The Art of Love

by Kayla C. Oliver

  Amber.

  I glance toward the nightstand where I’d left my phone. It’s there, of course. I pick it up, but it’s dead. Glancing toward the door, I wonder if he has a charger that would work for it. So I dig in the bag and find a cute little sundress that’s perfect.

  I’ll be going braless, but that’s fine.

  The little dress is a pale yellow that actually compliments my pale skin. It’s much more modest than the red number I’d been wearing last night, but it’s super cute. At the bottom of the bag, I find a pair of little footie stockings and ballet flats and slip them on. It’s amazingly elegant, considering I’m totally without underwear.

  Taking another bite of the food he’d brought, I hurry to the door and pull it open, feeling playful. He’s outside, leaning on the railing that overlooks the main living room below. He turns to face me and the flash of heat in his eyes as he takes me in is unmistakable.

  And I can’t help but stoke the fire. I step before him and swing the door open wide. Looking down at myself, I finger the hem of the skirt that hangs to just above my knees.

  “Can you tell I’m naked underneath?” I ask in a soft voice that’s a mixture of secretive and suggestive. I’m proud of the sheer sexual prowess in my words, and the way his eyes narrow tell me I’m treading a very fine line between safety and danger.

  When he doesn’t respond, I ask him if he’s got a charger I can use for my phone.

  He breezes past me into the room and I follow. In the second drawer of the nightstand, he pulls several neatly wrapped and tied cords. He’s quick to fit one to my phone and plugs it in before putting the others away.

  “I didn’t want to snoop,” I say, feeling silly that the cords were right there and I didn’t just find them. It wouldn’t have felt right to just paw through his things; it hadn’t even occurred to me that it might be an option.

  “I appreciate that,” he says, tossing a dark glance my way that makes my heart pound in my chest. How he does that - make my heart threaten to quit – is a mystery. One I’d like to think about, to ponder, to figure out and find a way to inoculate against.

  “But I wouldn’t have held it against you if you had,” he follows up with, and I smile right back at him.

  “You’re not what I expected, Mr. Dark,” I say, my formal words more playful than serious.

  He turns to face me, leaning back against the wall beside the nightstand. With his arms crossed and an expression of total contemplation, he studies me. “What did you expect?” he asks, his tone deadpan.

  I walk right up to him, not intimidated by his stance. Standing toe to toe with him, I notice the way the sunlight hits his eyes and lights them up like a shallow pool on a brilliant day. With my arms clasped behind my back, I lean into him, careful not to touch him, and speak only inches from his face.

  “I expected someone who was full of himself,” I say, watching the way his pupils dilate with my proximity.

  “Oh, I am,” he says, his eyes following me as I shift a bit to the right.

  “Someone who would do anything to sleep with a girl,” I continue like he hadn’t said anything.

  “Oh, I would,” he responds, still watching me like I have all the answers.

  But I’m not done. “Someone who’d look the other way while a bro got what he wanted from me.” I know I’ve said the wrong thing as everything he is swings shut. There’s no outward emotion, but I see him close up like he’ll never speak to me again.

  “I would have,” he says, but I don’t believe him for a second.

  “Then why didn’t you?” The accusation leaves my lips and I see him respond. It’s a tiny response, a slight narrowing of his eyes, a tightening of his crossed arms.

  But he says nothing. Beside us, I see my phone power on and I pick it up. And text after text rolls in, leaving my blood running like ice water in my veins.

  Jackson.

  Over and over and over again.

  I’m so sorry.

  I screwed up.

  Baby, I can’t live without you.

  I love you.

  Answer your phone, Camille.

  Camille, it’s important.

  Damn it, answer me.

  What the fuck did you tell that asshole?

  Are you fucking him?

  You whore!

  My eyes blur as the messages become more and more cruel, more vulgar, and more insane until he promises that everyone I love will suffer.

  And the final text.

  If I can’t have you, no one can.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Dakin

  She’s upset. I can see it in the way she tenses up. Goose bumps pepper her skin and I want to pull her into my arms and promise her she’ll be alright. Even though her comment about how she’d thought I was the kind of guy who’d stand by while someone raped her stings, I’m not going to be petty and deny her comfort while she’s clearly trembling with emotion.

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  She looks up at me as if stunned I’m here and she’s not alone. There’s an instant denial in her features, but I know she’s terrified. It’s in her eyes. It’s in the pout on her pretty lips. It’s there in every bit of body language.

  So I move beyond words and pull her into a hug. She clings to me like I’m the only solid thing in her crumbling world. She’s warm and sweet, soft and delicate, yet stronger than I think anyone in her life has ever given her credit for.

  Whatever happens to her in life, I’m sure she’ll give better than she gets.

  There’s no need to push her right now. When she wants to talk, she will. But I have no doubt about what’s troubling her. Jackson is an asshole. And like an addiction, he’ll chip away at her will to be without him. He’ll start sweet, then shift to blaming her for everything, then into making her feel bad. From there, he’ll devolve into light threats and you made me this way bullshit. Finally, he’ll start to really threaten her.

