The Art of Love

by Kayla C. Oliver

  He takes it and holds it a moment. “You know I won’t,” he says finally and my heart sinks. I sit down on the edge of the bed. This time, I spread my legs a few inches. Will he still say no when he realizes I’m not wearing underwear?

  But he doesn’t seem to look.

  So I grow bolder.

  Rising from the bed, I walk over and straddle him where he’s sitting on the chair. Sitting square in his lap, I feel him shift and know he’s rock hard as I put my elbows on his shoulders and let my arms relax down on either side of him.

  With my face near his and my hips begging me to rock against the hardness of him, I have to fight not to kiss him.

  “Why don’t you want me?” I whisper, unable to stop myself from planting a little kiss on the corner of his lips.

  “I do want you,” he says, his tone hard as if he’s steeling himself.

  “So take me. I want it,” I say, my tongue darting out to taste that little bit of scratchy stubble beside his mouth. He tastes clean and warm, spicy and dangerous. I know I’m playing with fire and I can’t wait to get burned.

  Chapter Six

  Dakin

  I need to stop this before it gets bad. She’s a beautiful girl and my cock is already straining so hard against the zipper of my slacks I’m worried I might bust the seam. I turn my head to the side to stare off at nothing, anything, something other than the suddenly sexy, nearly irresistible Camille.

  This is going to be harder than I thought.

  Sure, I want to stick to my guns and say she’s drunk, but she’s not acting drunk. She’s not slurring and her motions are effortless, not sloppy like someone who’s had too much. Her thoughts even seem clear.

  But with all those reasons in mind, I know them for what they are: justifications.

  “Don’t turn away,” she whispers, her breath cooling the spot beside my mouth where her tongue had tasted me. “Please just give me this,” she says, sounding almost broken.

  “Why are you doing this, Camille?” I ask, hoping to steer things away from the pressure I’m feeling below the belt.

  She sits back and I realize the room is colder without her close to me. My phone chimes, and I ignore it. Right now, I want to focus on her. I watch her eyes dart to my phone and study my reaction – or lack of one, perhaps – to it.

  After I ignore it, she begins to tear up a bit.

  “Jackson broke up with me,” she whispers, her cheeks and nose reddening a little like she’s about to cry. She’s still pretty, but there’s a vulnerable quality to her that melts my heart.

  Which is weird as I’ve never considered myself that kind of guy.

  She closes her eyes for a moment and I see her eyes darting back and forth under her lids like she’s trying to chase away the tears. When she opens them again, a single tears slips down her cheek and I reach out without thinking. Placing my fingertips on her jaw, I run the pad of my thumb under her eye to capture the lone tear and banish it from her face.

  She draws in a ragged breath and I want to kiss her. More than anything, I want to kiss her.

  But I don’t.

  Her lips part and she speaks with great effort. “I don’t want to be a,” she lowers her voice like she’s sharing a secret with me, “virgin anymore. I don’t want to be a prude, or an ice queen.” She hesitates and I nod to silently tell her I’m listening.

  I want to protect her. From Jackson, from herself, from me.

  There’s a moment of silence before she speaks again. “I’m ready.” Her jaw sets stubbornly and I have a feeling I’m in for trouble. “And you’re not the kind of guy who’d be all sappy about taking my virginity.”

  I’d feign hurt if it wasn’t true. I’ve never felt that being a virgin was some incredible quality of a woman. I’ve never felt that it makes anyone any more pure or perfect. I don’t have the urge to go where no man has gone before. If Camille feels that it’s a chore, she’s got the right opinion in my book. Public perception makes it such a bigger deal than it really should be.

  In this world, there’s no such thing as innocence.

  “It’s not something I’ve been so careful to keep,” she says quickly, as if to debate something I’m not arguing with her. “My parents were so intent on me studying and getting good grades there was just no room for boyfriends. But that reputation stuck, you know?” Her blue eyes are almost mournful as they meet mine.

  And I feel bad for her.

  My phone chimes again and again, I ignore it.

