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  Virgin’s Fantasy

  Bad Boy’s Virgin Series

  Book 1

  Kayla C. Oliver

  Let’s get to know each other…

  WARNING:

  This book contains sexually explicit content and adult language. It may be considered offensive to some readers. This book is for sale to adults only. Please ensure this book is stored in a location that cannot be accessed by underage readers.

  Copyright © 2017 by Kayla C. Oliver

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the author’s permission.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be constructed as real. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Also by Kayla C. Oliver

  The Billionaire’s Secrets Series

  Touch Me

  Kiss Me

  Thrill Me

  Tease Me

  Love Me

  Taming the Billionaire Series

  The Art of Lust

  The Art of Love

  The Billionaire Parker Brothers Series

  Temptation

  Fake True Love

  Love in Lust

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Epilogue

  Touch Me (The Billionaire’s Secrets Book 1 – Preview)

  Signing Him (Bonus book)

  Rewriting Romance (Bonus Book)

  Virgin’s Desire (Bonus book)

  Exclusive Book For You

  Contact Page

  Exclusive Book For You

  Get your exclusive and free copy of Temptation!

  She had the opportunity of a lifetime right at her fingertips, but the passion she found in his arms could destroy it all.

  Happy reading!

  Kayla C. Oliver

  Chapter One

  Addie

  “Madeline—”

  Pressing a finger to his lips, I shushed him with my sexiest smile. “It’s Addie.”

  His handsome smile lights up his face but somehow doesn’t quite reach his eyes. And the first tickle that something isn’t quite right starts in my belly. As his velvet brown eyes stroke my body, I suddenly have the urge to cover up.

  The click of his camera had been so sexy only moments ago, but now it’s just…

  Wrong.

  He must have seen the change in my face, because he’s quick to shush me as I had him. “You’re so gorgeous, baby. I love you.” He leans in and presses a kiss to my lips, and I sink back on our bed. “I’m going to marry you one day.”

  “It never ends well when photographers marry their models,” I whisper against his lips, that feeling of unease still flitting through my core. “I’ll get old and ugly, and you’ll have a wandering lens.”

  He kisses me again, then shifts gears in the blink of an eye. “There you go talking crazy. That’s why I’ll never marry you.” He pushes off the bed in a rough motion and walks his camera over toward his computer and sets it down. I stare at it, the realization of what I’ve done—and the possible implications—flying through my brain.

  I draw the sheet around my naked body, my cheeks stinging a humiliated pink. I know what I’ve got with Arlo is toxic. But I’ve loved him for so long now, I don’t know any other way.

  Or that’s what I tell myself so I don’t stop to think how stupid I really am. I run my fingers through my naturally sunny-blonde locks, my eyes on him as he spins to face me with more words like daggers aimed for my heart.

  “You seriously think I don’t love you enough to be faithful?” His eyes are angry, flat, and cold. I’d once said they look like hot chocolate and warm my soul the same. They don’t now.

  My lips part a little, but no words come out.

  He mocks me, his mouth making a duh face designed to shame me for being stupid. He’s said before that I don’t have enough body for tits and brains. So I got big titties and a small brain. But it was always followed with an I’m just kidding and a leg pat that felt patronizing.

  Swallowing back anger, I sit up.

  “Oh, are you mad, little Addie, Maddie, Madeline?” He says my name in singsong, like he’s funny. I’m not sure if he’s insinuating I change my name a lot—I don’t—or if he’s pretending he can’t remember my name.

  “You know what?” I say, and he lifts his eyebrows high in a mocking expression and moves his mouth like a child on the playground. It’s just too much. I’m fucking done.

  Sliding to the edge of the bed, I grab my clothes and begin to dress. I hear his camera clicking and tell him that’s enough. But he continues as I finish pulling my short shorts on and buttoning them.

  “Knock it off,” I yell at him, but he keeps snapping away, and my heart sinks. What can I do to stop him? He’s got a good hundred pounds and several inches on me.

  “Knock it off,” he whines in what I guess is his best impression of me.

  I feel tears sting in my eyes as I pull on my bra and struggle to hook it. The damn thing refuses to go, and I try again, again, again, with him laughing in stereo like I really am going crazy. Finally, it catches and I pull on my shirt and slip into my favorite little silver sandals.

  Once they’re buckled around my ankles, I get up and stalk toward Arlo, who doesn’t even have the decency to shy away like I’m a threat. Well, fuck him.

  I haul off and slap him with everything I’ve got. His whole body twists to the side, and he hesitates, his hand coming up to touch his face. I see blood on his fingertips and feel satisfaction.

  Oh so slowly, he straightens up and looks down at me. I’d swear I can see steam coming out of his nose. But it’s the blood coloring the corner of his lips that sends a jolt of fear through me.

