Griffin Davis is the perfect boyfriend in every way but one.

I stare at his chiseled face in the fading daylight. He just said something so profound and beautiful that it stole the breath from my lungs. And now he's looking at me with those tawny eyes and I am melting under his spell.

His complicated, illegal and extremely seductive spell.

He's the epitome of a bad boy, someone I'd read about in a romance novel. Only he'd be the villain, not the hero.

"It's not fair," I blurt.

"What?"

"That the first guy I have feelings for is," I lick my lips. "is, you know."

He nods and genuinely looks anguished. "I know."

"Allison had said this was a possibility."

"Oh, Christ." He groans and rolls over onto his back, squeezing his eyes shut with his fingers. I sit up and work my fingers into my hair, which feels coarse and salty from swimming in the Gulf all day.

Part of me feels weird for wanting to stay with him. Weird for still lusting after him. Guilty for still liking him at all. Should I leave? Am I a bad person for wanting to stay? What do we do now?

I lost my virginity to a drug lord.

The silence between us is awkward and thick, whereas before it was comfortable and sensual.

"I'm going to rinse off in that outdoor shower. My hair feels like it's covered in salt." I point to the side of the house. All I want is to break the tension between us.

"Good idea."

We both rise and walk toward the shower. Unlike before, he doesn't hold my hand, doesn't sling his arm around me. I feel the absence and it aches in my bones. I"m assuming he's headed into the house when he points at the outdoor shower.

"You first." The shower area is a horizontal wood platform surrounded by three teak walls. The semi-enclosed area is surrounded by tall tropical plants. The faucets for the two shower heads are mounted into the wood, and I hang my towel on a nearby hook.

Griffin's eyes rake down my body and a zing of desire goes through me. Crap, I'm in my bikini, which makes my boobs look huge and pushed together, like a fifties pinup. Somehow I feel more exposed now than when we were in bed together.

"It's okay, there are two. You can use the other one." I step in and twist one faucet, turning my back to Griffin. The shower heads are high up, and they're those big, round contraptions that look like sunflowers. The warm water rains down softly on my head, and I wet my hair, wiping my face.

I rotate and peek at Griffin. He's a couple of feet away, the spray cascading down his broad, tanned shoulders and chest muscles. He looks over and sees me staring.

A little smile escapes my lips. I can't help it.

He returns the smile, and his gaze trails downward, to my breasts. I don't need follow because I already know my nipples are hard from the way they're rubbing against the pink fabric of my bikini top.

Half under the water, I rinse my hair. As I do, my eyes hone in on Griffin's six-pack abs, then below. His wet swim trunks cling to his body and his erection is on full display.

My eyes lift and lock with his. Against all reason, I want him inside of me. Maybe for the last time.

I step toward him a few inches. I crave him. It's shameful, given everything he just told me. Insane, even.

But when he moves in my direction, cups my face, and puts his mouth to mine, I don't stop him.

I don't tell him no when his hands tear the strings of my bikini top. He flings the fabric to the ground and cradles my breasts, his hands hot on my skin. My breath is heaving when he backs me up against the polished wooden wall, to the space between the shower heads. He doesn't lean down for a kiss. Instead, he's staring at me. I watch his kiss-stung lips part an his tongue licks the side of his lips.

The movement is mesmerizing.

He takes my breast in his hand and I shut my eyes, awash in all the sensations hitting my skin. The spray from the warm water. His hot hand. The wall, smooth against my back. He kisses me and my head knocks against the wood. He doesn't ask me if I'm okay, because it doesn't matter to either of us. I know what this is.

Pure need.

I put my arms around him and inhale his mouth, feast on his tongue. I don't say no when he looks down at his fingers, which are pinching my nipples, or when he pulls my leg around him.

And somehow, in a feat born of balance and need, he's pinning me against the wood and my legs wrap around his hips. I'm squeezing him tight with my thighs and pulling his head closer so I can taste more of him. The way he's pressing himself into me is so urgent that I'm ready to beg him to take my bikini bottoms off, and be inside me right now.

I'm also sobbing.

"Why are you crying? Because of me?"

I nod. "I shouldn't want you this much, Griffin."

He puts his forehead to mine. "No. You shouldn't. And I shouldn't adore you as much as I do."

Worried that we're going to collapse in this position, I slide down his body, back onto my feet. My bare breasts are brushing against his chest, heaving with my breath, and we're both slick from the water.