  Her eyes dart to it, then back to my face as if she’s trying to figure out what I’m going to do next.

  “So what do we do now?” she asks after a moment.

  I open my mouth to answer but am drowned out by the sound of someone pounding on the door. Camille is startled, her whole body jolting and goose bumps breaking out over her skin. I’m on my feet and across the room quickly. Opening the door, I come face to face with Jake, who grabs my arm and pulls me aside.

  Stepping into the next room, I face him. “What?” I ask, impatient.

  “Jackson left.” Jake sounds stressed. But there’s a light in his eyes that tells me he’s still on it.

  “Who’s got eyes on him?” I ask, needing to know where he went.

  “The guys are looking around the house first, but someone swears he went outside.” Jake’s posture becomes threatening, but I know it’s not toward me. He’s pissed that Jackson gave him the slip. “He was threatening her,” Jake says, and I feel rage bubbling up in my gut.

  How dare the fucker. I’ll kill him.

  “So we keep him away from her,” I say, knowing it sounds much more simple than it is. “I told her she’s here until she sobers up.”

  Jake nods. “I’ve got the blue ready.”

  “Zac?” I ask, knowing that Jake’s friends with one of the cops. Jackson’s rap is pretty intense, but the cops have had a hell of a time finding out what’s just him talking big and what’s real. Still, the thought of him hurting Camille… it’s enough to make me see red.

  “Why do you have such a hard on for him?” Jake asks, and I shake my head.

  “It’s just a feeling, man.”

  Jake’s eyes narrow and I know he’s not buying it. “She got to you?” he asks. There’s an out in his eyes, but I’m not taking the easy route.

  “How old is Sam?” I ask and anger flashes behind his blue eyes. His little sister is only sixteen, but she looks older. And a guy like Jackson would go for her if he thought he could get away with it. “He’s an opportunity from statutory at best and who knows at worst?”

  On the other side of the wall, I hear Camille cry out and my heart stops.

  Chapter Seven

  Camille

  I feel so sad when Dakin steps out of the room for a moment. But I get that there’s something going on. I feel the tension in the air after the two guys walk off a few paces and into a new room. Peeking out the door, I decide I don’t want to listen to them. Whatever it is, it’s none of my business.

  I slip out of the room and head to the landing of the stairs. From there, I see Jackson and I duck back into the room, hoping he didn’t see me.

  Those hopes are dashed when he comes into the room and walks right up to me. His hand closes around my throat and I can’t even choke out a scream.

  “Fucking finally,” he snarls in my ear and I whimper as my lips start to tingle. Forced to silence by his hand on my throat, I can only claw at him as he pushes me back onto the bed. Managing to get a leg between his, I bring my knee up. I hit his thigh and he grunts.

  “You’ll pay for that, bitch,” he says and I feel the world beginning to fade. White spots dance before my eyes and I go totally still. Unable to actually talk, I merely move my lips.

  “I won’t fight,” I mouth silently, careful to keep my body still and limp.

  “I knew you wanted it,” he says, releasing his hold on my throat.

  Gulping in deep breaths, I feel him paw at my chest and want to throw up on him. “You ow
e me this,” he says as I struggle to keep from passing out. “You fucking prude bitch.” His hands can’t manage to free me from the dress and I’m thankful. My heart pounds so hard I wonder if he can feel it.

  I move my lips and he leans in as if to hear what I’ve said. And I smash my forehead into him. Pain flowers through me and I let out a yelp of pure pain and surprise as he stumbles back, rage in his features. There’s something more than rage. I see murder behind those cruel eyes.

  In seconds Dakin and another guy burst into the room. Dakin strikes faster than a cobra and suddenly, Jackson’s nose is dripping blood as the other guy grabs his arms and hauls him out of the room.

  Then Dakin is on me, holding me, asking if I’m alright. His fingers find my forehead and I hear him whisper that he’ll kill him. But I cling to him.

  “Don’t kill him,” I whisper. “He’s not worth it.” He’s not. He’s a fucking piece of shit, but he’s never attacked me before. Not physically. He’s yelled at me; he’s been an asshole. But more often than not, he settles for silent disdain.

