The Bacelor: Make A Sex Deal

Something I still shouldn’t even consider.

But, hell, I knew the temptation was far out of my control.

I wanted her.

I wanted to be inside her.

I wanted to be the man she compared all others to. Even when her future husband was pounding her pussy, I wanted her to remember me.

And every time I saw her, I was reminded of that fact. Like when I’d first moved back to LA and my parents threw a graduation party. Then, there were the times I’d stopped by their shared place to see my sister and when Hannah had brought Oaklyn to the gathering I’d put together when I got my condo.

Every time, she was there.

Always taking me in, locking eyes, silent words passing between us.

But there were spoken ones too. Ones that she would subtly say in front of me, so I knew what was happening in her life. A way to keep me updated without reaching out to me directly.

A year.

Shit, I had been positive things were going to change for her during that time, but the dates she’d gone on were nothing more than a few dinners, a concert, and a trip to the movies-details I’d heard about when I was in her presence.

None of those outings had amounted to anything more, which dropped Oaklyn straight into my hands.

Hands that were fucking dying to touch that perfect body.

Still, there was a but.

A realization that had come to me over the last several weeks as the one-year anniversary sprinted closer.

As my sister’s best friend, a woman who was off-limits and someone I cared about and wanted to protect, I was going to do her a favor.

That favor would show her exactly who I was and why I wasn’t the right man to take her virginity.

Not that I didn’t want to-fuck, I wanted nothing more.

But she needed someone soft.

Someone tender.

Someone who … wasn’t me.

And once I made her aware of that, I was sure she’d be too terrified to follow through with her proposition, and this whole fantasy would be over.

THREE

Oaklyn

E

xactly one year ago, I’d told Camden I wanted him to take my virginity. The next morning, when my eyes flicked open and Hannah was curled up next to me in my bed, the urge to speak to Camden was far stronger than the guilt I was already feeling about my best friend.

I loved Hannah more than anyone in this world. She was like a sister to me and had been since we were twelve years old.

And every feeling that churned through my stomach, every alarm that went off in my chest, told me she would hate the idea of her brother and me sleeping together.

But I wanted this.

I wanted this for me.

Even though I knew how wrong it was, I silently slipped out of my bed and hurried to her room with all intentions of sneaking inside and waking him up to talk.

But the door was already open, and her bed was empty.

Camden was gone.

He’d left before I got the chance to tell him I didn’t want to wait a year.

I wanted him to take my virginity now.

When I crawled back into my bed, I took my phone off the nightstand, my thumb hovering over his name in my Contacts, debating on whether I should text him or call him later, once Hannah went to work.

But I hadn’t.

Nor had I talked to him about my new plan during any of the times I saw him following that initial night.

Maybe I’d lost my nerve. Maybe I was reminding myself that Hannah would go nuts if she found out. Maybe I was taking that time to really ask myself if I had the courage to give my virginity to the sexiest man alive.

Because, the truth was, I’d been crushing on Camden since the day I’d met him all those years ago.

Of course, I knew us becoming a couple would never be a possibility. I wasn’t foolish enough to think he was into girls like me-girls who wouldn’t immediately spread their legs, who actually wanted a relationship, who were looking for love.

Besides, as kids, Hannah had told me on more than one occasion that it would be gross if one of her friends hooked up with her brother. As we had gotten older, gross had changed to disgusting, and she’d emphasize that she’d murder him if he ever got near one of us, especially because Camden had earned himself quite the reputation.

There was a reason I’d called him an expert.This text is © NôvelDrama/.Org.

Which was why I’d been so nervous when I finally sent him the text today, telling him it was time to talk. Sure, I wanted a professional to show me the ropes. Someone who spoke the language of pleasure much more fluently than me.

But, my God, that thought was intimidating.

So was the idea of having his experienced hands and seasoned lips on my body.

What if I disappoint him?

What if I turn him off?

What if he turns me down and never writes me back?

I kept checking my phone to see if I’d missed a notification and that his reply was waiting for me in my Messages. But there was no response from him, no little bubbles on his side of the text box anytime I looked. I even wondered if the Delivered that appeared under my words was misleading, that the message was actually stuck somewhere in cyberland and hadn’t gone through.

I took another sip of my wine, a bottle I had opened after work when the nerves got the best of me. I didn’t usually drink during the week unless Hannah and I were having a girls’ night, but the hurricane storming through my head was becoming far too much.

It had been hours since I’d sent that text.

How can he not write me back?

Will he really just ignore me?

Not even having the decency to tell me he was no longer interested-

My brain silenced the second I heard the knock at my door.

A knock that I hadn’t expected.

I hadn’t ordered food. Hannah had moved in with Declan a few months ago at the renewal of our lease and never popped in, unannounced.

Could it be Camden?

I set down my wine and stood from the couch, taking a quick glance down my body to make sure I had something appropriate on. A sports bra. Yoga pants. My bright red toenails gleaming from the chandelier Hannah had installed during one of her sleepless nights.

I was about to dart into my bedroom to grab a sweatshirt when I heard another knock.

Impatient and demanding.

It had to be him.

I rushed over to the door and quickly checked the peephole, unable to hide the smile on my face when my guess was confirmed.

Hello, beautiful man.

He couldn’t reply to a text, but he could find his way to my apartment, and the small circle I was looking through showed me he was still dressed for work.

Why is it so difficult to breathe?