Touch Me

by Kayla C. Oliver

  When I open my eyes, Dakin is watching me. His hand moves toward my face and the pad of his thumb touches the corner of my lips. Then he leans in and his lips close on the spot he’d touched. I feel his tongue, warm and silken, and turn into him.

  His hand cups my cheek and I press my lips to his, needing him to kiss me. I’ve needed him since last night. His tongue traces my lower lip and I open to him. Our tongues meet and I feel him stiffen before he breaks off and backs up a bit.

  I grab his wrist and he turns to me. “Please stay,” I beg, shame not even a concern in my mind.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dakin

  Her fingers are soft on my wrist, but her eyes hold me like shackles. She’s so sweet and soft, so perfect, it’s destroying me. I nod, swallowing hard. This is stupid. I’ve only got so much self-control.

  And knowing she’s naked right here, under my sheets, on my bed, is enough to kill me.

  Her fingers release me and I watch her pick up the toast and take another bite. Once more, her eyes drift closed as if she’s exploring every nuance of flavor. And once again, I find myself wondering if she’d have the same expression if I tasted her sweet pussy.

  Fuck. I’m rock hard and this is torture.

  I settle next to her on the bed and put my hands under my head. Overhead, fat, fluffy clouds drift by. Last night, she’d been right here, looking up at the stars, touching herself and moaning my name.

  “So what are your plans for the day?” she asks, and I find myself grateful for the diversion.

  “Taking care of you,” I say, surprising myself. It’s true, though. Either I’m watching out for her here, or I’m keeping her safe after she leaves. With Jackson on the run, I’m not sure I want to risk not keeping eyes on her. If he hurts her, I’ll never forgive myself. “Do you have class today?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “I do, but I’m not going.” She sets the toast down and takes a drink of the milk before looking over at me. Her eyes are a mixture of sadness and strength that moves my very soul. “I’ve only ever done what people tell me to do. I’m in college because my parents wanted me to be. I’m not doing it for me.”

  I nod. “So what do you want to do?” I ask, curious if she’s made any plans.

  She hesitates, and I know she’s thinking before she responds. “I’m not sure,” she says, her honesty heartbreaking. “Is there supposed to be some eureka moment? Some second I know exactly what to do?” she asks, all seriousness and worry.

  I’ve heard this before, though. “I don’t think so. I think we’re conditioned to do what we think is right. Get a good job. Go to college.” I stop talking and tuck a stray lock of her dark hair behind her ear before continuing.

  “We’re children being told to pick one thing and do that thing, though we know now, as adults, that we change day by day.” I smile at the irony of it all. “And what seemed perfect even a month ago might be torture now.” I nod at her as she blinks at my words. “Like you’re learning.”

  “You’re right,” she says. “But how do I know what I want to do?”

  I can’t help but smile. “That’s the million dollar question, love. Not I, nor anyone else in your life, can answer that for you.”

  Her eyes meet mine around another bite of toast. She chews in silence for a moment. “How did you know what you wanted?” she asks finally.

  Her honesty is refreshing. I’ve never had someone just… ask. People assume. They draw their own conclusions with the precious little information they have. And they’re often wrong.

  “I do what I must for the family business. But my hobbies are where I find fun.” I can’t help but smile and she arches an eyebrow at me in a clear question.

  “You have hobbies?” she asks, humor coloring her tone.

  “Oh, you’re cute,” I tease, and she grins. The sudden brilliance of it steals the breath right from my lungs and I freeze.

  But she’s not done. “So really, what hobbies?” she asks, finishing her piece of toast while watching me.

  “Rock climbing.” I watch her face shift. She’s curious, not judging.

  “Isn’t that scary?” she asks, and I shrug.

  “I’ve got a solid team. They’ve saved my ass before, and I’ve done the same for them.” And that trust extends to every aspect of life. And I find myself wondering if Camille has ever trusted someone that much. Has she ever put her life in someone’s hands and trusted them with it?

  “Like you did for me, last night,” she whispers, but I shake my head.

  “I didn’t do anything,” I say, needing her to not trust me like that over what transpired last night. I’d failed her. I was the reason Jackson was there. I was the one who stepped out of the room and gave him the opportunity to attack her. I hadn’t saved her, I’d failed her.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” she says softly and I look at her, wondering how she could have possibly known what I was thinking. “It’s all over your face,” she says gently and I rein in my emotions. But she’s done being serious. I sense the shift and it’s a relief.

  “So, Mr. Dark, you’ve broken your own policy,” she says, mischief in her pretty eyes as she pops a blueberry in her mouth.

  “Don’t tell anyone,” I say with as much threatening anger as I can muster. She’s not cowed though, and shakes her head at me.

  “Breakfast, taking a girl to your room, taking her clothes off and hiding them…” she trails off and I’m quick to explain.

  “It’s in the wash,” I tell her and she nods like she’s humoring me. And I realize I forgot the second half of the things I was planning to give her at breakfast. I’m out of bed before she can stop me and I tell her I’ll be back in one second. There’s panic in her face that quickly dissipates with my words.

  I duck out the door and grab the bag. When I bring it back in, she’s startled and I drop it next to her. She peeks in, then looks up at me, her eyes wide. “For me?” she asks, and I nod.

  “I’m not just going to leave you naked, and I don’t think you could wear any of my clothes,” I tease. But she starts shaking her head. “Don’t you start on me,” I tease, “I’ll do as I damn well please in my own home.”

  To my surprise, her eyes fill with tears and guilt crushes me.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Camille

  Tears sting in my eyes as I peek into the bag and look over at him. There’s something akin to panic in his expression.

  It’s too much. Too nice. He’d thoughtfully made sure to take the sting out of the walk of shame for me. Even though it’s not exactly a walk of shame since I’d not actually slept with him.

  Not that I was worried about it. Part of the whole experience was feeling every ounce of the way society had told me I would.

  “What’s all this, then?” he asks, his fingers quick to find my face in a sweet way that leaves me feeling warm and cared for. It’s… odd.

  “I didn’t expect this is all,” I say, unable to explain the depths of feelings in my soul. He isn’t what I expected, but I’m far from disappointed.

  He releases me and rises to his feet. “I’ll let you get dressed.” The door closes behind him and I wonder why he was so quick to leave. Maybe I make him uncomfortable. Somehow, I’m sure he’s got some perplexing emotions tied up in this weird… whatever it is I feel sparking between us.

  I wonder if I made things weird for him last night. Or if he’s feeling awkward about pushing me away. Amber tends to get even with guys who push her away and make her feel bad. But I’m not really like her. Not that way, at least.

  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 no
rms?

  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.