  Still, he hadn’t been like that in the beginning. He’d been so sweet, so caring and deep. Or maybe I’d been too stupid to see him for the monster he really was.

  “Are you okay?” Dakin asks, and I cling to him.

  “He didn’t do anything. Not really,” I say, gulping back tears as I realize the ache in my throat. At the door, I see the other guy who’d dragged Jackson off.

  “Should I call Zac?”

  Dakin shakes his head, holding my cheek to his chest. I listen to the strong and steady beat of his heart and realize that I might be in more trouble if he hadn’t been right there.

  “I’m sorry,” Dakin says. “I’m sorry I didn’t protect you.”

  “But you did,” I whisper, feeling miserable.

  Suddenly, I hear Jackson yelling and every hair on my body stands on end. “I’ll fucking kill her!” he shouts. “I’m the one who should be fucking her, not that piece of shit!”

  My face blazes red hot and I feel Dakin stiffen. “Don’t listen to him,” he says, cupping a hand over my ear and keeping the other pressed firmly to his chest.

  “Who’s Zac?” I ask, needing to think about something other than Jackson’s ugly words. Dakin seems surprised by the question.

  “He’s a cop.”

  “Why did you tell him not to call the cop?” I’m confused.

  “Because you’ve been drinking,” Dakin says, and anger rises up in me. I push him away and stand on my feet a few feet away from him.

  “What?” I ask, not believing my ears. But I do believe it. And my heart sinks like a stone. “I was attacked and you told them not to call the cops?”

  Dakin sits on the edge of his bed, watching me like I’m a wild cat and he’s waiting for me to strike.

  “Why?” I ask, tears beginning to crowd my eyes again. I hate myself for crying. I hate myself for being so weak and so pathetic.

  He seems so matter of fact when he responds. “You’ve been drinking.”

  At his house. He’d get hit with supplying a minor. He only cares about his own damn self. What an asshole.

  “I’m leaving,” I say, misery threatening to drown me.

  But he’s on his feet in a flash and his hand closes around my arm just above my elbow. “You can’t go,” he says, and I jerk out of his grasp.

  “Too bad,” I say before turning toward the door. He’s in the doorway before I can get out, and he braces both arms on the frame and blocks me so very neatly. He’s imposing, his eyes are bright and narrow, and I know he feels like he’s fighting a battle he has to win.

  Well, so am I.

  “Let me go,” I tell him with as much authority as I can muster. He has no right to hold me here against my will.

  “No,” he says simply and I look up at him, hating him for doing this to me.

  “Why are you doing this?” I ask, and he studies my face as if trying to decide how to answer. And I know the next thing out of his mouth is bullshit.

  “Because I want to keep you safe. Please stay.” There’s a sincerity in him that I want to believe, but I just can’t. If he really had my best interest in mind, he’d have called the cops.

  Then again, my phone is in here. I could call the cops. The thought makes me pause, and I begin to wonder why I’m hesitating. Jackson tried to rape me, to kill me, possibly. Yet the thought of calling the cops on him still leaves me shaking in fear.

  As if this is some bad movie, I hear Jackson again, but he’s up here now, behind Dakin, talking in a voice that’s oddly calm and composed.

  “Step aside, pretty boy. You swore you’d help me.”

  Chapter Eight

  Dakin

  As soon as the words leave Jackson’s mouth, I want to kill him. But Camille goes white as a sheet and there’s a look of betrayal in her eyes that shreds my very soul to bits.

  I can explain. I told Jackson I’d help him, but clearly not in the way he thinks I meant. I was going to help him by getting him locked up before he could really hurt anyone. Or kicking the shit out of him until he can’t fuck with anyone else. Still, while looking at the whole world crumbling in Camille’s eyes, I know I have to protect her first and explain later.

  Seeing red, I turn and walk over to Jackson and grab him by the collar with one hand. Shoving him back, I drag his ass down the stairs, back first. His hands grab at my arm as I haul him down to the room of guests who have heard nothing over the heavy bass in the music they’re enjoying.

