His Red Carnation (Forbidden Blooms #1)

3. Sloane

3

Sloane

I was probably pushing my luck. Callan didn’t seem remotely interested in me—he barely even looked my way. He probably thought I was just some little puppy, trying and failing miserably to flirt. Did he even notice? I’d only tried flirting a handful of times in my life, and nothing ever came of it. Was that because I was the President’s daughter or because I was just bad at it? Maybe both.

The moment I told him I needed a ride, I decided I’d go get a tattoo. Something about Callan and finally being eighteen made me want to do something out of character. Normally, I was the straight-laced, quiet, follow-the-rules type—a straight-A student who wouldn’t dare curse in front of adults. I had always wanted to be the rebellious girl with tattoos, blue hair, and a ‘fuck it’ attitude toward authority. But I never was—probably because I didn’t want to give my dad any more stress or negative press. He had enough to worry about, leading the free world and all.

So what exactly would be the problem if his eighteen-year-old daughter got a tiny, hidden tattoo? With her hot new bodyguard tagging along, preferably behind her, fucking her with his tattooed hands gripping her hips?

Back in my room, I felt around my wet pussy as I laid in bed under the covers, the image of Callan’s strong hands on my body enough to get me worked up. I put one hand to my breast under my T-shirt, playing with my erect nipple. His full lips on my neck, one hand reaching over to rub my clit as he pounded me from behind …my orgasm quickly and fiercely approached, a quiet moan escaping my throat as I came to my fantasy.

I gasped when there was a knock at the door. I removed my hands from my wet spot and breast and feigned sleepy eyes as I covered my whole body with blankets.

“Come in,” I called.

Mom stepped inside, still in her black funeral dress and heels. She gave me a small, sympathetic smile as she closed the door behind her and made her way over to the foot of my bed, sitting down gently.

“I’m sorry your dad and I rushed back to work so soon. How are you feeling? Did you and Callan get to know each other?”

I nodded quickly. “It’s fine. I’m okay. And yeah, we did. He seems nice.” I shrugged, trying to sound casual.

Mom nodded, a slow smile creeping onto her face. “Isn’t he hot? In that bad boy kind of way? I always thought so,” she said, laughing softly.

“Mom!” I laughed, feeling my cheeks flush. “He’s Dad’s friend!”

She shrugged with a playful smirk. “I’m still a hot-blooded woman. Don’t you think he is? You’re probably too young to notice. He’s very sweet, though. He’ll do a good job watching you.”

My face burned. If only she knew how much I wanted him watching me just a few minutes ago.

“No, yeah. He’s hot,” I admitted, trying to play it off. “But like, way too old.” No way could Mom know about the crush I was developing.

She shook her head teasingly.

“I asked him for a ride later. I’m going to get myself a birthday present,” I added, feeling a little thrill at sharing it with her. I’d never tell Dad, but I told Mom everything. Mostly everything.

Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. “And what kind of present would that be?”

I bit the inside of my cheek, a nervous habit. “I’m gonna get a tattoo. A small one. Like, on my back or something,” I said quietly.

Mom immediately smiled. “Please don’t get a tramp stamp. Anywhere but your lower back. Please.” She laughed.

I scoffed, laughing with her. “I’m not getting a tramp stamp. I want to get a little red carnation.”

Her face lit up. “Spain’s national flower. Oh, baby. Te quiero mucho .” She squeezed my hand warmly.

“I love you too.” My tone turned serious. “But please, don’t tell Dad.”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You think I’m going to tell your father? You want him to kill me ?” she teased. “No, save that for when you’re thirty-five.”

* * *

My heart raced when I got a text from Callan.

It’s Callan. Here’s my number.

I smiled, trying to come up with something witty to say.

Callan, it’s Sloane, the 18-year-old you have to babysit.

I hit send and instantly regretted it. I didn’t want him to see me as a little girl. But his response came quickly.

Ha. You’re funny. Pretty sure you can take care of yourself, but it’s my job. Sorry you think of me as your babysitter.

I bit the side of my lip, debating my next move.

I don’t think of you that way at all. I hit send, my heart racing. What would he make of that?

Good. Now where do you need a ride to at 7 or 8?

I smiled to myself.

It’s a surprise. Meet me in the hallway at 7:30.

What I really wanted to do was pull him into my bedroom and get on my knees in front of him. I instantly got wet at the thought.

Okay. I’ll see you then.

I glanced at my phone—it was 6:30 p.m. Time to get ready and wear something that would show him I wasn’t a little girl anymore.

It was still warm, so I could easily wear another dress. I slipped into a cute summer skater dress, flared and super short. The best part was the low-cut neckline that highlighted my breasts. I slid on a thong, already imagining where I’d get a tattoo on my back, secretly hoping Callan might catch a glimpse of my ass. I was proud of my curves—they came from my mom, and people never stopped admiring her body, even though she was so much more than just her looks.

I glanced at myself in the mirror, adjusting the white floral dress before slipping on a pair of white low-top Converse. Grabbing a cardigan from my closet in case it got chilly, I started on my makeup—thin winged eyeliner, a touch of pink blush, and dark pink lipstick. If my dad saw me like this, he’d probably have a heart attack. Luckily, he was still buried in work downstairs.

I stood up and gave myself one last look in the mirror, smiling as I turned around, satisfied with how I looked. I took a quick glance at my phone—7:25 p.m. Perfect . I grabbed my purse and stepped out of my room, only to find Callan leaning against the hallway wall. He was still in his suit from earlier, but without the jacket and tie. His white shirt was unbuttoned at the top, and his sleeves were rolled up, exposing more of the tattoos that covered his forearms. My heart pounded like it was about to leap out of my chest.

His eyes widened slightly as he looked at me.

“Hey,” I greeted quietly, shutting the door behind me.

His jaw tightened. “Hey. You ready?” His face was serious, and he didn’t take his eyes off me, making me feel suddenly self-conscious.

“Uh huh.” I nodded.

He glanced down the hallway, then back at me. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going now?” His raised eyebrows hinted at mild annoyance.

I fought back a smile, feeling a little mischievous. “I’ll tell you in the car. Let’s go.” I turned and headed down the hallway, fully aware of him following behind me. I swayed my hips on purpose, just like earlier.

We headed down the stairs and through the side corridor that led to the Presidential cars. Callan opened the back door for me, but I shook my head.

“I want to sit up front.”

I walked around the car, opening the passenger door myself and slipping in quickly. Callan got in the driver’s seat, side-eyeing me.

“Okay. Now what?” he asked, his elbow resting on the armrest between us. His muscled arms looked like they were about to burst out of his shirt. My heart pounded as I stole a quick glance before looking straight ahead.

I typed the tattoo shop’s address into my phone and placed it in the center cup holder. As Siri announced the directions, I could feel Callan’s eyes on me.

“I’m not fucking taking you to get a tattoo,” he muttered, clearly exasperated.

I turned to him, narrowing my eyes. “Yes, you are,” I shot back.

He shook his head quickly. “No way. Your dad would kill me.”

I rolled my eyes. “My mom gave me her blessing. Now please, let’s go.”

Callan stared at me, as if weighing his options. I noticed his eyes flicker down to my cleavage before he quickly looked away.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, starting the car and heading toward the tattoo shop just minutes away.