He twists the shower faucets off. We're both breathing hard and ragged as we dry off, and I wrap the towel around my naked chest.

I follow him inside, and head for the bedroom. I'm standing near the bed, blotting my long, wet hair with the soggy towel when he walks in. Naked.

"You okay?" he asks softly.

I nod. I'm no longer crying, which is an improvement, I guess.

Now I'm just distracted by his body in the light of the bedroom.

"Here. Use this. It's dry." He's staring at my breasts and hands me a towel. I wipe my shoulders, then my neck, and my arms while he watches. The muscles of his jaw bunch and relax and my eyes flicker to his erection. I step a little closer to him, my legs feeling rubbery.

My hard nipples brush against his chest and the heat rolls off his body. He sounds delicious and desperate when he groans, and every time he makes the sound, I can't quite believe it's because he wants me.

With his thumb and forefinger, he pulls the string of my bikini bottom on my left hip. Then on my right.

The wet fabric falls to the floor with a slap and I sink onto the bed, naked and on the edge, because I can't hold myself up any more. I part my legs and get the thrill of satisfaction when he takes a deep breath. Why do I want him to see all of me? Am I some sort of deviant? It turns me on when he looks at me like that. His eyes darken. Look slightly crazed. I'm addicted to that look, I think.

"Fuck, I can see how wet you are," he says in a rough voice.

He sinks to his knees and I have to hold onto his hair because when his tongue brushes between my legs I feel like I'm going to combust.

He lets out a whispered swear against my inner thigh, something about how I taste fucking delicious, and I shut my eyes and lose myself in the sensation as it prickles and dances through my body. His tongue gives me one orgasm, and then when I scoot in the middle of the bed, I do something I've never done.

I beg.

"Can you be inside me now? Please? I need you now." I let out a whimper.

He sits on his knees and grabs a condom. Before he unwraps the foil packet, he holds his erection and strokes a few times. "Look what you've done to me, Juliette. See how hard you've made me?"

All I can do is stare at him, watch while he rolls the condom on. I assume he'll plunge inside of me and I open my legs. But instead of entering me,, he skims through my wetness with his fingers and begins the slow, maddening circles that drive me wild.

"Come for me again, Juliette. I want to feel your orgasm one more time." He sinks a finger inside me, then withdraws slowly, raking it all the way up to the needy bundle of nerves.

He does this a few times, and then I shatter. As I'm crying out, that's when he enters me for real, slow and steady, just as my orgasm crests. He's moving fast now, and deep, and it's an exquisite pain because he's just big enough to hurt and I don't think my body is fully accustomed to him yet. I wrap my arms around him, my nails digging into his back.

While buried deep inside me, he pauses and takes my wrists in his hands, pinning them to the mattress, over my head. He's fully in control now.

I shouldn't desire this, but I do.

"I'm going to fuck you now the way I've wanted all along," he rasps.

I should tell him no. I shouldn't draw my knees closer to my armpits so he can go deeper. I shouldn't tell him yes, yes, Griffin, I want you exactly like this. Hard and rough. Which seems to make him all the more turned on.

I know I'm making him spin out of control, if the way he's growling and groaning and biting my neck is any indication. His hands are still tight around my wrists and I surrender willingly. He tells me that I'm the most perfect fuck he's ever had and that I'm a sweet angel and his words make me cry as he pounds into me, hard.

I can smell and taste myself on his lips and I want more. More of him. More of us.

He's a criminal, my conscience whispers.

But he makes me feel beautiful. Wanted. Alive.

I should stop this. Before I become too attached. Before I crave the way he presses his face into my neck and shudders when he's having an orgasm. Before I tell him I love him, which I'll probably do if I spend another day with him.

But I don't stop anything. I pull him closer and we cling to each other. He brushes the tears off my cheeks. I don't end it, I don't insist on going home, I don't tell him that I never want to see him again — even though I should.

Because I can't.

* * *

The next day, we're driving north towards my house. I need to be back because I have a late shift at the diner.

Watching the islands speed past the passenger window is hypnotizing, and my eyes flutter shut because of my physical exhaustion. I'm a mix of emotions: afraid, elated, crushed.

Griffin lifts my hand and kisses my fingers, and the feel of his lips on my skin rouses me. We still haven't talked about what we're going to do after today. I'm still stunned that he wants to be with me, but not as shocked at how much I want him.

We'd spent the night consuming each other, barely talking. And most of today has been spent in tender, somber silence. Wistful, even, especially when I murmur that I'll miss the Keys house.

