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M y arse hits the washing machine, a gasp flying from my lips as Ringo sits me on the cool surface. My frantic gaze darts around the dingy space, shock and a little fear seeping in as I realise my mistake.

I poked the bear.

“I’m sorry. I was just going along with things. I didn’t mean to make you look bad or…” I stop blabbering as Ringo steps closer, shaking his head as a smooth chuckle floats from his lips.

“You didn’t make me look bad, Angel.” His large hands come to rest on the tops of my thighs, and a jolt of something I don’t want to admit shoots straight between my legs, startling me.

What the hell?

“What I said about dancing… I have no idea if you can dance or not. I’m sure you’re a great dancer.”

Oh hell. Why is his smile so… sexy ?

Wait.

No, it’s not.

It’s definitely not.

Oh, my god.

What is happening?

I stiffen as his large hands give my thighs a gentle squeeze, and then slowly part my knees further apart.

“W-what are you doing?”

“Just playing the part, darlin’.” He drawls, “How many eyes are on us right now?”

Frowning, it takes me a moment to realise what he means, but then my gaze shoots over his shoulder, to the open door, where multiple sets of eyes are cast in this direction from the courtyard.

“Um… A lot.”

He chuckles. “Should we give them a show?”

My eyes nearly bug out of my head. “No. No. No way.” I repeat my words, hoping it’s really damn clear that I’m not doing… that.

“Relax, Angel. It won’t hurt.”

Ohhhh no. Why am I feeling hot? Like all over. This hoodie is suddenly way too hot. My clothes suddenly too much to bear on my skin. Why is there an ache building between my legs?

Dammit. This is embarrassing. I tried to ignore it, but it was there the moment I woke this morning, in addition to teasing me in some of my dreams over the last couple of days. When I dream, they are usually nightmares, but for some reason, I had a sex dream for the first time in over a year, and now… I ache.

Ringo leans in, getting close and I stiffen, all while I have the urge to lean in closer.

“Wait,” I mutter breathlessly, feeling confused and scared and way too turned on to make any sense of anything, but then Ringo steps back quickly, turning and slamming the door closed.

A round of boos and disappointed awes meet our ears from the other side, and Ringo chuckles, turning to face me and leaning against the door.

“Don’t worry, Angel. I won’t touch you unless you beg me to.”

My mouth drops open, and I glare at his smug expression as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“You’re a prick.”

He wags his brows. “You already knew that.”

“I actually thought…”

I can’t finish the sentence, both from embarrassment and fear.

“What? That I was going to fuck you?” he snaps, dropping his arms and closing the space between us. “Just like you were doing out there, I was playing the part. It was nothing more than a show in order to fool them all into thinking you’re actually mine.”

Stepping between my legs again, his bearded chin brushes closely to mine as he hovers a breath away, and for a moment we just stare at each other, breathing the same air.

“Just for the record, Angel, because you clearly need it spelled out for you. I will never and have never forced myself on a woman. If you want me between your naked thighs, I can assure you, it’ll be because you asked.”

A whimper escapes me, and not because I’m scared or hate his words, but because I’m fighting the urge to lean in. To see what it would be like to feel his lips against mine. What it feels like to kiss a man with a beard. To simply kiss a real man. Not a boy. Not a teenager. But a man that knows how to please a woman.

“Are you afraid of me?” he asks, misunderstanding my whimper. I don’t respond, and a deep growl rumbles in his chest. “Answer me, Angel.”

“No.” I give him what he asks for, not able to refuse him when he asks me like that. It makes no sense to me.

“Hmmm, then perhaps you’re afraid of the way you’re feeling?”

Shit. How does he know?

Oh god. Am I that readable?

“Angel. When I ask you a question, you answer me.”

“I…” My cheeks flare to life, and he pulls back a little to study my face.

“Are you afraid of the way you’re feeling?” he asks again, and I nod.

He considers that for a moment, before putting a little more space between us and reaching up to tangle his fingers in my ponytail.

“Do you feel achy? Hot? Sensitive…” he leans closer, “between your legs.”

All I can do is whimper again.

“Why are you scared of that feeling?” This time he tugs on my hair tie, loosening my ponytail.

“I don’t want to say,” I rush out, studying his gaze, which is focused on my hair as his fingers mess my styling up.

“You’ve felt that way before, right?” he asks, ignoring the fact I said I didn’t want to say.

“Yes.” I breathe, and he nods, his dark gaze locking with mine.

“When was the last time you felt like that?”

I shake my head. “I don’t want to have this conversation with you.”

“Why?” he asks, his expression neutral, telling me he won’t be angry if I want to end the conversation now.

“Because it’s weird. I don’t know you. And you’re like old.”

He chuckles. “How fucking old do you think I am?”

I shrug. “Like, forty.”

His head tips back as a laugh leaps from his mouth, his deep rumble sending my lips north.

"What?" I ask as he continues to laugh. "Are you older than that?"

"No." He grips his middle, his smile so wide that I can see the flash of his white teeth past his beard. “Fuck, maybe I should look into getting Botox if I look forty.”

