Tease

by Cambria Hebert

What a freaking mess everything was.

  First someone steals my barrette; then someone forces himself into my apartment, attacks Roxie, but leaves behind my barrette. Then Craig bursts into the club, angry about being accused of something he probably thought about doing, and tried to attack Roxie. Meanwhile, I was in the back giving a freaking striptease to a man who… well… It did seem like he wanted to rape me.

  But why?

  I mean, I guess I got why a man would rape a woman. But in the middle of a club? And everything that happened before led me to believe this guy might have been watching me for a while.

  I shivered, fear clawing its way up my spine and squeezing my chest.

  Cam’s headlight in the rearview mirror caught my eye. Cam. He was always so chill, so calm and easy. He rocked that “surfer dude” stereotype like no one else I’d ever met… but tonight I’d seen a different side of him. The steely core beneath his easygoing exterior. He was angry—beyond angry—and the way he looked at me… It made me wonder if he decided maybe I wasn’t worth all the trouble that seemed to rain down upon us.

  And yeah… maybe part of me—a very small part—wondered. Wondered if maybe he was so attracted to me because up until him, I had basically been untouched. Yes, I made out with guys before. Yes, I did things… sexy things… But what Cam and I had? What we shared? He was my one. He was my only. I knew he liked that. What guy wouldn’t?

  Except now I was tainted.

  I was soiled.

  Someone else touched me. Grabbed me. Talked dirty to me.

  The memory of the man on top of me, telling me I was nothing but a tease, came over me. A car horn blared loudly and I snapped out of it just in time to see the overly bright headlights of an oncoming car as it barreled straight at me.

  18

  I jerked the wheel, swerving back into my lane, narrowly avoiding an accident.

  I drove the rest of the way with a pounding heart, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles ached. Finally, I pulled into the parking lot of my apartment and let out a huge sigh of relief.

  Cam was parked and off his bike in lightning speed. He pulled open the car door and leaned down just as I shut off the engine.

  “Are you okay?” he demanded. “What the hell was that?” He ran a hand through his hair and then stared at me. “Are you sure you aren’t hurt? You’d tell me if you were hurt, right?”

  “Yes, I’d tell you. I’m not hurt.”

  He stepped back for me to get out and then reached into the back to grab my bag. I walked ahead of him up the stairs and unlocked the door, pushing it open. Cam shouldered by me, going in first and flipping on the lights. He went through the apartment while I went into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. The icy coolness of the drink felt wonderful against my throat.

  “Everything looks fine,” he said, coming into the kitchen and grabbing a beer out of the fridge (I finally bought some man food).

  “I’m going to take a shower.”

  He nodded. I felt his eyes follow me as I walked out of the room. He didn’t say anything. I didn’t say anything.

  For some reason the silence hurt.

  In the bathroom, I unzipped his leather jacket and peeled it away, taking care to hang it on the back of the door. Then I stared at myself in the mirror. The pink corset was still untied. The lace ribbon was rumpled and wrinkled. It hung open just enough so I could see a gap of skin, from my neck all the way down below my navel.

  My hair was tangled in dark waves around my shoulders and cheeks. My skin was pale and my eyes were red. I spun away from the mirror and reached into the shower to start the water, turning it the hottest it would go.

  I stepped out of my heels and pulled off the boy shorts, kicking them into the corner where I hoped I never had to see them again. Then I reached for the corset.

  Open your top and touch yourself.

  The words—his words—echoed through my head a million times, bouncing off every barrier they hit until I couldn’t take it anymore.

  I ripped the corset off my body, balling it up into a tiny wad of fabric and then throwing it against the wall. My chest was heaving when I glanced back in the mirror. Even through the shroud of tears, my blurred vision saw it.

  The bruise.

  There was a bruise on my left breast—marks from where his hand had grabbed me, where his fingers brutalized my flesh. I hadn’t even felt it. Why hadn’t I felt him grab me?

  It must have been just before Cam pulled him off.

  I stared at the discolored patches on my otherwise creamy breast. Fingerprints. I had the fingerprints of a… a rapist on my body.

  A sob so deep ripped through my body, causing me to double over the sink. I sat there for long minutes just breathing, and then I pushed away and stepped behind the curtain and beneath the scalding hot water.

  It burned. It made my skin tingle and turn a blotchy red. But I didn’t care. I wanted him off me. I wanted every last trace of that sick human being to wash down the drain so I never had to feel like this again.

  I grabbed up the soap and started at my shoulder, gripping the bar so hard that my fingers turned white and the soap bore the indent of my hand. I covered my arm in a thick lather, trying to wash away everything.

  But you can’t wash away a memory.

