All The Wrong Places
by Katrina McDonnell

At sixteen, David Rose charmed her into the backseat of his Chevy Impala. The next day he went out of his way to avoid her, and she didn't understand the message. Until his busty and pretty new girlfriend cornered her in the bathroom.

Her humiliation was complete when the rumours reached her father's classroom. After dinner, he called her into his study and asked what she'd been doing Tuesday night. The toe of her Adidas sneaker scuffed the carpet as she repeated her cover story. And he frowned and stated, "That's not what I heard".

Daddy's not so little girl sought refuge in the tree house, scraping her leg on a board he'd loosened during an aborted dismantling attempt. He gave her ten minutes to beat herself up, before appearing with strawberry icecream, handkerchiefs and two solid shoulders.

He offered to fail David Rose in math and would see what he could do about the other subjects. She vowed never to be taken in again.


The sole tiny corner of her brain active before 6am urged escape. Her body disagreed, shifting closer to the warm body. He rolled towards her, his foot pushing between her calves as his lips found her collarbone.

'Leave now.' Several more brain cells joined in to overrule her hormones.

Her hand stroked over his chest.

'He wasn't that good.'

Goosebumps rose under his fingertips as they brushed down her spine and side.

'You had to finish yourself off.'

And cupped her backside as his rapidly hardening cock pressed against her abdomen.

'You were both pretty drunk.'

Her body won as she bent her leg over his hip and used her weight to roll him onto his back. Still half asleep, his strokings were clumsy as she reached over to the bedside table and grabbed the box. Not that her coordination was much better.

Using her teeth to rip open the condom wrapper, she prayed for steady fingers. And breathed again at the completion of her mission. She braced her hands against his shoulders as he gripped her hips. Rocking her body, she groaned as the tip of his erection brushed across her clit and folds, before lowering herself onto him.

Much better than before. Though he still didn't know what to do with her clit. At least in this position she could grind against him.

Even in the half-light, there was no doubting his prettiness. But he wasn't looking up at her and she wasn't surprised.


It was barely a whisper and, though not even the broadest accent could twist her name that way, she pretended she'd misheard. Until he repeated it, a little louder, and opened his eyes.

It wasn't the first time she'd seen that expression. And she wasn't going to wait for the half-hearted apologies. After rising carefully to avoid any accidents, she vaulted off the bed and scrambled for her clothes. She'd pulled on her panties and skirt, and was fumbling with the bra clasp before he uttered another word.


Facing the window, she tried to inject the appropriate nonchalance into her tone. "I should go before Josh gets back."

"He's got a change of clothes in Mandy's room."

She gave up on the bra, shoving it in her purse, and searched the area for her blouse. There was never a quick getaway in these situations.

"It's on the end of the other bed."

"Thanks," she mumbled. The top three buttons went into the wrong holes, but the fashion police weren't likely to be patrolling at dawn. She grabbed her purse and jacket and pulled on her heels as she made for the door.


She turned back to the bed and plastered on a smile. "It's just one of those things that happen, Sam."

The sheet held tight to his chest, he looked painfully young. And she wasn't sure who was feeling lower at that moment.

"Call her." She couldn't stumble out the door quickly enough. Getting sucked into his guilt trip was the last thing she needed. Coffee. She needed industrial strength coffee, a shower, a good cry, and a bottle of painkillers. Maybe not in that order, though coffee was most definitely first.

"Shit." She briefly considered throwing a tantrum, but settled for glaring at the man blocking her hotel room door. "Shouldn't you be heading back to your coffin, Toby? The sun's nearly up."

He glanced down at her chest and frowned, before moving aside so she could open the door. Placing his hand on the small of the back, he pushed her inside. "We need to talk."

"We really don't," she hissed. Dumping her purse and jacket on the bed and rebuttoning her blouse, she turned to face him.

"What the hell were you thinking?"

He could raise her hackles like no other. "You know me, Toby. If I'm within a couple of feet of a body of water or an engaged writer, I'll inevitably end up wet."

"CJ." He rubbed his hands over his face. "Everyone, including the Governor and Leo, saw you leave together. You can't do it again."

The disappointment in his voice, on top of her guilt, was almost enough to make her take a vow of celibacy during campaigns. But not quite. "You going to have this talk with Sam?"


"You heard me."

"You knew he was engaged when you went to his room." He rubbed his forehead in the way she'd once found endearing.

"And so did you! Don't lay all this on me to assuage your own guilt."

He had the good grace to blush. "This isn't about--"

"No. It's about men who can't keep their pants zipped and then blame me." Her anger had been percolating for too long. "But then I'm just a bed warmer and should remember my place. Don't worry, Toby. Sam won't come near me for the rest of the campaign, and then he'll go back to New York and I probably won't hear from him again." She had advanced on him during her tirade, her face now within inches of his. "But if he visits me in a few years, I won't make the same mistake twice."

In the whole time she'd known him, he'd never apologised. So maybe it was just his sorry face. But she wasn't taking the chance that there was even the faintest hint of pity.

"I'll take responsibility for my own actions and mistakes. But I'm not accepting blame for anyone else." She stepped around him and opened the door. "I've got things to do."

Maintaining eye contact until he left, she slammed the door with as much force as she could justify at that early hour. The coffee would have to wait; she'd explode if anyone so much as looked at her. Stripping on her way to the bathroom, she turned on the faucet and stepped into the freezing torrent.

She cursed Toby as she scrubbed Sam's fingerprints off her skin. But what little energy she possessed quickly seeped out through the soles of her feet. Her legs wobbled and she slid down the shower wall. Knees drawn to her chest, the long scar on her leg started itching. As sobs constricted her chest, her nails drew blood.

The violence of her shivering finally forced her up and out of the shower. She grabbed a handful of toilet paper and blew her nose, avoiding even a glance toward the mirror. Wrapped in a hotel bathrobe, she collapsed onto the bed and fumbled for the phone. Dialling what she hoped were the right numbers since she couldn't really see them, she concentrated on controlling her voice.

"Hi, Dad." She dabbed her leg with a tissue and swallowed hard. "Nothing's wrong. Just wanted to hear your voice."


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