  But the music stops as I jerk the struggling Jackson off the last step and onto his feet.

  “This son of a bitch is a rapist,” I say loud enough for the room to hear. It’s so quiet I can hear Jackson’s heartbeat. “If he has attacked you,” I say, scanning the women in the room with a silent plea and an offering of strength, “report him. I know it’s scary, it’s hard, and it’s humiliating. But he’ll never stop if he’s not punished.”

  I scan again, seeing uncertainty. “But you’re strong. Stronger than he is.”

  While Jackson struggles, I let him go and he falls flat on his ass amidst sudden whispers and a few titters of laughter.

  “I’ll fucking kill you and that bitch,” Jackson spits.

  A small, cruel smile tugs at my lips. “Not if I find out what you’ve done first,” I say and his eyes widen.

  “Did you just threaten me?” He sounds incredulous.

  “Not a threat,” I say simply, “A promise. I’d watch my back if I were you.”

  Jackson scans the crowd looking for a single, friendly face. But people are staring at him like he’s something they tracked in on the bottom of their shoes and I know I’ve destroyed him for this group.

  And word will spread.

  Jackson looks at me and lifts a finger to point at me. “You’re dead,” he says. Beside me, I feel Jake step by my side and cross his arms over his chest.

  “That sounds like a threat,” he says softly, but I put a hand on his chest to keep him still.

  Jackson’s eyes narrow and I see him snap. He lunges for me and I meet his face with a savage right hook that sends a shockwave up my arm into my shoulder. Everything gives as I smash him again. He hits the floor, but I’m only a second behind as I hit him again and again, with every ounce of fury and hatred in me lashing out at this son of a bitch.

  Jake tries to grab me, but I shove him back with enough force to take him down and return my rage to Jackson.

  “Stop!” I feel Camille’s presence rather than hear her.

  Suddenly, she’s before me, her eyes on Jackson before they come up to meet mine. And I see something there I’d never expected: fear.

  “You’re going to kill him,” she whispers over the sudden buzz in the room. I look up, seeing most of the group has dissipated, but those still around are staring at me, shock clear on their features.

  But not Camille. She’s looking at me like she’s scared of me.

  And I look down at Jackson. He’s blo
ody and bruised. Jake touches my arm. “He swung at you first.”

  The room agrees with nods and a girl walks up to me and hugs me. “Thank you,” she whispers, before looking at Jake with a look that clearly says she has something to say. He takes her aside and I know he’s calling Zac.

  It’s what I set out to do, but this isn’t how I wanted to get here.

  Camille takes my fingers in her hand and rises to her feet in a graceful motion that sends my pummeling heart into overdrive. I follow her as she leads me off towards the bathroom. She says nothing as she takes my hands and moves them under the faucet.

  I watch her attention to detail as she turns on the water, adjusting it to be warm and begins to scrub my hands and knuckles with soap. Her features are tight, worried, and I still see lingering fear there.

  “How much did you hear?” I ask, needing to know.

  She hesitates and her eyes meet mine. “Enough.”

  As the water runs red, then pink, and finally clear, I sense she’s scared of me and I feel like a monster. I didn’t want her to see that. I should have had more self-control. I should have been a better man.

  I don’t lose my damned temper. Not ever. This fluke will haunt me forever, I’m certain.

  Camille rinses my hands, her fingers trembling and I want to tell her she doesn’t have to be in here with me. She doesn’t have to stay. She can go, but I need her to be safe. It isn’t about keeping her here to protect myself.

  I’m not sure why I feel so protective of her. Maybe because I couldn’t help several of the other girls. I knew; there was always a nagging doubt about what he did behind closed doors. But I didn’t have proof, and I didn’t have a good way to get it.

  “You can go home,” I say softly.

  She looks up at me, surprised. “No,” she says, shaking her head a little, “We have a few things to talk about.”

  That phrase makes my balls retract. Nothing good ever comes from that string of words in that order. But I’m sure as hell not going to tell her no.