"Damn," I whisper, holding back a giggle. "Do the others know?"

Creed gives me a look that clearly says I've lost my mind, and shakes his head.

"No, and you're not going to tell them are you?" I shake my head, and he looks away sharply, almost like he's ashamed.

"Don't be upset. It's not like the entire academy doesn't know that I'm one, too."

Creed turns around, leaning back over to kiss me again. Some of his reckless abandon is gone, so I try to bring it back by curling my arms around his neck. Our mouths work furiously at each other, tongues sweeping across lower lips, chasing the edges of teeth. My nails dig into the bare skin of his upper back, and his left hand slides up the slit in my dress, teasing my thigh with the warm, dry heat of his palm.

Our bodies work together much like they did in the hot tub that day, and soon we’re both moaning, grinding against one another in all the places that count.

This time, when his left hand slides along the waistband of my panties and dips lower, I don't put a stop to it. Creed keeps his fingers on the outside of the fabric, sliding them against the warm throbbing in my core, and teasing more dampness from my body.

"Tell me when you want to stop," he whispers, biting my earlobe. The thing is … I'm not sure that I want to stop. I keep finding myself in these situations, and wondering, wanting, needing, but then I deny myself and I just end up frustrated.

No, I don't want to stop.

Those long beautiful fingers of his tease me until I'm panting, moving my hips to meet each touch. He works me until I'm a complete mess, my hair tangled, my skin sweaty, my heart thundering like a herd of horses. And then, with all of that lazy, insouciant perfection of his, he moves the panties aside and teases my opening with a single finger.

Our kiss deepens just before he slides it in, all the way to the knuckle. Pleasure of a sort I've never felt before shoots through me, and I dig my fingers hard into Creed’s back, making him grunt. We sit there together for a moment, frozen in an intimate position, letting the newness of the situation settle over us.

And then he begins to move, slow strokes, in and out, until I’m shaking and quivering and wishing for more. My lips move, but no sound comes out. Creed is shaking, too, sweating. A bead drops from the end of his nose and lands on my lips. I lick it off and he groans, closing his eyes as he inserts a second finger. It gets a bit tight then, but not uncomfortable.

I bite his lower lip, suck it into my mouth, and then shiver as he sweeps a thumb over my erect nipple. Suddenly, I’m just desperate to get out of the dress. It feels tight, almost confining.

There’s a knock on the door, and we both pause. Creed swings an irritated gaze in that direction.

“Hey. Tell the idiot I’m done showering, so he can have the bathroom.”

“I’ll tell him,” I choke out, wondering if I sound weird, if she can tell, if she knows.

“KK, night-night.” I can just imagine Miranda waving as she pads off toward her bedroom. Sighing, I lean my head back into the pillows, and Creed curves his fingers, stimulating parts of me I didn’t even know I had. His thumb slicks upward and over the throbbing ache I didn’t realize needed so badly to be sated.

We start kissing again, and it’s like breathing, to touch my mouth to his. I need him suddenly in a way I’ve never needed anyone before. My hips move against his hand until he’s cursing and pulling away, leaving me gasping and achy. I sit up on my elbows as Creed rises to his feet, panting.

“Condom?” he asks, and my cheeks flush. He stops then and looks at me, really looks at me. “That is, if that’s what you want.” He just stands there and stares at me, a beautiful shirtless aristocrat with the bone structure of a prince, and the haughty air of a king. That vicious mouth of his, equally good at insulting and kissing alike, turns up in a half-smile. “I’ve waited this long, and so have you. There’s no point in pushing through something that doesn’t feel right.”

“It feels amazing,” I whisper, feeling a pang of guilt.

What about the other guys? What about Zack, and the sweet, soft sadness he carries in that big, muscular body of his? What about Zayd’s confession in the library, and the shame he carried for a whole year? And then there’s Windsor and Tristan … I imagine sex doesn’t mean much to either of them. They’ve had enough of it, that’s for sure. No, I want something more from them. I want to be held, and cuddled, and touched. I want to be talked to, listened to … loved.

