The Bacelor: Make A Sex Deal

The same guy who was standing before me now.

Hannah might not trust her brother’s decisions, but she would never think I would hook up with him or have him take my virginity.

But as that thought hit me, my God, the betrayal really sank in.

Would Hannah hate me for this if she ever found out?

I couldn’t put my mind there. I needed to focus on why I was here.

What I needed.

What I wanted.

I studied his face. “Why are you telling me all this?”

“My sister’s a goddamn PI. If you point the slightest grin in my direction, I promise you, she’ll know.”

“Camden …” I ground my teeth over my lip. “Don’t worry; we’re in the clear. She’d never think I’d date you or want to date you.”

“Why do you say that?”

I twirled my glass of wine before taking a sip. “Hannah knows you’re not my type.”

Except he was.

I seemed to be attracted to the impatient assholes, and Camden Dalton was definitely one of those.

He set down his vodka and closed the distance between us, one hand going to my waist, the other to my chin, where he traced his finger across my lips. “And what makes you think that?” Before I could respond, he continued, “You’ve told me about your ex. Aside from the fact that he had no money and his credit card was declined-something that wouldn’t ever happen to me-we sound pretty similar.” He leaned into my ear, his mouth so close that I could feel it. “He was a dick … I like to think with my dick.”

Goose bumps rose over every part of my skin.

And when they did, I tingled.

Everywhere.

I cleared my throat, searching for my voice. “It doesn’t matter if you were like him or not; she wouldn’t think I’d go after you. It’s not a thought that would even enter her brain.”

He pulled at my lip. “You think you know her better than me?”

I wanted to laugh, but I couldn’t.

I was too turned on to push that puff of air through my lungs.

“As well as you,” I replied. “But you’ve just got to trust me on this. Like earlier tonight, when we FaceTimed and she asked if I wanted to hang out with her, Sydney, Jo, and Kendall, I told her I was slammed with work and couldn’t. She didn’t question me or come up with some sneaky conclusion that I’d made other plans and wasn’t telling her about them. See, we’re good.”

His brows lifted. “Wait a sec. You told her you were slammed with work?”

“Yeah. What’s wrong with that?”

His hands left me, and he took a step back, picking up his drink and bringing it to his mouth. “That’s the same excuse I gave her when she asked why I wasn’t going out with the guys.”

“So?”

“So …” He glanced away. “You don’t think that’s obvious?”

“Why would Hannah ever think the two of us would be together? I think you’re paranoid and trying to make this into something it’s not.”

He looked at me again.

Really looked at me.

“I hope you’re right about that, Oaklyn.”

“I am.”

He took several sips and wiped his lips, still staring at me as he said, “Since you have it all figured out”-he stopped to chuckle-“then it’s time for lesson one.”

A burst of nerves shot through my body, and I began to guzzle the remainder of my wine.

I was only a few swallows in when he gripped the glass and gently pulled it away from me. “You don’t need any more of that right now.”Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

“But I think I do.”

He set the wine on the other side of the counter and went over to the bar to refill his glass. “You’ll resume the drinking once we’re done.”

Professor and alcohol-intake controller. This was already getting interesting.

Still, I stayed pressed against the island and waited for his next command.

Watching.

Completely frozen.

I had no idea what was about to go down.

What he was going to do to me.

Because this lesson wasn’t my fantasy; it was his, and even if my life depended on it, I couldn’t begin to guess what Camden would want.

After returning to the kitchen, he clasped my hand and said, “Come with me,” and he brought me into the living room.

The couch was a large sectional, shaped as a U, outlining the whole room. He placed me on one side of the horseshoe, and he took the other side, so we faced each other. That gave me the impression that he was not only going to watch; he was going to have a front-row seat.

But of what?

“The only thing I know about you sexually is how your lips taste.” His legs spread as he settled over the cushion, his drink resting on one of his thighs. “I don’t know what you like. What makes your pussy wet. What makes you come.” His hand lifted his glass and paused midair. “You have made yourself come, haven’t you?”

The embarrassment swept in, and it took me a moment to respond. “Yes.” But the previous statement, the one about my likes and wetness, I couldn’t tell if he wanted answers to those. “Do you want me to tell you what I like?”

“No.” He shook his head, thumbing his lips to dry them after he took a drink. “I want you to show me.”

I felt the redness move over my cheeks; the tingles slid into my chest and pulsed like electricity. “Show you?”

He rested further into the couch, like he was at the movies, and at any second, he was going to extend his legs and recline. “Yes.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

He slipped his phone out of his pocket, and after pressing the screen several times, I realized he was adjusting the lights. The ones in the kitchen dimmed; only the pendants that hung above the island were now aglow. The lamps in the living room were also turned down, but the brightness he did increase was from the lights built into the tray ceiling above.