"We can come back anytime you want, you know." It's as if he's reading my thoughts.

I open my eyes and stare at his strong profile. I'll miss him too, which is why I'm contemplating telling him that I'd still like to see him. Stupid, I know. But maybe he really is getting his act together. If he stops selling drugs, what's the problem? Maybe he'll change for me...

"I understand if you want me to leave you alone, now that you know everything."

I'm nervously silent as he flips the turn signal. We pull into a gas station, next to a pump. Thank God. I need to use the restroom something fierce and the tension was getting heavy in the car.

"You want anything?" I ask. "I'll get it while you pump."

"Red Bull would be great, thanks."

Inside the bathroom, I let out a long exhale as I pee, then wash up. Peering into the scratchy, foggy mirror, I try to decide if I look different now that I've lost my virginity.

My lips are scarlet, and not because of lipstick. Because of his kisses.

My eyes have dark circles underneath because I'm bone-tired.

I pull the neck of my t-shirt down an inch and sigh. There's a purple and blue hickey that looks like a rorschach test along my collarbone. Crap, how am I going to hide that at work?

Concealer. I have concealer at home.

I buy the drinks and walk outside. Griffin's pulled the car to the side of the gas station, near a postage-stamp sized lawn and a picnic table. He's on the phone and I stop in my tracks.

Is he talking about a drug deal? My chest seizes up.

When he spots me, he waves me over.

"Zoe, I have to go, okay? No, don't call the cable company until I get back. I'll deal with the wifi box. You probably just aren't resetting it correctly. 'Kay? Bye."

Griffin looks at me sheepishly. "My sister's technologically challenged."

I hand him the Red Bull. He cracks it open and takes a long sip and I watch, captivated at the fluidity of his motions and gestures.

"What?" he asks, grinning.

I walk over to the picnic table and sit on the edge. We're so close to the road that a truck goes by and my hair flies everywhere. He follows me and stands close.

"Did you mean what you said?" I ask.

"I said a lot. But overall, yeah, I meant it all. But what are you talking about specifically?"

"That you're trying to, um, go legit? To be a regular businessman?" The water bottle is sweating in my hands because it's so stupidly warm and because my palms are like mini-heaters. I'm an idiot for having this conversation here, outdoors, in the mid-morning June heat of Florida. I'm wearing shorts and my thighs feel sticky. Gah.

He lays a cool hand on my bare knee. "Yeah. I meant it. I have a lot going on. Supposed to close on some real estate this week, actually."

I lick my lips. "Okay. I'll give you a month."

He shakes his head. "Juliette, angel. It's not that easy. Moving money isn't that quick. Shutting things down will take time."

"Two? Three?"

He nods slowly. "I can try. It might be more like five or six, but I'll try like hell to get everything settled. For you."

The water bottle slips out of my hands and lands in the dirt. We both look at it, then glance at each other. He presses his hips into my knees and then gently pries them open so he's standing in between my thighs.

If I was sweating before, I'm fully engulfed now. He takes my chin firmly in his hand and twists my head, then brushes a kiss over my ear.

"I promise not to get you involved. I promise that I'll get out. And I promise to be a good man for you, okay? You make me want to be better. It's time I stop this shit and live right."

He lets go and as I drown in his tawny eyes, all I can do is nod. All he can do is kiss me softly and I feel like I'm dissolving into a puddle of sweat and emotions and most likely bad decisions.

But I don't care. Because he makes me happy, and because I trust him.

He picks up the full water bottle and chucks it in a nearby dumpster. Then we're off again, speeding towards my house. The mood is lighter for the next hour, almost back to what it was before I'd confronted him in the water.

"What's your work schedule like this week?" He turns into my apartment complex.

I tick off the nights on my finger. "Tonight, tomorrow, Wednesday and Thursday."

"You have Friday off?"

"Yes, and Saturday."

"Perfect. I'll set something up. I'll take you out on the Beach. We'll spend the weekend at my house." He shoots me a dazzling smile and I squeal a little.

But my sounds of glee are short-lived when I see my brother next to his car.

"Oh crap. There's Ash. Back up." We're only about fifty feet from him. "Maybe we can just discreetly pull into a space."

"I can't, Juliette. There's someone behind me. And all the spaces are full. I can't do shit, so we're going to have to see him. Together."

"No, I think that's a bad idea," I say slowly.

Ashton is staring right at us, and his expression is pure fury.

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