  And I have no doubt that overnight she got to sample every step along the way.

  Unless it all just hit her at once. If he sent them and her phone was totally dead, which I bet it was, she’ll have gotten all the stages in a flood of sweet to bitter hatred.

  I get my answer as her shoulders begin to shake. I feel her tears begin to wet my shirt and rage boils up in me. That asshole is lucky I’m here with her right now. If I wasn’t, he’d be begging me not to kill him right now.

  And I’d be ignoring his request.

  “What did I do?” she whimpers, sniffing as if to keep from crying.

  “Wrong place at the wrong time,” I tell her. It’s true. Jackson is a cancer, and blaming herself is not going to help her in any way. She won’t find answers by turning within for them. “He’s the problem, not you,” I assure her, but she’s resisting me at every turn.

  “How do you know that? I’m the prude, the ice queen. I was the problem.”

  I pull her back a bit and look into her eyes with every ounce of intensity I can muster. “You were the reason he’s been a total loser to every girl he’s dated?” I ask.

  That makes her pause.

  But the tears in her eyes are starting to well up higher.

  “You can’t blame yourself. You weren’t the issue here. He’s a garbage human being,” I tell her, needing her to see the bigger picture here.

  And she nods. “Okay,” she whispers.

  “Stay here,” I say softly. Her eyebrows knit together and I know she’s confused. “He won’t dare come here. You’ll be safe,” I elaborate.

  “I thought he’d be in jail,” she whispers.

  “He should be. There are warrants,” I say, internally cursing my guys for their role in his freedom. Still, I don’t know exactly what happened, so maybe they aren’t to blame. “Somehow he gave people the slip and he’s on the run. They’ll catch him,” I’m quick to assure her. “But while he’s out, you’re welcome to stay here, with me.” She’ll be safe with me. I’d die before letting him hurt her.


  She smiles, a genuine, warm, sweet smile that lights up my very soul. “Thank you,” she whispers, a new warmth in her eyes.

  But I feel bad. I’d had people ready to tail her, to follow her, to watch out for her. What would she think if I told her that? Would she treat me like some kind of creepy freak who overstepped his boundaries? Because I had. I know I did. I had no right to have anyone do anything like that. Do good intentions outweigh breaking social norms?

  Maybe it’s better not to tell her.

  For now, I’ll let her go on believing that my only plan is to keep her here where she’d be safe. And I’m not sorry. Not at all. I don’t put it past Jackson to do something really, really stupid.

  The guy is an idiot.

  “Are you sure I wouldn’t be imposing?” she asks, and I’m quick to tell her she wouldn’t be.

  “Far from it,” I say, “I rather like your company.”

  The smile that had faded from her lips returns. “I won’t tell anyone.”

  “I appreciate that,” I say, playing along. And I realize I like her humor, her wit, how quick she is to tease me and her playful nature. Instead of feeling like I need to push her out the door and change the locks, I find more and more that I don’t want her to go.

  Not that I’d tell her that. Or anyone else for that matter.

  “Now,” she says, taking a step back from me. “Where were we?” she asks, and I try not to cringe. She was telling me how she thought I would stand by while someone raped her.

  “Oh!” she says as if she suddenly remembers. “I was telling you how wrong I was about you.” Once more, she leans into me, pressing that delicious body up against me in a way that makes my cock rock hard and sends my heart thumping in my chest.

  Her lips meet mine in a quick kiss.

  My hands find her ass and grip the perfect, rounded, soft flesh. Holding her tight to me, I resist the urge to pick her up. While I’m certain she’d wrap her legs around me, I’m painfully aware she’s not wearing panties, as she was so quick to let me know after she’d changed.

  It’s going to take everything I have not to push her down on the bed and take her virginity right now. But I’ve got plans for that. Plans that’ll make sure her first time is unforgettable.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Camille

  The kiss is incredible. Dakin tilts his head a fraction of an inch between kisses as if looking for the perfect angle. But all of them feel perfect to me. He’s so damn sexy. Even with all the fear, all the worry, all the self-doubt crowding and nagging at my brain, I can’t help but feel totally immersed in him.

  It’s a welcome distraction.

  With his hands on my ass, I feel his hardness pressing into my belly, and I want to feel more. I want to feel his skin on mine, his cock pressed to the sensitive vee between my thighs. I want to feel everything.

  His lips leave mine to sample my chin, the line of my jaw, the curve of my cheek and ear. Every spot he touches is warm, tingling, a pressure point of pleasure even as the rough stubble of his cheeks burns against my skin.

  As he gently takes the skin below my ear between his teeth, I have to tell him the truth. My hips tilt into him as I sling to his shoulders like he’s the only safe place on a rough sea.

