. With sure hands, I grab that red dress that’s much too short. Taking off my cute underwear, I pull on the dress with nothing underneath.

  I’m a prude, huh?

  My hands make quick work of my makeup, darkening the eyeliner and making my lips a deeper red. My blue eyes look wild, troubled, and beautiful. But not perfect.

  Pulling my black hair free of the bun I’d wound it up in, I let it tumble free. The thick locks are heavy and have just a hint of a natural curl at the ends. With my short dress, I look… sexy. Naughty.

  Not like an ice queen.

  I stand before the house. It’s more like a castle. No, more modern than a castle. More like a modern mansion. I know the owner by reputation alone. Dakin Dark is the son of an oil tycoon, but he’s made himself. With his own business in real estate, he’s built an empire that rivals his father’s.

  And he is every inch the bad boy his name implies. The rumor mill whispers that he loves and leaves ladies, never having the same one twice. Perfect.

  This is where the party is. Where Jackson will be. But he won’t be expecting me.

  I walk in the door and a drink is instantly thrust into my hand by a guy looking me up and down like I’m a tasty treat he’s been craving. Perfect Camille doesn’t drink. She knows it kills brain cells and lowers inhibitions.

  But I’m done being perfect.

  I take the shot and cover my mouth as the burn ignites my nose, throat, and belly like I’ve consumed liquid fire.

  “All right,” the guy says, nodding at me. I smile and push into the crowded room. All around people sit, talking, smoking, and drinking. There are several pool tables set up and I see Jackson on the other side of the room.

  His eyes are on me, but I ignore him and take another shot. This guy doesn’t smile at me. No, he looks at me like he’d love nothing more than to rip me apart. But he passes me another drink and I take it, trying not to cough at the sting.

  Warmth hits me first, and I know I’ve had too much, too fast.

  But it feels… good.

  Another guy grabs my hand and spins me like we’re in a ballroom. “You’re good on your feet,” he says, pulling me close to whisper in my ear.

  “Not just on my feet,” I whisper, and his eyes narrow.

  Someone else walks up and I face the new stranger. Why didn’t I do this before? These guys are incredible looking, so damn sexy, and not like the stupid, immature Jackson. They seem like they might actually know a thing or two about women.

  The warmth becomes a giddy sense as music begins to rumble the floor and an AC-DC song comes on. I find myself on the table, but how I got there is hazy. But all eyes are on me, and I know my dress is too short.

  But there’s Jackson, watching me with a look I’ve never seen in his eyes before.

  Fuck him.

  The music beckons, and I dance, feeling so very sexy, so incredible, so imperfect.

  Chapter Two

  Dakin

  My phone lights up and I see the video text and ope
n it. I know of the beauty dancing on the table, but I’ve never seen her like this. Another text follows it.

  She’s 18.

  I’m quick to respond. Thanks, Jake.

  Jake’s always had my back. He knows that if word gets out that I’ve got a drunk girl who’s too young to drink, things will get ugly. And while I could easily pay off whatever officer who drops by, I don’t want that kind of thing on my head.

  I’m quick to get to my feet and take the stairs two and three at a time. In the main room, I scan and see her still dancing on the table. I can see her legs clear up to her hips, and when she grabs the little skirt to swish it a little bit, I catch a glimpse of her cute, shaved little pussy. It’s a shock, but I shove away the thought. My cock pulses, and I wrap up in steely control.

  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.