Revenge: A Bad Boy Romance (31 page)

Betty shrugged. “You’re going to university soon. You’re bound to do it sooner rather than later. I’ll tell you this, none of the boys at Cambridge—and that’s what they will be, boys—will get your blood rushing half as much as a man like that.”

How right she was. Caiden had done things to me that I didn’t think were possible and for the last week I had been trying and failing to replicate that experience myself. I hadn’t even come close.

“I won’t tell your father,” Betty added. “Just promise me you’ll try to live a little this summer, okay? It’s the last few months of freedom you’ll have in a while.”

“I promise. But I might stick to hanging out with friends and cooking, instead of… doing that other stuff.”

Betty smiled and shook her head. “If you make any of those pear muffins again, you be sure to stop by. Don’t be a stranger.”

I left the store and looked around for Caiden. I must be going mad. It was basically impossible for him to be here. He never left London and on the rare occasions I had spoken to him, he had made his disdain for the English countryside quite clear. Windsor wasn’t the countryside, but it was a relatively small town and to Caiden they were all the same. For him, it was London or nothing.

I couldn’t see Caiden. I sat down on a bench and tried to reassure myself that he wasn’t here and that I would never need to see him again.

In three months, I would be going to the University of Cambridge and would leave my old life far behind. No more all-girls school, no more uniform, and no more bumping into Caiden every time my friends insisted on going to a club. I would happily never go to London again if that’s what   it took to avoid Caiden.

I opened up my backpack and took out the letter that I had kept immaculately pressed between two cookbooks that I’d brought home with me from boarding school.

The envelope had the University of Cambridge logo in the corner, so there had been no mistaking what was inside. The official acceptance would come from UCAS soon after, but Cambridge insisted on writing to all applicants separately if they were accepted.

I looked at the letter again. The dean praised my application using generic language which he clearly sent to all applicants and then confirmed that I had been accepted for a place to read—not study,
read
—Philosophy, Politics, and Economics. PPE. The same course my dad had taken decades ago.

At the bottom of the letter, the dean had scribbled a few words next to his signature. “I loved your personal statement. You’ll be a great addition to our university.” That was a nice touch, but I couldn’t shake the suspicion that he wrote that on every letter.

My personal statement had been one of the strongest parts of my application. My expected A-level grades were two A stars and three As. Good grades without a doubt, but fairly standard among Cambridge applicants.

My personal statement definitely had an emotional element to it. I wrote about my experience after my mum was nearly killed in a car crash. She’d spent months in intensive care and, even though she was now out of hospital, she had never been the same since. She’d get better one day, but that could be years away.

My dad had somehow arranged for a divorce the second she was deemed capable of giving consent, and I’d chosen to live with him. Not because I got on with my father better than my mother—I couldn’t stand him most of the time—but because my mother could barely look after herself. I didn’t want to inflict more pressure on her while she recovered.

I stood up and began the short walk home. My bag was heavy with the books and food, so I decided to run across the busy street by the corner shop instead of walking up to the crossing. A gap in the cars appeared, so I quickly darted across, my head constantly looking both ways.

I made it two-thirds of the way over when I saw Caiden again. Only from behind this time, but it was unmistakably him. I’d recognize the triangular shape of his back anywhere and the tattoo on the back of his neck was visible even from fifty feet away. He was walking in a different direction to me, but that was him.

A car horn blared and snapped me out of my trance. I was still standing in the middle of the street and a car had come to a screeching halt in front of me.
Well done Victoria. You’re mother’s nearly killed in a car accident and yet you decide to stop in the middle of a busy street.

I waved a hand apologetically and skipped to the pavement. I turned to look at Caiden again. He’d turned around and was now walking straight towards me. He was looking down at his phone and hadn’t seen me.

I lowered my gaze and kept walking back towards my house. My hand gripped hold of the Cambridge acceptance letter and I tried to focus on the task at hand. My father had summoned me home for an urgent meeting, but I had news of my own to tell him. I didn’t want to go to Cambridge. I didn’t want to go to university at all. Not yet at least. Maybe not ever. That was going to be tough news for him to take.

I approached another road to cross. In just a few minutes I would be back home. Back in my childhood house for the first time since Christmas. The road was quiet, but I still flicked my head both ways before crossing. Nothing like nearly being run over to make you more cautious crossing the road.

My right foot moved to step out onto the road when I felt a finger tap me on the shoulder. I stopped and turned around. Caiden. I looked straight into the deep blue eyes of the man that had taken my virginity a week ago. The eyes that I’d gazed into as I orgasmed with a man for the first time.

“Hi Vicky,” Caiden said. “You miss me?”

—-

“What are you doing here?” I snapped at him through gritted teeth. No-one was around to hear us, but you never knew if there was a nosey neighbour looking out the window.

“You were much more pleased to see me last time,” Caiden said, his grin still lighting up his smug face. “If I remember correctly, you walked in and started getting undressed immediately. By this point I could already see those pert little titties of yours. Are you going to get your tits out for me again? I wouldn’t mind another look even though they are a bit underwhelming.”

Underwhelming?
He hadn’t seemed underwhelmed with them last week. He hadn’t been able to take his hands off them. I thought back to how he grasped them firmly while I’d been riding him. His thumb and forefinger squeezed my nipples until I moaned and dug my nails into his chest. He’d sucked greedily on them and even used his teeth on my nipples as they stiffened in his mouth. I’d pressed my nails deeper into his chest as the pain shot through me, but I never told him to stop. I didn’t want him to stop.

