POV: Jaxon Hayes
She looked like sin dressed as a saint.
Cardigan, ballet flats, little silver cross at her neck like a warning label.
But all I saw was a challenge.
Lena Monroe was the kind of girl guys looked at and backed off from.
Not because she wasn’t pretty—hell, she was gorgeous. Big brown eyes. Cherry lips. Thick, shiny hair always in a neat braid over her shoulder.
But she had this… air.
Prim. Distant.
Quiet like she’d bite her tongue before she ever bit you.
And I’ve got a thing for contradictions.
We had a couple classes together. Never spoke. She’d scribble notes like the world depended on it, while I spent the lecture drawing d**ks on my desk.
Typical.
Once, I held a door for her, and she looked startled. Like I’d just handed her a bouquet of séx toys.
“Thanks,” she said, eyes glued to her shoes.
Cute.
I’d written her off as off-limits. Vanilla. The kind of girl who whispered “oh my God” during séx and meant it literally.
Until tonight.
---
It was this dumb party at Carter’s place. Sweat, booze, too many bodies and not enough air. I was three drinks in when I saw her.
Lena.
In a stupid oversized sweater and a denim skirt that should’ve looked innocent.
But damn if it didn’t ride high enough to make me lose focus.
She stood in the corner, fidgeting with her cup like she didn’t know what to do with her hands. Eyes darting around like she was looking for the exit—or a reason to stay.
She spotted me watching her.
Her cheeks turned pink.
And she looked away like I’d caught her thinking something dirty.
I smirked.
She turned redder.
Game on.
We got roped into the same circle for a round of truth or dare. She sat cross-legged on the floor, sipping something bright and fruity, knees together like she was afraid someone might see up her skirt.
“Lena,” someone slurred, spinning the bottle toward her. “Truth or dare?”
She hesitated.
“Come on,” I teased. “You don’t have to go streaking or anything.”
She bit her lip. Voice quiet.
“…Dare.”
Heads turned. Even I raised a brow.
Someone grinned. “Ooh, brave girl. Okay. I dare you to take the hottest guy here somewhere private… and make him forget his name.”
The whole room laughed.
She froze. Looked down.
I leaned in. “You can always chicken out, sweetheart.”
Her eyes flicked up to mine. Something sparkled there.
Something *wrong.*
She stood. Slowly.
Walked straight to me.
And reached for my hand.
“I don’t chicken out,” she said softly. “Come on, Jaxon.”
My d**k twitched.
---
She led me down the hall to the back bedroom like she’d done this before.
But when the door closed, she hesitated. Turned her back.
“I’ve never done anything like this before,” she murmured. Voice small.
I stepped closer. Close enough to smell her vanilla perfume. “You don’t have to.”
She turned to me, lip caught between her teeth. Her hands fidgeted with the hem of her sweater.
“Do you think I’m boring?” she asked suddenly.
I blinked. “What?”
“Everyone does. You probably do, too.” She looked up, lashes heavy. “Because I’m quiet. Because I don’t dress like them.”
I stepped in, thumb brushing her chin up. “I think you’re hiding something. And I really, really want to know what.”
She smiled—barely.
Then grabbed my shirt.
And pushed me back onto the bed.
What the f**k—
She climbed into my lap, slow, legs straddling me like she’d rehearsed it.
The sweater slipped off her shoulder. No bra strap.
“You still think I’m boring, Jaxon?” she asked, voice low, sultry now. Velvet.
My breath caught. “Lena…”
She leaned in. Brushed her lips over my ear.
“I haven’t even started making you forget your name.”
Then she dropped to her knees.
Unzipped me.
And what came next wasn’t shy.
It wasn’t sweet.
It was filthy.
Wicked.
Expert.
Her mouth was warm heaven and dirty hell. She knew how to look up at me just right, fingers tight around my base, tongue swirling like she’d studied every male weakness and planned to exploit them one by one.
I moaned. Growled. Gripped the sheets.
“You’re gonna f*"kin’ kill me,” I gasped.
She smiled around me..
Innocent?
Lena Monroe was a damn predator.
And I was already hers...
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.
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