My shoulders sag. “I’m sorry. I just really don’t know many people that aren’t either my age or my parents’ ages. And I never knew the real ages of the teachers at school. I don’t really have anything to compare it to.”

Slowly, he nods, a grin still tugging at his lips. “You remember the big guy that bailed you up the other night when you left my room when you shouldn’t have?”

Even though I roll my eyes, I still nod.

“Well, that was Fryer. For reference, he’s forty-two.” Then he jabs his thumb to his chest. “I am thirty-three.”

“Oh,” I say, a little stunned. Thirty-three isn’t that old… right?

I mean, yeah, I’m still in my teens, so the age difference between us is big, but not parental big. Not unless he was a father at fifteen .

“So now that we’ve established I’m not that old, is this conversation still weird?”

I shrug. “Kinda. I’m not used to talking to… well, anyone, about stuff.”

“That’s because you were in a place where you couldn’t trust anyone. I hope you’ll eventually learn to trust me.”

I don’t know why I want his words to come true so badly. I’ll be gone soon, and this man will be nothing but a memory of the time I got kidnapped.

I nod, because I don’t know what else to do, and Ringo sighs.

“My name is Cameron. Cameron Musgrove.”

My brows hitch. “Your real name is Cameron?”

When he nods, my shoulders relax.

“Do you have a middle name?” I dare to ask, and his lips thin like he is struggling with my question.

“If I tell you,” he points a stern finger at me, “you’d better not fucking laugh.”

Still with a wide smile, I sign a cross over my heart, waiting for him to divulge the name that he’s clearly embarrassed about.

“My full name is Cameron Eugene Musgrove.”

My smile drops.

My lips snap shut.

I hold my breath.

Oh, my god.

Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh.

“Don’t fucking do it.” He hisses, which breaks my dam.

Throwing my head back, my giggles are loud, happy tears forming in my eyes for once as he broods before me, throwing up his hands .

“Fine. Laugh all you want,” he snaps before muttering quietly. “I bet Lexi knew this would happen.”

“Wait, what?” I snicker, trying to calm myself down. “You spoke to Lexi again?”

He nods, crossing his arms over his chest, his legs wide as he watches me, not looking very impressed.

“When? What did she say?”

“It was the other night after you spoke to her and…” He trails off, his expression morphing to pity before he waves a hand between us. “Anyway, she thought if I told you my real name, which cannot be fucking repeated to anyone, that you might see me as more human than thug.”

Still smiling, I nod. “She was right. Cameron Eugene definitely makes you more human.”

He rolls his eyes at me. “Are you done?”

I shrug. “I guess.”

He sighs again. “I guess you want my phone now that you’ve eaten and washed?” When I nod quickly, he continues. “Will you at least spend the afternoon in the sun with me while you use my phone? The vitamin D will do you good.”

I nod, even as I speak. “I suppose I can do that.” I tease. “Can I use your phone again tonight?”

His smile is gentle and genuine. “Of course. As long as you eat.”

I roll my eyes, and he steps forward, tipping his head towards me. “Mess up my hair.”

“What?” I squeak, leaning back a little, but he chuckles and takes my wrist, guiding my hand to his head.

“Mess up my hair. We gotta make it look like we fucked, Angel. ”

My cheeks and between my thighs flare to life simultaneously at his words, and a moment later my fingers are threading through his longish dark strands, which is softer than I imagined.

“Ohhhh yeah.” He groans dramatically, and when I go to pull my hand back, his vice-like grip around my wrist stops me as he leans in more. “Don’t stop.”

I can’t help it. The need to obey him and please him is ridiculous, yet it controls me as I do as he asks, my fingertips scratching into his scalp.

“Fuuuuck, Angel. You know how to make a man hard.”

One of those embarrassing squeaks flies from me again as this time, I successfully pull my hand free, and Ringo’s chuckle fills the space of the laundry room as I shove him back.

“Stop.” I order, yet I can’t hide my smirk and his eyes, light from laughter, lock with mine.

“Darlin’, I’m a man, locked in a room with a beautiful woman who smells fucking intoxicating, makes the sexiest little whimpers, and scratched my head. I can’t control my reaction.”

He thinks I’m beautiful? That I smell… intoxicating? And he thinks my pathetic whimpers are sexy?

Oh shit. Why did he have to admit that to me?

Don’t be that girl, Abbey. Compliments don’t mean I should spread my legs. Been there, done that. Was the worst decision of my life.

“Can we go?” I ask quietly, and he turns, pulling back the curtain covering the window to peer out.

I don’t miss the way he rearranges his junk in his jeans. I guess he wasn’t kidding when he said he was hard.

“Yeah, I guess enough time has passed for a quick fuck.” He turns back to me. “Are you good? Do you need to go back to the room and take a minute?”

I frown, confused by his question. “A minute?”

“You know.” He shrugs. “To scratch that itch you were feeling.”

Itch?

Oh.

OH.

“No.” I shake my head quickly, my cheeks flaming with heat once again.

The smart thing would be to try and scratch that itch, but I already kinda tried when I woke in bed earlier, and the moment I touched myself, the ache went out like a bucket of iced water was thrown on me.