  The soap slipped out of my hand and hit the floor of the shower with a loud bang. I stood under the too-hot water and started to cry. The sobs were so deep I didn’t even breathe. All I could do was heave as big fat tears rolled down my cheeks and mixed with the water of the shower. I cried silently—the kind of cry that was so painful my body just wasn’t capable of making noise.

  I was mad at myself. Mad for putting myself in that position. Mad for not listening to my gut and trying to hold on to a job I really didn’t want. Mad that I felt dirty and used. Mad that every time I looked at my chest and saw that bruise, I was going to be reminded.

  I leaned against the shower wall, resting my forehead against the tile and sucking in great gulps of oxygen.

  The shower curtain slid open and Cam stepped into the shower, pulling the curtain closed behind him.

  “Hey,” he murmured, lifting his hand but letting it fall between us.

  He didn’t want to touch me.

  A sob echoed around me. And then another. I couldn’t even remember the last time I cried this hard.

  “Don’t cry,” he said, his voice breaking just a little. His body shifted closer.

  He was wearing all his clothes. Even his shoes.

  “I’m stained now, aren’t I?” I said, my voice hollow and deep.

  “What?”

  “It’s the reason you don’t want to touch me. It’s because of him. Because he touched me.”

  He made a sound like he was in pain. “Is that what you think? You think I don’t want to touch you now?”

  I didn’t reply. I just let the water pour over my back and kept my forehead against the wall.

  “I’m afraid to touch you. I’m afraid if I do that, you’ll flinch away. If you flinch, I’ll hunt him down and kill him.”

  “I’m not going to flinch.”

  He hauled me against him, wrapping me up against his body and holding my head to his chest. I could feel the hard beating of his heart and the finest of tremors through his arms.

  “Your skin is burning up,” he said, turning so the water hit him in the back and I was no longer underneath the spray.

  “I want him off me.”

  Cam bent and picked up the soap and used it to gently wash my skin. I shook my head. “Harder, it needs to be harder.”

  He pressed a little harder, covering me in bubbles and then using his hands to rinse them away. I knew immediately when he saw the marks. He stilled. He didn’t breathe as he discarded the soap.

  He traced his fingers over the fingerprints of another man. Then he leaned down and kissed them softly. Tears clogged my throat because his tenderness was utterly sweet. “I’m so sorry, baby,” he whispered and pulled
me into him, hugging me close.

  The water eventually cooled, and I pulled away to wash my hair as he stood there in dripping wet clothes and watched me with hooded eyes. I couldn’t really decipher his expression and I was partially glad for it.

  My skin was still splotchy and red when I shut off the water, and Cam wrapped a giant towel around my body. He ran his hands up and down my arms, drying as he went. Once I was dry, I combed out my hair and put some moisturizer on my skin.

  “You’re dripping all over the floor,” I observed.

  “I’ll change when you’re finished.”

  “Why not now?”

  “I wasn’t sure if you’d want to see me naked.”

  “Why?”

  He let out a breath. “Because of what happened. I have no idea what you need.”

  I turned and leaned against the sink, pinning him with a stare. “Why don’t you ask me?”

  “What do you need, Harlow?”

  “Don’t treat me like I’m broken. Don’t tiptoe around because you think you might scare me or make me think of something bad. I’m already scared. My thoughts are already dark. But I’m not broken Cam.” I reached up and opened the towel wrapped around my body, letting it drift to the floor. “I’m safe in your arms. I don’t think at all when I’m in your arms. Make it go away. Erase everything he did to me with the power of your touch.”

  “Are you sure that’s what you want? I don’t expect you—”

  “It’s what I want.”

  His eyes traveled over my naked body, turning into molten chocolate sauce. “Wait here,” he murmured and brushed past me, disappearing out the bathroom door.

  Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for.

  I used the towel to wipe up the puddles on the floor and then hung it up as the door opened and Cam stood in the frame. He wasn’t wearing his wet clothes anymore. He was wearing a pair of basketball shorts and nothing else. His hair was damp and disheveled, falling across his forehead.

  “Roxie and Adam aren’t here yet,” he said and then swept me up into his arms, cradling me against his chest, and walked back through the apartment, using his foot to push the bedroom door open and then moving inside. He laid me across the bed, which had already been turned down, and then went to shut the door and lock it.

  Delicious anticipation began in my toes and climbed up me like a vine growing in a field.

  He prowled over to the side of the bed. He made me feel hunted—but he was the kind of hunter you would lie down just to let him catch you. He was the kind of killer that you would beg to kill you just so he would put his hands any place on your skin.

  “This isn’t going to be like the other times,” he said, his voice low. “This isn’t going to be aggressive; this isn’t going to be in a public place.”

  He lay down beside me, stretching out along my side. His hand hovered over me. I could feel the heat in his palm. I wanted him to touch me—I needed him to—but still he resisted.

