Page 7 of The Bachelor

“Camden, Hannah doesn’t have to know.” Her voice was a little above a whisper. “And what I’ll get out of this will most likely be the best sex I’ll ever have in my life.”

My face tilted to the side; my brows rose. “What would give you that assumption?”

“You’re forgetting we grew up together. Hannah’s room was directly next to yours; you guys shared a wall. I heard”—she smiled—“everything.”

“That was years and years ago.”

She leaned back against the cushions, putting distance between us. “And I’m sure you’ve only gotten better.”

Praising my manhood.

I liked her style.

But this proposition was risky.

Did I want to taste her?

Fuck yes.

Did I want to feel her virgin pussy pulse around my dick?

Fucking yes.

But doing that would come with consequences.

Oaklyn was practically family. Given that she’d never done anything like this before, that could make her extra emotional and clingy. Needy even.

I didn’t handle any of those well.

“What do you say, Camden?” As she repositioned herself again, her sweatshirt fell off her shoulder, showing the dip of her neck, her jutted-out collarbone—both incredibly sexy. “In one year, if I’m still in the same place, are you going to swoop in and rescue me?”

There was nothing rescuing about the way I liked to fucked.

I was naughty.

Insatiable.

Animalistic.

I wanted sweat and pain and shouting at the top of our fucking lungs.

I jiggled the remaining ice cubes. “When the time comes, how will I know you’re still a virgin?”

Where did that question come from?

What the hell has gotten into me?

Why am I even teasing myself when I know how dangerous this is?

“I’ll tell you.” She grinned. “It’s not like I haven’t had your cell number for a million years.”

Oaklyn was wrong; she did in fact want a prince, one who would ensure her first time was like a fairy tale. Where she’d be kissed. Loved. Desired with soft, tender embraces.

But I was no fucking savior.

Nor was I soft. Tender. Loving.

I was a man who focused on orgasms, not commitments.

---