I need to see their vulnerability.

“This feels right.” I sit up and put my feet over the edge of the bed, nodding my head in the direction of my suitcase. “I have condoms in my bag.”

Creed cocks a blond brow.

“How? Why?”

I give him a look, my face flushed, my body on fire. An ardent storm swirls through me … aaaaand, I’m waxing poetic again. Ugh. But it’s so true.

“I’ve been having condoms thrown at me, shoved in my locker, and piled on my doorstep since first year started. I’m a virgin, not an idiot. I knew sex would happen eventually, so why throw away perfectly good condoms.”

“They might have holes poked in them,” Creed says, and my blood chills at the implication. That’s beyond bullying, that’s practically sexual assault.

“No, I only keep the ones in the sealed boxes,” I say, and he nods, bending down and unzipping my suitcase, pushing aside some embarrassing lacey pink panties until he finds what he’s looking for. As he stands back up and reaches down for the button on his slacks, I lean over and turn out the light.

Standing up, I almost stumble, my legs weak and shaky from all the new sensations.

Creed catches me by the elbow and pulls me into the curve of his left arm. With the right, he uses his long, beautiful fingers to slide the straps of my dress down until it falls into a glittery puddle near my feet. It’s dark in here, but the city lights catch just enough of a glow that I can see the outline of his beautiful face.

“Don’t prank me with this,” I whisper, feeling the slightest sting of tears. I’m strong now, but I don’t want to have to be strong through something like this. I want to lose myself in the moment, and then find myself again in Creed Cabot. That’s the whole point. That’s why I’ve waited until now, until seventeen. This is how and when and where I want to do this. “Don’t make a bet out of me, Cabot.”

“Never again,” he snarls, and there’s such a ferocity in his voice that I shiver. I think of the tattoo on the side of Zayd’s neck for the briefest of moments, and then Creed’s kissing me again. He undoes my bra with one hand and then helps me out of it. His hand relieves the heavy weight of my breast, palming it and kneading the soft flesh. His thumb grazes my nipple, and I tremble.

We find our way onto the bed, the sparkling lights of San Francisco limning our profiles as we kiss, and Creed pushes his pants down and out of the way. There’s a bit of an awkward fumble as we figure out the condom, and get it on, and then my panties are coming down, and I’m so short of breath I’m lightheaded.

Creed climbs on top of me, curling his fingers through mine and pinning them above my head.

“Last chance, Marnye,” he whispers, letting go of me with one hand and using the other to reach between us. I expect there to be a bit of trial and error, but Creed is competent, even in new endeavors. Holy crap, this is happening. Closing my eyes, I exhale, and I wait as he touches me between the legs with more than just his hand.

Slowly, almost agonizingly so, Creed moves his hips forward and enters me. In a single moment, we go from virgins to … not virgins. At least, in one narrow world view of how virginity works. There are so many other ways, so many other opinions, but at least we have this, a single perfect moment of being joined together.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, his voice so much softer than usual.

“No,” I whisper back, and he lets go of my hand, so I can curl both my arms around his neck. He uses his elbows to keep himself partially propped up, but I can feel the weight of his body pressing me into the mattress, the smooth hard shapes of his muscles as he pulls out, and then slides back in. “It feels good.” My voice is husky, deep, almost foreign to my own ears.

“So it does,” Creed purrs, nuzzling my neck. He moves slowly at first, until we’re both slick with sweat, and then he moves faster, deeper, harder. There are no boundaries between us, and I feel like I’m coming apart in the best possible way.

We both make soft, easy sounds, grunts and moans that tangle together in the darkness.

A desperate ache builds in my lower belly, this throbbing motion that feels so good it almost hurts. When it breaks, I arch my back and press into Creed as he kisses my neck, and continues moving his hips, pushing me over the edge to the other side.