“What?” he asked, his lips brushing hers, their faces eye to eye. “You gonna come for me?”
Hooded eyes stared back at him, full of pleading and need. “I don’t know,” she whispered, heat filling her cheeks.
Unfuckingacceptable.
“I do,” Dare growled, tugging her off the railing to stand in the tight space before him. In an instant he had her jeans open and his hand down her panties, his rough fingers sliding into the slippery heat of her lips.
Her mouth dropped open on a surprised, desperate cry, and Dare forced her stance wider, his hand filling up the space between her thighs.
“Aw, Jesus, feel that,” he said, his harsh breaths mingling with hers. He stroked fingers against her wet heat, petting, preparing. “You need this, don’t you?”
“Oh, God. Yes,” she said, her eyes falling closed.
His middle finger sank deep inside her, and Jesus she was tight, the walls of her * sucking at his flesh. He moved his finger inside her, making sure his forearm gave her clit a hard, steady friction. “Look at me. Look at me when I make you come.” With his other hand he gripped her hair, tugging her head back so he could see all of her beautiful, painted face.
Her eyelids flipped open, and the abject need he saw there made his cock throb.
And then her brow furrowed and her mouth opened in a silent cry. She held her breath as her core fisted at his finger again and again, a moan finally spilling out of her. He could only imagine how good that would feel if it were his dick. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he gritted out as he watched and felt her shatter.
If he thought her face in ecstasy had been beautiful, it was nothing compared to the sated, adoring look she wore as she gazed up at him in the moments after. As much as the whole experience had speared a hard-core satisfaction through him, that adoration was also a problem. He slipped his finger free of her *, his hand out of her clothing.
Haven buried her face against his chest and gave her head a little shake.
“What?” he asked, his other hand petting the soft waves of her long hair.
She didn’t respond for a long moment, and then said, “I’ve just . . . never . . .”
Dare hung on the edge of her words. He stepped back and tipped her chin up, needing to know what she was going to say.
Suddenly, Haven frowned. “Oh, God.” Panic filled her eyes, and then she spun, bent over the railing, and threw up so hard her back arched at the force of it.
“Fuck,” Dare said as he held her hair out of her way. As she puked again and again, guilt and self-loathing gathered in his chest until it was a river rushing through his veins. He should never have let things go so far when she was this drunk. He knew better. She didn’t.
“I’m sorry,” she rushed out between wretches.
The words made him feel that much worse. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he said.
When it seemed her body had finally emptied itself, she pushed upright, shaky hands braced on the railing. Haven slowly turned to face him, and then her eyes went unfocused and she stumbled.
On a curse, Dare caught her in his arms, and then he lifted her into a carry.
Her eyes fluttered up at him. “Everything’s spinning,” she whispered.
“I’ve got you,” he said. Though she wouldn’t be in this position if he’d taken control of the situation the way he should’ve—starting in at the bar. Goddamnit.
He went in through the kitchen door and carried her through the dining room and lounge and up the central steps. Given that the party was still raging, there was no help for others seeing them, and Dare got a few catcalls and amused looks that only made him kick himself harder. Upstairs, he found her room door locked, so he awkwardly fished the master key out of his pocket and let himself in. He crossed the dark room and lay Haven on her bed, then reached to flick on the bedside lamp.
She barely responded to any of it, which pissed him the hell off—what if he hadn’t been the one standing here right now? What if she’d exposed this kind of vulnerability to someone else, someone willing to take advantage of it?
Like you just did?
Fuck.
Dare slipped off her sandals and pushed the door shut harder than he meant to, but not even the slamming of it disturbed her.
Given how violently she’d thrown up, Dare wasn’t sure he should leave her. So he planted his ass in the corner chair and reconciled himself to watching over her. Like he should’ve done from the start.
Her face at rest, her body so small in the queen-sized bed, she looked really young lying there. And, of course, she was really fucking young. Twenty-two. Twenty-two versus his thirty-seven. Twenty-two and on the run from bad men who’d taken advantage of her.
And damn if he didn’t feel like he’d just done the same thing.