  “I touched myself last night,” I whisper, my words sounding naughty to the extreme. My heart thunders in my chest and I struggle to draw in a deep breath. “I was imagining you.” I want to tell him what I was imagining him doing.

  “I know.”

  Those two words from his lips send my whole body into state of total shock. Nerve endings blaze white-hot and a combustion of icy fire in my chest leaves me feeling like I’m both on fire and frozen all at once.

  His lips leave my skin and his teeth scrape the damp skin. A shiver rolls through me and I feel his thigh part my legs. His hands pull me forward a bit and the pressure focused on my clit forces a gasp out of me. It’s pleasure, exciting and so damn naughty I can hardly breathe.

  He’s treating me like a woman, not some delicate damned terrified virgin.

  “Did you watch?” I ask, feeling deliciously wicked that he’d seen me touching myself. Did he touch himself too?

  “No.” He’s gruff, all power and spice, and I want every bit of him. The rich, earthy scent of his skin, the heat of his cologne, the freshness of his laundry detergent… it’s all mouthwateringly him.

  “I wish you had,” I whisper, meaning every word. Hell, I wish he’d have joined.

  “What did you want me to do to you?” he asks, and everything in me cries out. His lips tease the sensitive skin of the lobe of my ear and I tremble as my belly coils tight.

  “I wanted you to taste my pussy,” I whisper, not a shy bone in my body. And I feel him stiffen. His cock pulses against my belly and I realize he’s turned on by the idea of licking me. “I want to feel your tongue on me, your lips; I want to come while you touch me.”

  Suddenly, he moves me back. I cry out as the world shifts and I find myself on my back on the bed. Out of the skylight, I see a beautiful blue sky, but I’m much more interested in Dakin. Lifting my head, I see him drop to his knees at the end of the bed.

  His hands grab my ass and suddenly, I know.

  He hauls me closer and his lips touch the skin just above my pubic bone. The contact is warm, soft, and wonderful.

  I melt as he kisses closer to the heart of me. But I’m not going to sit idly by. I reach down and part the skin to show him the part I really want his lips on: my clit. With a quiet growl, he’s on me, his lips sealing around my clit as he sucks it gently into his mouth.

  The world combusts in pleasure and sensation. My head falls back and my body goes limp.

  “Just like that,” I whisper, needing him to know how he’s destroying me.

  An agreeable hum emanates from him and the vibration makes my belly jolt in pleasure and surprise.

  “Oh my god,” I whisper, the three words becoming one as my hands find the sides of his head and hold him captive. His tongue teases the bundle of nerves and I feel faint.

  “That’s so good,” I tell him as his tongue tastes and teases. It’s better than I thought it would be, and part of me is still in shocked denial that Dakin Dark is going down on me right now.

  Again, he hums a positive response and the sensation sends shockwaves of pleasure bolting through every inch of my body. It’s impossible, incredibly sexy, too much to even put words to. But my body has its own response and I’m there at the edge of undeniable pleasure. I’m teetering on the edge of everything Dakin is doing to me.

  “I’m so close,” I whimper as my hips struggle to buck up into him. But he’s holding me hostage and I feel him easing off just a bit, as if to torture.

  “Please, please, please,” I pant, needing him to finish me. The tightness in my belly is almost too much to stand, and I want more.

  A haze of desperation settles in on my senses and I hold his head, my hips still struggling to force him to let me come. But he’s holding firm, drawing out the torture, and it only increases the need I feel.

  Suddenly, everything implodes and I hear the whimper leave my lips like I’m dying. And maybe I am. Or part of me is. The part of me who’d never felt this before, who’d never been brought to orgasm by someone else.

  My pussy clenches so hard it hurts and his tongue eases up and he hums like he’s talking me down from a ledge. The ripples of pleasure steal the air from my lungs and I’m all volume and mews of pleasure as my body struggles to take in all the excitement.

  It’s more intense than any orgasm I’ve given myself, and it’s stronger than I’d ever thought possible. And at the heart of it all: Dakin.

  His blue eyes meet mine and the whole world stops.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Dakin

  Fuck, she’s sexy as hell when she comes.

  Reality crashes down as the pleasure in her eyes begins to fade and she drops back to melt into the bed.

  Fuck.

 
I shouldn’t have done that.

  Damn it.

  I back off, struggling at the very real – and intense – need pulsing though me. But she’s not done with me. She lifts her head, her sexy eyes dreamy as she opens her arms to me.

  “Come here,” she says, a new warmth in her voice.

  And I do. I crawl onto the bed and let her pull me in close. Her lips meet mine despite her wet clinging to my chin and her tongue lazily meets mine.

  “I want you,” she whispers when I don’t respond to her kiss. Her eyes open and meet mine, and I’m startled by the depth of heat I see there. And when her tongue flicks out and touches my lip, I feel a sudden heat in my gut. Fuck, I want her too. But I know who I am. What I am. I don’t want to hurt her.

  “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.