  “Bitch!” he roars in my face.

  But I step around him and rush for the door, snagging my purse on the way. In the hall, I slow from a run to a fast walk, hurrying still as he yells down the hallway at me.

  “I’ll fucking get even!” he shouts, and my blood runs cold in my veins. I can’t stop thinking about those damn pictures. I’ve never let him take naked pictures of me before.

  He’d been so sweet when we met.

  I’d been a new model; he’d been the first job my manager managed to find me. He’d been kind and calm, so willing to walk me through what he needed and wanted that it made my heart melt.

  He’d thanked me when we were done. Shook my hand. P
ressed a chaste kiss to my cheek. He’d been professional, yet something about him just wormed under my skin. So when he called me a week after the shoot to ask me out, I’d jumped at the chance. Who wouldn’t?

  But in stages—steps, really, perhaps leaps and bounds—he’d chipped away at me. Had me move in with him. Had me fire my manager. Told me he didn’t like how close I was with my mom. Told me to stop trusting photographers he didn’t clear. Because, he’d tell me, I had no idea how many predators there are out there wanting to prey on me. He told horror stories of how many girls he’d heard had been raped, killed even, and he’d sweetly tell me he’d die if anything happened to me.

  Bit by bit, he took things from me. My freedom. My joy. My soul.

  And I went along with it like an idiot. Because I hoped he’d come back to me. That he’d return to that sweet, dark-eyed man I’d fallen for that first day.

  But he didn’t.

  He only got worse.

  But I’m done letting him fuck up my life.

  Chapter Two

  Cliff

  “Cliff—”

  “It’s fine,” I growl. This isn’t the first time I’ve walked into a situation like this and walked out just fucking fine. While it’s nice to have friends, it’s annoying to have people so unsure all the damn time. How do they live their lives?

  I’m not sure if it’s Dakin’s new woman who’s got him turning so soft, or if maybe he’s getting older and that’s making him a nail biter. Camille is adorable, though. But that kind of life, answering to a woman and sharing secrets with her… ugh. Not for me.

  I’ll keep my demons well enough in the dark. Where they belong. Where I belong.

  “If you’re sure.” Dakin still sounds worried, and I hear Camille in the background sleepily asking him who he’s talking to.

  I hang up, knowing he’s got things to do as I finish preparing for tonight. I’m hunting fresh blood. Mr. Don Thomas, aka Tommy Gun, has skipped on bail. I guess facing trial for manslaughter and a list of lesser charges a half mile long made him decide to get the fuck out of town.

  I’ve been craving action, anyway.

  I’ve traced him all the way to this apartment in LA of all places. Idiot thinks that he can hide in plain sight. I slip through the sliding glass door. Every inch of my body is on high alert.

  My ears strain to hear any sounds.

  My eyes strain to see any movement.

  My nose strains to catch any clues of a person.

  The air changes, a subtle shift from cold to warm, and I know that someone is in the room with me as the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. My gun slides silently from holster to hand, and I lift it and move toward the source of heat.

  A man, lying in bed, sleeping like a damn baby. Still, I know better than to be fooled. Nothing is ever as it seems. Many times I’ve had people feigning sleep with a pistol under their pillow, waiting for me.

  I halt, my eyes seeking his hands, assessing every clue. Five beer cans on the bedside table. One on the floor at my feet. A single open blister pack of sleeping tablets.

  Stupid? Or suicide?

  An insanity plea is easier with self-harm on the record.

  But a single pill and a six-pack isn’t even close to enough to kill a two-hundred-pound man. But I can’t rule out either thought.

  His breathing, even and deep, suddenly changes as he lets out a snort and shifts.

  On edge, I see his hands in plain view and make a snap decision. Grabbing his shirt collar, I yank him from the bed, shouting at him to further disorient him. A disoriented opponent panics. When people panic, they make mistakes.

  He falls to the ground, his hands breaking the fall as I press a knee between his shoulder blades and bring his hands behind his back. Zip-tying his hands, I continue to shout at him, keeping total control of the situation as he cowers in terror.

  When I haul him to his feet, he looks around the room as if expecting fifty armed dudes. But it’s just me.

  “You’re a fucking scumbag,” he growls, but I ignore him. I’m not the one skipping out on a manslaughter charge. I’ve got the real scumbag in tow.

  I walk him out to the elevator. With a single hand on his back, I push him in and walk behind him, feeling a sense of satisfaction mingling with a stern reminder that I still need to be on alert. The job’s not over until I hand him off to authorities.

  Part of me wants him to run. Just so I get some challenge taking him down.

  The elevator heads toward the ground floor but stops like someone has pushed the button for it. I push Thomas into the corner and put a shoulder into his back to make sure he doesn’t get any ideas as I assess this new addition.

