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Fuck the fact I’m here to pull her back to safety, fuck the fact I know her father, and fuck the fact she’s high on whatever drug they gave her.
But instead, I stay in my lane, on the cusp of where the good of the morally gray reside.
I’ll do most things. Shit, I’ve already done them. However, there are rules, my own, ones I don’t cross.
And fucked-up, not-quite jailbait is a rule, a line, and I’m not crossing it.
But damn, she makes it fucking hard, in all the ways that word exists.
I move my hand up under her dress like I’m finger-fucking her, and damn, the heat of her pussy pulls on me. I stay just shy of touching, of penetration. I’d pull my hand free except we’re still being watched.
He hovers off to the side, in the deep shadows of an open door, cock in his hand as he pulls on it. His eyes narrow on my hand moving under the dress, the way she rubs and arches against me.
“I do have you.” I nip her ear, sliding my hand a little lower so I can touch the top of her breasts struggling against the plunging neckline. Her nipples are hard, pushing against the silky cling of the dark dress. “I’m here to take you on the boat, Dakota.”
“I don’t know your name.” Her words slur, and her eyes flutter shut as she arches back to stare up at me. “You…”
She doesn’t finish as a soft sigh floats from her.
Little Miss Dakota fucking Hunt is as high as a kite.
“I’m Jaxson.” I graze her ear with my teeth. “We should talk, but not here.”
She turns as I pull my hand free. I grab her around the waist, my other hand sliding over the back of her head as she plasters herself against me, and I don’t know which is worse. Her ass slowly writhing against my cock or her sweet fucking tits pressed up against my shirt.
“You don’t wanna talk…”
Whatever she’s on is making her soft, pliant, giggly. In that room beyond she’d be ground beef to a pack of ravenous wolves. It’s not a pretty metaphor, but what those men—and women—would do to her wouldn’t be pretty.
I grip her waist and spin her away from that place until she’s up against the wall a little farther down the hallway. “Where’s your room?”
“Downstairs.” She lifts her face as I kiss the corner of her mouth. “Wait…”
As a protest, it’s pretty weak, and it wouldn’t stand up against that lot writhing and fucking and rutting.
Against the softness of her skin, I say, “We’re being watched.”
“I don’t know you.”
“You don’t know these people.”
I don’t give her a choice. I hustle her to the stairs and manage to get her room number from her. There’s a key code on the door, but it’s not real. A quick twist of the door, and we’re inside.
There’s full backpack on the floor, but I’m not sure we’re going to get off this damn thing with it.
I lean against the door as she stumbles around on the floor, even though on a mega yacht of this caliber it’d take a massive storm to feel the ocean. She collapses against me and runs a hand down my chest, not at all noticing I’m simply standing, letting her touch me without reciprocating.
When Dakota reaches for my cock, I grab her wrist and lead her to the bed, pushing her down. “Stay.”
She hugs and strokes a pillow, eyes still huge. “Jaxson. You look like a Jaxson an’ don’t.” And then she laughs.
Fuck me and fucked-up college students.
I’m never going to pretend I don’t enjoy young ass. I enjoy ass my age, too. But this fucked up? Hell, no.
They did it. The fucking Collectors. I’d guess her new friend, the one that Malone chatted up on the pool deck is the culprit. I’m pretty fucking sure she’s part of the whole sordid organization. Knowing or unknowing, she still drugged Dakota, because Dakota went from looking like a girl who knew she was in over her head to fucked all the way up without a care in the world.
And Dakota’s answer to what she took told me all I needed to know. She teeters over to the table where the carafe of booze sits and reaches for it.
