Page 14 of Bad Girl Dilemma

“I’m not some trembling virgin,” I bite out, even though my voice betrays me. I’m not even sure why I uttered the V word. Because for all intents and purposes I am. Two fumbles at seventeen and twenty, brief and sticky and awful, don’t experience make. And by protesting I sense I’ve just drawn attention to how inexperienced I truly am.

“No,” he agrees, thumb grazing the tip of one breast, circling lazily until I have to clench my fists to stop from arching into him.

From breaking and begging as he so infuriatingly predicted. Because I’ll be damned if I break in one night.In one hour.

“But you’re inexperienced in the ways that matter. You’ve never let anyoneownyour pleasure.”

I twist my face away.

He shifts—slow, deliberate, as if giving me time to acclimate to his intent, tohim—and presses his mouth to my jaw.

Not a kiss. A test.

Then his lips drag down my neck. Behind my ear. Along my collarbone. Every press is soft, drugging, perfectly placed—designed not to claim, but to study.

By the time he kisses the center of my chest, I’m shaking, shocked, maddening words trembling on the tip of my tongue. How has he done this to me,so fucking fast?

He settles between my legs, half-clothed, propped on his elbows. I can feel the heat of his body, the steel pipe of his cock. Dear God, he can’t be that big. The jagged edge of his restraint.

And still—he doesn’t take.

Hehovers. Watchful.

“Makes you crazy, doesn’t it?” he says softly. “Not knowing when I’ll give you what you want. Or if I will at all.”

“I don’t want anything from you,” I hiss.

He smiles. “Liar. Hmm, maybe I should give you a nickname. Lying Little Dahlia.”

Six. Seven?

His hand slides between my thighs again, cupping my pussy—bold, warm, steady, maddening. The pressure against my clit, my sopping center, is good. So fucking good. I moan before I can stop it.

His voice darkens. “I could make you come in under two minutes. No penetration. No toys. Just my hands. My mouth. My words.”

I’m panting now. Humiliation and desire crash into each other, drowning everything else.

“But not tonight,” he murmurs.

And just like that—his touch is gone. I’m left bare and buzzing, wet and stunned.

“No,” I snap, tell myself I’m more angry with his stupid stunts than with the loss of his touch and my thwarted hunger. “You don’t get to play games?—”

“I already did,” he says, straightening, not even a little breathless. “And I won.”

He looks down at me, the silk of his voice gone taut. “Sleep, Dahlia.”

“I’m not a toy. I can’t be switched on and off at your leisure. I can’t fall asleep in a stranger’s bed. I can’t?—”

“You can. You will.” He brushes a thumb across my bottom lip. “Because I said so.”

He steps back. Leaves me on the bed with every nerve screaming.

No more words. No satisfaction. No power.

Just… a burn. A hollow.

Awhy did I want that? Why can’t I stop wanting?

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