"What do you think?" she asks.

"I think you should do whatever you want, babe."

-LUCY-

"Run back upstairs and change, girly," Dad says, but he's smiling.

"You're lucky," I tell him. "I'm seventeen and going to my first high school party."

His eyebrows rise. "Are you gonna drink?"

I grab my keys off the counter. "Do you want me to lie?"

"Yes."

"Then no. I'm not drinking."

"That's my girl."

***

Cam's front door opens before I can knock. His mom stands at the entryway with her eyes wide. "You look..."

I grimace. "Whoreish?"

She laughs. "No, hon, you look beautiful."

I look down at myself. I'm not wearing anything too different from what I wear every day. My skirt's a little shorter and my top's a little tighter. Heidi helped me pick them out. I don't know if that's a good thing or not. "Hon," she says again. "I'm just—" She laughs and shakes her head slowly. "You're like a daughter to me, and I just feel like I've watched you grow up, you know? You look like a woman, and I'm just used to my little girl."

Her words cause an ache in my chest, and instantly I'm crying.

She raises her hand to pat my cheek, or so I think, but she's wiping away my tears. "You thinking about your mom?"

I nod, because I don't want to speak. I don't want my words to replace the echo of hers in my mind.

She moves forward and wraps me in her arms. "I couldn't have wished for a better girl for my Cameron."

"What did that asshole do?" Mark’s voice booms from behind her. We pull apart laughing.

"Nothing," Heather says, patting him on the chest. "Let's go." She winks at me. "Cameron's in his room getting ready, and we are going on a date night."

"I hope I get laid," Mark jokes, as they both brush past me.

I run upstairs and open Cam's door without knocking.

And then I freeze.

He's walking out of his bathroom in nothing but boxer shorts—both hands holding the towel, roughly drying his hair. His body is wet, not all over, just on his shoulders. My eyes transfix on a bead of water as it falls slowly down his collarbone, down his chest, past each ridge of his abs. When the hell did he get those?

I try to swallow, but my mouth's too dry. And now, so are my eyes, because I can't blink. I don't want to. I don't want to miss it when the bead of water gets caught in the hair just above the waist of his boxers, and disappears into...

Holy shit.

A gasp catches in my throat.

"Hey," he says, his eyes focused on mine. But only for a moment before they trail down, and down, and then back up. They stop at my breasts, widening as they do. He licks his bottom lip, then slowly runs his teeth across it. The movement so slow, so mesmerizing.

I can't take my eyes off his mouth.

His hand lifts the towel as he wipes his chest. And now my eyes are there, watching him—waiting for his next move. He moves it lower, down to his perfect stomach.

I lick my lips.

He lets out a moan. "Fuck," he says, covering himself with the towel, but it's too late. I've already seen it.

"Lucy," he whispers, and I slowly peel my eyes away from his covered hard-on and look at him.

His eyes are dark—darker than I've ever seen them. He steps forward, the hunger in his gaze so evident. He licks his lips again as he grips the edge of his door.

"Where's Mom?" he asks.

"Date night," I whimper.

He nods once, his eyes never leaving mine. He drops his towel and places his hand on my waist as he slowly pushes the door closed with the other. The motion of our bodies causes me to back up against it. He rests his hands on the door on either side of my head and leans in. His lips barely touch mine when he whispers, "So we're alone?"

I suppress my moan and shake my head slowly.

His tongue darts out to lick my lips. Slowly. From one side to the other. "I bet you taste as good as you look."

And that's when I lose it.

My head flings back, hitting the door behind me. My eyes drift closed, waiting for more.

And he gives it.

He gives me more.

His mouth covers mine; soft, wet, just like his tongue when he swipes it against mine. "Babe," he moans into my mouth.

My hands reach up, gripping his shoulders and pulling him down. His hands move to my waist, his fingers curling and his thumb slowly rubbing my bare stomach. And then they move. Lower. Down my skirt—his fingers bunching the material. For a split second, I wish he were wearing a shirt, one I could grip and then rip off him.

Fuck.

My legs rub together, trying to ease an ache building in the pit of my stomach. He releases my skirt and runs his hands down to my bare thighs. One hand lifts my leg, and places it around him. He pushes into my center. Just once. But it's all I need.

His other hand moves higher on my thigh, the touch so light it makes me shiver. He doesn't notice. His movements don't falter. Not for a second. Not until his hand is covering my ass. "Fuck," he spits, right before he grips it tight. So tight it hurts. And turns me on. He lifts me off the ground, my legs automatically going around him. I can feel him between my legs, his hardness pressing into me. He pulls back from my mouth, his eyes burning with lust. Both his hands grip my ass now, as he stares down at my breasts. "Take your shirt off." It's not a question. It's a demand—one that I don't argue with.

He swallows loudly. His eyes are everywhere, all at once. He pushes into me again, his hands squeezing me tighter. I can feel the wetness building. I should be ashamed, but I'm not. I want him to know how badly I need him—how much he turns me on.

He grunts, lifting me higher against the door and placing his mouth on my breasts, just above my bra. His gaze lifts, but his mouth stays. "Are you okay?" His words comes out rough, fueled by his desire. His voice vibrates my skin, and now it's my turn to push into him. That's all the answer he needs. His teeth clamp around my bra, pulling it down and freeing a breast.

And then he does something he's never done before.

My back arches when I feel the warmth of his mouth on my nipple. First one, then the other. He moves one hand off my ass and snakes it around my back. And then we're moving. He walks me with my legs still around him to his bed. He lays me down slowly and stands to full height. My eyes shut tight. I can feel his gaze on me, taking me in from head to toe. He lifts my legs, and removes my boots. Slowly. Taking his time. "Fuck, Luce, you're beautiful."

I open my eyes, no longer self-conscious. No longer afraid.

He shakes his head from side to side before placing a knee on the bed, between my legs. He uses it to push them further apart. I know what he wants. I nod slowly, so he knows that I want it too. He leans down, his hands slowly moving up the inside of my thighs. The material of my skirt lifts with the movement of his hands.

And then I panic.

I try squeezing me legs together but his strong hands stop me. His palms flatten on the top of my thighs—making it impossible. "If you want me to stop, say it." He licks his lips again, waiting for me to respond. But I can't speak. I can't lie. I don't want him to stop. So I answer him the only way I can, I let my muscles relax and spread my legs wider for him. He doesn't go slowly this time. His fingers curl around my panties and he pulls them down my legs. The cold air hitting my wetness makes me gasp.