“You need to get the hell out of here,” I yelled, not bothering to keep my voice down anymore. “Why are you following me anyway? How do you even know where I live? Are you stalking me?”

“You really think I’d stalk you? You have a high opinion of yourself, don’t you? I don’t make a habit of chasing after women—they chase after me. Even if I did, I certainly wouldn’t bother with you, although given how little you moved that night, I reckon you’d be quite easy to catch.”

“Why are you following me then?” I asked. I tried to ignore his insult, but it rang true. The first time we fucked I’d just lain there and let him have his way with me. I had been so overcome with what was happening, it hadn’t occurred to me to do anything. I’d more than made up for it the second time though. And the third. Hadn’t I? He’d seemed satisfied enough at the time, but I was probably kidding myself. How good in bed could I have been compared to all the more experienced women he usually slept with?

“I told you, I’m not following you.”

“You just happen to be in my home town on the day I am coming home for the summer? That would be one heck of a coincidence.”

“Stranger things have happened,” Caiden said. “Like a silly little virgin coming up to me and asking for sex even though she’d seemed like a stuck up little madam before.”

“I wasn’t a virgin,” I lied. I hadn’t wanted him to know, but it had probably been obvious. Perhaps I should admit to it. At least then I would have an excuse for not being good enough in bed.

Why did I care what he thought of my performance? The entire point of that night had been to loose my V plates to someone I didn’t care about. It’s not like I wanted to sleep with him again. Did I?

“You
were
a virgin, but that’s fine. I consider it part of my civic duty to deflower as many English virgins as possible before I go back to the US.”

“Why don’t you just shove off back to the States then? I think I speak for all English women when I say we don’t want you.”

“ ‘Shove off?’ ” Adrian asked, mocking my choice of words. “Aren’t you the polite one. I think the words you were looking for were ‘fuck off.’ You remember that word, right?
Fuck?
”

“I don’t need to use vulgar language to get my point across,” I replied, crossing my arms over my chest and pushing up my tiny breasts in the process. Not that he could see them anyway. I wore a cardigan that was buttoned up enough to completely cover my chest even though it was easily warm enough to go without.

“Oh really? In that case, when I took your virginity you should have been saying ‘oh yes, put your penis inside my vaginal canal with more speed and pressure.’ Was that what you said? I’m sure it was more along the lines of ‘oh yes, fuck me. Fuck me. Harder, harder.’ ”

I cringed as I thought back to the third time we’d fucked that night. The second time I had been on top of him and ridden him hard, but I’d still not said a lot. The third time, something had come over me and I’d moaned in the same way porn stars did. Presumably.

What if someone in the room next door had heard us? I must have sounded like a complete slut.

“I’m going to walk home now,” I said slowly. I was blushing furiously, but there wasn’t much I could do about that so I ignored it. “Don’t you dare follow me.”

“Vicky,” Caiden said as he grabbed my wrist.

I turned and yanked my hand free from his wrist before placing both hands on his chest and pushing him hard. He stumbled back with a shocked look in his face and ended up in the bush behind him.

I nearly apologised out of habit, but then forced a smile and turned for home. My childhood house was located off the main roads and down a long driveway. We lived on the outskirts of town, and with such a long driveway we were fairly secluded from most other houses. I often saw envious looks from nearby residents as they peered up the driveway to catch a glimpse of the house and the surrounding land.

As I walked up the driveway, I noticed a second car parked next to my dad’s silver Mercedes. My knowledge of cars extended to recognizing the difference between some with three doors and some with five, but that was about it. This car looked brand new and more expensive than my dad’s which meant he would soon go out and buy a new one soon. He hated having friends with a nicer car than his.

The new car had the familiar logo of a rental company on the back window. Rented cars were a familiar enough site around London, but not many tourists came visiting our little town.

I dug my keys out of my bag, but the front door opened before I needed to use them. My dad stood in the doorway and beamed with pride at seeing me return. Something must be wrong. Dad never looked at me like that. He would never say as much, but he didn’t actually like having me at home. I got in his way. The last time I’d come back he’d completely forgotten about it and gone on a golfing holiday to Italy with some friends.

“Victoria, welcome home,” he said with feigned enthusiasm.

It was then I noticed the woman standing behind him. A blonde lady, with a generous bosom, and an even more generous helping of make up. My first thought was that she looked like a TV personality. My second thought was that I recognized her. I was right on both counts, although I mainly knew her face from books not television.

The woman smiled at me and held out her hand. “Hello Victoria, I’m Sheri Ramsden.”

“I know who you are, Ms. Ramsden,” I replied, shaking her hand excitedly. “I’m a big fan.” Sheri was a famous chef and I had one of her cookbooks in my bag right now. I just barely resisted the temptation to ask for her autograph until I knew why she was here.

Sheri looked over my shoulder and her face turned sour. “There you are,” she said sternly. “Where have you been?”

I looked over and saw Caiden standing there openly holding his box of condoms.

“Don’t panic, I’m here now,” Caiden said calmly, walking into my house as if he owned the place. “So what was it you wanted to talk about? This had better be important, Mum.”