  A woman with beautiful sunny-blonde locks and the most luminous green eyes I’ve ever seen steps in and looks me over, then studies Thomas, clearly considering waiting for the next one.

  I notice the light sprinkle of freckles over her nose and her long, shapely legs. Her irregular features are incredibly striking. She’s beautiful in an odd way.

  She glances over her shoulder with a worried look, and I hear someone yelling.

  “You’re fine,” I growl, and her eyes widen. I notice the fight in her eyes even as she acts. She steps in, and the door closes behind her. But she turns to face away from us in the back corner.

  “Is she hot?” Thomas asks, his words mangled because of how his face is mashed against the wall.

  I’m about ready to crush his nose with the pressure I’m putting on his head, but the girl turns to face us with fire in her eyes.

  “Not as hot as your prison boyfriend is going to find you,” she says in a sexy voice that rasps like she’s sick.

  I like this girl.

  “She’s fucking right,” I growl at Thomas.

  The girl is studying me now, her features questioning. “Long night?” she asks, her lips pursing in an amused expression.

  “Yeah. You?” I say, trying to be polite.

  She lifts both her shoulders and gives a shaky laugh. “You could say that.” Her eyes well up with tears, and her head drops like a rose on a broken stem. She turns away from me, and I sense her heartache but am at a loss for words.

  I’m not the kind of guy who comforts people. It’s just not my gig. Maybe Zac could, but not I.

  The elevator door opens, and she bolts like I’m going to haul her off next.

  I walk Thomas out, shove him into my truck, and buckle his stupid ass in with the special belt I’d had installed. It requires an unmarked button to unlock that’s on my key ring.

  As we drive, I bide my time, listen to him bitching, and try not to think about the blonde girl with the sad green eyes and pretty face. Somehow, she keeps sneaking back into my thoughts.

  “Don’t talk much, huh?” the guy says from the backseat.

  I ignore him as I merge on the I-5 headed north.

  Chapter Three

  Addie

  I’ll fucking get even!

  No matter how fast I drive, I can’t outrun Arlo’s words. His hateful, angry, spite-filled words. The world flies by and I keep in the fast lane, praying I don’t get pulled over as I beg my truck not to die on me. It’s the one thing I refused to let him take from me.

  Because my dad gifted me this truck on my sweet sixteenth birthday. It’s not valuable, really—it’s an old, beat-up Chevy that’s rusted and held together with spit and duct tape. I swear it’s not painted red; it’s just covered in a layer of rust. But it’s mine.

  I argued with Arlo over it. I told him that it has sentimental value and refused to let him get rid of it. He’d grudgingly agreed, and I’d threatened to leave him if he didn’t leave it alone.

  I know now he was never afraid I’d leave. He was afraid of my freedom. He wanted to keep me under his thumb.

  I’m so stupid!

  Why did I stay so long?

  Why was this my breaking point? It’s not even the worst he’s been to me. I chew the nails of my right hand as I drive. He’s going to f
ind me. He’ll hunt me down. He won’t let me get away.

  I have to hide.

  I have to escape. Because he’s eventually going to kill me. I’ve seen enough TV dramas like Dateline to know that.

  On the I-5, I keep to the fast lane and race north.

  With the pedal down, I roll down a window and chilly desert air fills the cab. The radio fuzzes out, and I tap the plastic covering the dial to bring it back. It hums to life with an old classic rock song that’s all power and fight.

  Like me, tonight.

  Though I guess running is not fighting. Still, I stood up to Arlo. I slapped him! My hand still stings.

  What would he have done if I stayed? He’s hit me before, just slaps and things like that. Nothing huge or bad, but I swear he’d had murder in his eyes this time.

  I need to figure out a plan. If I want to stop Arlo from tracking me down, I need to change the way I look. I could dye my hair and cut it. Change the way I dress. Hell, a change in makeup could make a huge difference.

  The wind whips at my hair as a big truck slips into the fast lane behind me. The lights are bright, and I tap my brakes to warn them they’re high-beaming and blinding me.

  The lights switch down instantly, and I relax. The roads are dead, so I guess this guy is either a cop or using me as a pace car.

  With a silent prayer that he’s using me as a pace car, I keep driving.

  ***

  As the sun rises over the horizon, I feel my eyelids lowering. The truck behind me has stayed firm, and I wonder how long he’s going to stay on the same route I am.

  I know the freeway is for the long haul, but sheesh, we’ve driven across Nevada and up into Oregon. It’s an eight-hour drive, and he’s been right behind me.

  When I popped into a rest stop, he kept going. And at the next stop, I recognized his truck pulling out, and he got behind me in the left lane once more. It’s like we’re stuck at the hip.