  “It’s just me and you right now. I’m going to take my time with you tonight. I’m going to touch you gently, not because I think you’re broken, but because to me you’re something to be cherished. And because the only way to completely chase away the dark from your mind is to fill you up so completely with light that the darkness has nowhere to hide.”

  If words could give a girl an orgasm, those words would totally do it.

  “If you change your mind, all you have to say is stop. I’ll stop. I won’t leave, and I won’t be mad.”

  I wasn’t going to ask him to stop.

  I ran my hand through his hair, loving the way the thick strands curled around my fingers, and then spread out my fingers, cupping the back of his neck and pulling his head down.

  His lips had their own idea.

  Instead of meeting my mouth, he ran his tongue over the nipple closest to him, swirling over the top like I was some kind of ice cream cone and he was hungry for a snack. My back arched upward and he tucked his arm between me and the mattress, supporting my weight and lifting me farther off the bed and into his hungry and waiting mouth.

  He licked me with slow, deliberate strokes, suckling parts of my flesh into his mouth, gently tugging and igniting all my senses. His teeth lightly grazed over one nipple and then the other, and then he pressed soft and tender kisses in the center of my breasts. His mouth trailed downward, across my belly, kissing around my navel and flirting with the short curls just above my core.

  His arm slid out from under me and I lowered to the bed. He rose over me, completely blocking everything else from sight. I was shivering lightly, likely from passion, but he pulled the covers up over us both, further cocooning us together, the weight of the blankets pressing our skin just a little bit closer.

  Cam moved over me, kissing every inch. I noticed the way his skin was a different texture than mine. He felt coarser, not quite as smooth, while mine was like silk that glided right across his roughness.

  Careful to keep his weight off of me, he lowered only enough that his barely there touch drove me mad. His hands and fingers never stopped; he found places on my body that I hadn’t even discovered. There was a spot behind my ear that whenever he kissed it, I purred. There were three freckles on the side of my right breast—I knew that’s how many there were because Cam whispered as he counted them.

  He kissed my eyelids, my nose, and all the places in between, but he had yet to kiss my lips.

  Cam disappeared beneath the blanket, slowly looping my legs around his neck and settling between my thighs like there was no place he would rather be.

  I knew there wasn’t. Because he whispered that too.

  His tongue was thorough and undemanding as he explored the folds, gently suckling them with his mouth and then smoothing it over with his tongue. He teased my clit by pulling it into his mouth and flicking his tongue over it, and when my body would begin to shudder, he would pull back and repeat the whole thing over again.

  It was torture at its sweetest.

  It was prolonged agony at its best.

  I was so saturated with want for him that the insides of my thighs were moist with my juices. He licked that too. Two fingers slipped into my entrance, delving inside me with easy grace. He moved them this way and that way, leaning down to take the swollen bud into his mouth to suckle some more.

  A delicious pressure began to build. My body felt heavy with it, but it was far from uncomfortable. Then he slipped his fingers out of me and reached up, swirling his damp fingers over my nipple, drawing it into a fine point.

  I moaned.

  He slid up my body, taking the very same nipple into his mouth and then finally coming up and lowering his mouth to mine. He tasted slightly different, and I knew what I tasted was me on his lips. I licked into his mouth, wanting more, wanting at least part of me to be inside him. I rocked up my hips, searching for what I wanted, trying to tell him without saying a word.

  He rose onto his knees between my thighs and grabbed a condom from beneath a nearby pillow. I watched him roll it on. It stretched across his incredible girth and I had the urge to take him into my mouth and lick him until he spilled across my tongue.

  He seemed to know what I was thinking because he shook his head and then came back over me, pressing a feather-light kiss to my lips.

  In one even stroke, he was inside me, my insides tightening around him like they might never let go. I stretched against him like a cat, lifting my arms above my head and baring my chest to his hungry mouth.

  We moved against each other. We moved as one as his lips explored my chest and my lips whispered his name. He raised up onto his hands, poised above me, and looked down.

  “I’ve never felt anything like this before,” he confided.

  “Neither have I.”

  We began to move again until the pressure became unbearable and my hips started to grind against his. I splintered apart, shattering into a million tiny pieces, knowing when the pieces came back together, I wasn’t going to be the same
as before.

  My name ripped from his lips, sounding like a groan, as his release rippled through him, causing his head to fall back and a moan to float up above us into the ceiling.

  He grasped me around the waist and rolled, keeping himself firmly planted inside me and taking all my weight so I was lying directly on top of him with my legs spread on either side, his sex still twitching inside me.

  “I think I love you,” he whispered. “No. I don’t think. I know.” He brushed the hair back away from my face. “I’m so in love with you it scares me.”

  “I love you too.”