Guarding the Virgin

Chapter 8

Sunlight stabs through my curtains like a knife to the skull.

I groan, pressing my palms against my eyes, but that only makes the pounding worse. My mouth tastes like something died in it. My body aches in places I didn't know could ache, muscles sore in unfamiliar ways that send heat rushing to my cheeks before I even fully understand why.

My phone says it's almost noon. I've been unconscious for twelve hours.

I blink at the ceiling, trying to piece together how I got here. I don't remember walking back to my dorm. Don't remember unlocking the door or crawling into bed or changing out of that tiny black dress. I'm wearing an old t-shirt now, but I have no memory of putting it on. Did I do that? Did someone else?

The last thing I remember clearly is... what? The party. Music pounding. Drinks I lost count of. Scanning the room for Ashton but never finding him.

Then Nate's text. The threat that sent me stumbling outside alone.

Then fragments. His hands on me. Brick wall against my back. Ashton appearing from nowhere, ripping him away.

And after that...

His face above mine. His hands gripping my hips. The leather of a backseat pressing against my bare skin. Heat and urgency and his voice, rough in my ear, saying things that made my whole body shiver.

Then nothing. Just blurry edges and fragmented sensation that dissolves when I try to grab hold of it.

What did I do?

My phone buzzes, and I nearly knock it off the nightstand reaching for it. A text from Angel: Waiting for you at The Velvet Bean. Get your ass here. We need to talk.

I drag myself out of bed. The room tilts, and I have to grip the desk until the dizziness passes. My reflection waits in the mirror, but I can't look. I'm not ready to face whatever I'll see there.

I splash water on my face, pull on jeans and an oversized sweater that hides whatever marks might be on my skin. I don't check. I don't want to know.

The walk to The Velvet Bean takes twice as long as usual. Every step sends a fresh throb through my skull. The sunlight is too bright. The birds are too loud. My stomach churns with a mixture of hangover and something darker I refuse to name.

Angel is already in our usual booth when I arrive, two virgin strawberry daiquiris sweating on the table between us. The café is cozy and warm, all exposed brick and fairy lights, but I feel like I'm walking through a fog.

"No alcohol," Angel says before I can speak. "I think we both had enough last night to last us a month."

I slide into the booth and wrap my hands around the cold glass, grateful for something to anchor me. The chill helps. Slightly.

"I can't deal with this anymore." My voice comes out quiet, raw. "Nate won't stop. He's always there, always reminding me what he holds over me. And now Ashton is everywhere too, watching every move I make, and I just—"

I take a long sip of my drink, the sweet cold sliding down my throat.

"I did something really stupid last night, Angel. Really, really stupid."

Her eyes light up. She leans forward, elbows on the table. "Okay, tell me everything. You got that text and then just vanished. I looked everywhere."

I press my palms against my temples, trying to pull the memories into focus. They keep slipping away, dissolving into static whenever I reach for them.

"Nate was waiting outside. He tried to—" I swallow hard. "Ashton stopped him. And then we argued, and I was so angry and so drunk, and then..."

The heat crawls up my neck, spreading across my cheeks.

"Oh god." I close my eyes. "I actually overdid it. The plan. I went through with it and slept with him."

Angel's jaw drops. Then stretches into a delighted grin. "You slept with him? The bodyguard? Your father's hot older friend?" She slaps the table. "It actually worked?"

I bury my face in my hands. "I think so. I remember kissing him first. I remember him carrying me to his truck. I remember it being..."

I struggle for words. The fragments are there—his mouth on my skin, his hands learning every curve, the way he paused and asked if I wanted to stop—but they're jumbled, out of order, wrapped in a haze of alcohol and adrenaline.

"Different," I finally manage. "Really different."

Angel's eyes go wide. "Wait. That was your first time. Like, actually your first time. How was it?"

I laugh despite myself. A hollow, disbelieving sound. "Nothing like I expected. Nothing like those awful moments with Nate where he made me feel like a failure before anything even happened."

More fragments surface. His body pinning me against the wall. His voice in my ear—because a girl like you is an easy target—rough and desperate. The charged silence before I kissed him. The way he kissed me back for one burning second before pulling away.

"Ashton was... intense. Controlled. Like he knew exactly what to do and wanted me to enjoy it even while he was furious with me." My cheeks burn. "He was gentle at first, and then... not so gentle."

Angel fans herself with a napkin. "I need details. All of them. What did he say? What did he do? How did it feel when he—"

"Angel, stop."

But I'm smiling now, some of the tension easing as I share the fragments I can grasp. Him pinning me to the wall, breathing hard. Me kissing him first. His resistance cracking, then shattering completely. The backseat of his truck and his voice in my ear, calling me a naughty girl.

Angel listens hungrily, teasing me about seducing a man old enough to know better, asking increasingly inappropriate questions that make me blush and laugh and forget for a moment how complicated everything has become.

Then her expression shifts. The playfulness drains away, replaced by something serious.

"Okay. Real question." She sets down her drink. "You were both wasted. Things moved fast. Were you guys safe? Did he use anything?"

The words hit me like ice water.

I freeze, my mind scrambling through the haze of memory. The urgency. The heat. His hands pulling at my clothes. My legs wrapped around him. The moment he entered me, slow and careful at first, then—

But a condom?

I can't picture one. Can't remember him pausing. Can't remember the crinkle of a wrapper or any break in the desperate momentum of that night.

My face goes white. "I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"I mean I don't remember." My voice comes out strangled. "Everything's so blurry. I was so drunk, Angel. I barely remember getting back to my dorm. I don't know if we... if he..."

Angel's smile vanishes completely. "Lyra. You don't remember if he used protection?"

I shake my head slowly, a new terror blooming in my chest. This isn't like Nate's threats. This isn't like my father's betrayal. This is something else entirely. Something that can't be undone with clever plans or stubborn defiance.

"What if he didn't?" The words scrape out of me, barely audible. "What if we didn't use anything at all?"

The question hangs between us, heavy and suffocating.

My hand moves without permission, pressing flat against my stomach. The gesture feels foreign. Terrifying. Like my body already knows something my mind refuses to accept.

In trying to destroy one problem, I may have created something far worse.

Something that will change everything forever.