Yeah, it probably had to do with the memory of Daniel creeping its way in, but still. If I need to go back to the room for anything, it’s to douse the fire, not let it build until it explodes.

Offering me his hand, Ringo helps me down from the washer, and I realise as we rejoin the others, that he was messing my hair up before to make it look like we… well, you know.

We’re met with some hoots and hollers, and everyone seems to forget about it within minutes of us sitting back down with the group.

Ringo hands me his phone, opening the app and quietly tells me the info for Tahli’s and Lexi’s usernames, and the moment I set up my profile and create a new message to my little sister, she responds.

Tears fill my eyes, my smile wide, and I duck my head, hoping no one sees it, but a moment later, Ringo’s large hand takes mine, urging me up off the seat next to him and onto his lap.

“Just relax, Angel.” He rasps quietly, and he positions me to rest against him, my ear pressed to his chest where the loud thrum of his heart somehow soothes me.

I curl into him, focusing on my phone as I chat in text to Tahli, finally feeling some peace that she’s okay.

We spend a couple of hours in the sun, the men and women in fits of laughter as some of the men do what they call, Rona Olympics, which consists of doing stupid stuff, either blindfolded, or with their arms tied behind their backs, or after downing six shots of whiskey and then seeing who can run the longest without throwing up.

That was when I excused myself, because, ew .

Tahli had gone offline about thirty minutes before that anyway, and the hot sun was making me tired, so when I excused myself to go back to Ringo’s room, he followed.

We both laid on the bed, the ceiling fan on full blast as we tried to cool off.

Not for the first time, Ringo insisted I take the hoodie off, but I just shook my head and focused on his phone to chat in the Koala-roo app with Lexi this time.

I can’t even begin to explain how good it is to be chatting with Lexi again. The fact that she was the one that arranged my kidnapping, even after everything I did to her, speaks volumes about the person she is.

She assures me Ringo is what she calls ‘good people’, and something she said to me via chat really resonated with me .

He may be a criminal, but he doesn’t lie about who he is. It’s the people that lie and do the most heinous things that are the real monsters.

That really hit hard, because I realised it was one thing I already appreciated about Ringo. He didn’t try to pretend he was this good guy. He didn’t try to coax me into going with him by lying about who he was. He knew I wouldn’t have gone with him either way, so he told me exactly who he was, took me, and was unapologetic about it.

Why can’t more people be like that?

Why can’t I be like that?

I want to be. I really do, but with everything that’s happened, I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to reveal things to the people that know me.

That’s why I need to leave. Go far away and start over somewhere new. Build a new life and embrace the questionable decisions I’ve made.

At some point during my text chatting with Lexi, Ringo’s long, even breathing draws my attention, and I notice he’s fallen asleep.

I find myself watching him. The way his normally hard expression has softened. The way his toned abdomen is noticeable through the fabric of his grey tee as he takes each breath. And I really can’t stop looking at his crotch, especially now, as it seems to grow before my eyes underneath the denim.

My eyes dart back to his face, but he’s still asleep, and I almost wish I could see inside his head to reach his dreams.

Who is he dreaming about? What is he doing? How does he feel?

Stop it, Abbey .

I mentally scold myself, my head way too deep in the gutter today for my own good.

I contemplate sneaking into the bathroom to touch myself just to scare the ache away, but think better of it and shift my gaze to the ceiling as I go over in my head what Tahli told me earlier.

She told me that Mum and Dad went to the police, and that when the police wanted to ask Tahli and Maggie questions, our parents wouldn’t allow it.

When I chatted with Lexi, she said the police had come to question her a couple of times, my parents apparently adamant that if it was a ruse, I’d be hiding at Lexi’s house.

Ringo shifts on the bed next to me, a moan of sorts slipping from his lips as he palms his penis from the outside of his jeans.

It’s a cock, Abbey. Say it. Cock.

Ugh.

As his hand moves away, I can see the very clear, firm outline of his hardness, and the ache between my legs grows.

I shouldn’t do what I do next, but arousal I’m not used to having is controlling me, and I place the phone down and discreetly ease my hand under the hoodie on the opposite side from Ringo, moving to press my fingers between my legs over my bike shorts.

Unlike this morning, there is no invisible bucket of ice water, only enraging heat as I part my legs a little, my eyes cast on Ringo’s large bulge as I try to picture what it looks like in my head.

Long, thick, straining with veins, and… a foreskin.

Wait what?

Ugh. No. Stop .

My brain is being a bitch. There’s no way Ringo has a foreskin. Not like Daniel.

A wave of nausea rolls through me at the reminder of what his penis looks like, and a vile shiver runs down my spine.

Taking in a deep breath, I glance at Ringo’s face again and press my fingers to my needy bud through the fabric of my leggings.

What if he woke up right now and dove his face between my legs?

A ripple of arousal flutters through my core, and I keep pressing, circling, letting myself feel the pleasure that has been gone for so long.

I need more. I need more than my hands. I need someone else’s hands. Lips…

A moan escapes me, and my hand slaps over my mouth right as Ringo’s eyes snap open.