Hard Choices

Daphne

I take off his shirt and bring it to my face, pressing my nose into it as I inhale deeply.

Fuck. Christ. He smells so good.

Whiskey, clean soap, something smoky under it I can't quite name. I stand there a second too long before putting it away and stepping into the shower.

The water's freezing, and that's exactly what I need right now. Until my head starts clearing, and with the clarity come pieces of the night I don't want to remember. The one where my boyfriend almost assaulted me with his friends.

I want to lose my virginity.

But it won't be to that useless prick I gave years of my life to.

Maybe to him.

The hot stranger.

Maybe I should ask him to sleep with me. This time, sober.

I don't know his name. I don't know what he does or where he lives outside this house. That should scare me more than it does.

Instead, it feels like the safest thing about him.

No aftermath. No morning after where I have to figure out what we are. No relationship to ruin. No one to disappoint.

Just one choice that belongs entirely to me.

And after today, I never have to see him again.

But how the hell would I even approach him?

Walk back into that room, look him in the eye, and say, I want you to take my virginity?

Sounds ridiculous. He'd probably look at me like I'm insane.

I shut the water off, towel my hair, wrap myself up, and stop at the door with my hand on the handle, heart going too fast for someone who hasn't done anything yet. I make myself turn it anyway.

He's on the couch when I walk in, legs spread easy, one arm resting along the back of it, a glass of scotch by his hand, laptop open on his knee. He glances up when the door opens. Just once. Long enough that I know he's seen me, then his eyes go back to the screen like I'm a notification he's decided isn't urgent.

Is he seriously not going to look at me?

I clear my throat. "Can you leave the room so I can get dressed?"

He looks up, his eyes locking onto mine. The corner of his mouth lifts. "You think I haven't already seen you?"

Heat crawls straight up my neck. He changed my clothes last night. Of course he's seen everything there is to see. I just hadn't put it together quite like that until right now.

My face burns.

"I stripped you last night and changed you into my shirt." He closes the laptop. "I saw enough to know you have a scar on your right thigh."

My eyes widen.

Something in his face shifts when he clocks the color in my cheeks, the edge of a smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth.

He stands. Then he starts walking toward me.

I take one step back.

Then another.

Until my back meets the wall.

He stops in front of me, close enough that I can feel the warmth coming off his body. My heart starts pounding so loudly I'm sure he can hear it.

His hand comes up, planting against the wall beside my head.

"What are you doing?" I stutter.

His eyes drop to the towel wrapped around me.

Then his fingers catch the edge of it and tug it just high enough to expose the top of my thigh.

I gasp, but I don't move.

"There." His eyes settle on the spot. "That's the scar."

I stare at him, heat rushing into my face.

"The towel barely covers it. I saw it clearly from across the room."

For one horrible second, I just stare at him.

Then he steps away, putting distance between us so suddenly that I almost feel cold.

"My housekeeper changed you," he says. "If you must know."

I let out the breath I'd been holding.

"Oh."

His mouth twitches.

"Go get dressed and leave. I don't allow strangers into my home. Especially this close. And you've wasted enough time already."

Stranger.

That word sticks somewhere in my chest as he heads for the door. That's exactly what he is. A stranger. And I don't think I've ever wanted to know anyone this badly in my life.

"Wait." He stops with his hand on the frame. "I don't have anything to wear. My clothes were ruined."

He exhales like he'd forgotten, then crosses to his wardrobe and pulls out another shirt, bigger than the last one, long enough to actually cover something. He drops it on the bed without ceremony.

"Thanks."

He's already turning back toward the door when I reach for the shirt, and we collide, my shoulder catching his chest hard enough that I lose my footing.

His arm comes around my waist on instinct, catching me before I hit the floor, and I end up flush against him, my hands braced flat against his chest, his heartbeat thudding steady under my palm.

Neither of us moves.

His breathing changes, just slightly, and his eyes drop to my mouth and hold there a second too long before flicking back up to my eyes.

I think he might kiss me.

Then he does.

His mouth moves over mine with a kind of care that doesn't match anything else about him, like he's giving me every chance to pull away before he lets himself want this. I don't pull away. My fingers curl into his shirt instead, and something in him shifts, the careful edge giving way to something hungrier, his hand sliding up my spine like he's trying to memorize the shape of it.

My thoughts scatter completely. The room feels smaller than it did thirty seconds ago. My pulse is loud enough that I can hear it in my own ears, and every part of me that's been trying to reason this feeling away gives up entirely.

I'm wet. Soaked through, sticky on my inner thighs, and God, I want him. I want this perfect, muscular man to fuck me senseless.

And then he pulls back. I almost cry at the loss.

His breathing is rough as he looks at me like he's genuinely surprised at himself.

"I shouldn't have done that."

"I wanted you to." I don't let him step back further. "I'm not drugged this time. I'm not confused. I know exactly what I'm asking for."

"You don't." His jaw tightens. "You don't understand what you're asking for, kid."

"I'm not a kid." The word lands wrong, sharp under my skin. "I'm nineteen."

"Nineteen is still young enough that I should know better than to touch you."

"Then educate me." I hold his eyes, refusing to be the one who looks away first. "I know what I want."

He studies my face for a long second, like he's trying to decide whether I mean every word.

I close the last of the distance myself and kiss him again.

This time he doesn't hesitate. He lifts me before I fully register it, and I wrap myself around him on instinct, and he carries me the few steps toward the bed, mouth still on mine, like he can't make himself stop long enough to think about it.

He drops me on the bed, his mouth never leaving mine, his tongue stroking mine in a deep, messy kiss.

He kisses so good. The feeling it gives me. Better than anything Silas ever managed.

"I'm not gentle, Daphne." He says against my lips. "I don't know how to be, not with this. If we do this, you get all of me. Not some careful version I dress up because you're young."

"I don't want careful." My voice comes out steadier than I feel. "I want all of you. Don't hold back."