Debauching The Virgin (Den of Sin Book 8)

by Mel Blue

  DEBAUCHING THE VIRGIN

  A Den of Sin Novella

  By Mel Blue

  COPYRIGHT

  ©Mel Blue

  Published June 2014

  All Rights Reserved.

  Debauching The Virgin is a work of complete fiction. All characters appearing in this work are fictional or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  WARNING: this story contains adult situations including sex and strong language. It is not intended for consumption by minors (age of majority as specified by your territory of residence).

  Blurb

  DEBAUCHING THE VIRGIN

  The first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem.

  Amelia Washington is a successful matchmaker to the rich with two failed engagements under her belt.

  Amelia hasn’t had a man in her bed since she called a personal moratorium on relationships, and she’s been itching for a mattress tussle. She accepts an offer from The Den’s kink orchestrator to pick a sexual companion for a week. Her temporary lover has a quick wit, lust for adventure and pure sexual magnetism. He’s perfect for a short, hot affair that leaves emotions out of the equation. He’s also willing to let her teach him how to please a woman. She’s bossy, high-handed and a bit uptight. How can she refuse?

  Dwayne Blackstone is twenty-seven-year-old virgin.

  He’s spent most of his adult life isolated, flying search and rescue missions as a bush pilot. When he has a brush with death, he’s determined to finally live his life to the fullest. The first step is definitely to lose his virginity. He wants Amelia to show him the art of seduction. She knows what she wants, and he’s a quick study. It’s not long before the student surpasses the teacher, and the simple but intimate experience turns into more than learning what makes Amelia moan.

  The week they agreed to be lovers simply isn’t enough.

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  Debauching the Virgin

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  CHAPTER ONE

  The Den of Sin was the only twelve-step program that could handle Amelia Washington’s problem. Even then, her chances of recovery were slim. She strode across The Beaudelaire’s ballroom toward the buffet table. The black-tie affair, a wine tasting, had brought out most of the patrons who’d arrived early for the Bacchanal weekend. There was a large pool of men to choose from, but then again…

  Too muscular.

  Laughs too loud.

  Already drunk.

  One after another, she mentally dismissed every potential male. The golden ballroom of the former plantation, turned opulent hotel, was decked out in silk, satin, and, of course, wine. The high-arched ceiling had little cherubs and lush roses carved into the top mantel. This was her first Bacchus event, though not her first stay at the hotel. The god of wine’s holiday gave The Beaudelaire Hotel an excuse to celebrate the loss of inhibitions. Really, an excuse to turn their run of the mill five star guest service into something risque. They even gave it a name—a vow. The promise to every guest invited was any fantasy is yours.

  Her heart thumped as she took a millisecond to consider the handsome blond man who’d caught her gaze.

  Too tall.

  She’d known the hotel’s secret designation for years but never had the balls to attend, even just to be nosy. This was her virgin voyage into the wanton and depraved side of the hotel.

  The difference two broken engagements make.

  She pushed that thought aside and glanced toward the buffet table. The spread had the kind of food that best complimented the array of wine—reds, whites and champagnes—the silent wait staff held on trays. The level of detail didn’t surprise her. Seraphina Gibson, Henri’s right-hand woman, had coordinated the event. The woman was exacting. Very much a perfectionist, taskmaster, and up until recently, a workaholic. Somewhat like Amelia.

  So seeing Seraphina inspecting the spread wasn’t the surprise. It shocked Amelia to see Seraphina’s hair tied back in a bun, soft tendrils framing her face. The black pencil skirt she wore, along with the short-sleeved shirt, did not compute. In all the years she’d known Seraphina, the woman had dressed in an almost militant-style of pantsuits.

  Amelia forgot her nerves and approached her. “Everything up to your standards, Ms. Gibson?”

  Seraphina straightened. A warm smile softened her face. “Call me Seraphina, please. I’m trying to relax and not scare the staff as much. But, yes, I was actually thinking I wanted some of that pâté. I skipped lunch.” Seraphina narrowed her eyes. “You look stunning. Why are you alone?”

  Amelia sighed. She’d dug out the curve-fitting black dress in hopes that it would make the night somewhat easier. It dipped really low in the front and practically screamed, “take me.” First she had to find someone to do just that. “Because we’re alike. We’re still working.”

  Seraphina pursed her lips and scanned the room. “Three.”

  “What?”

  “You’ve knocked your list down to three men.” She glanced down at Amelia’s shoes. “No. Make that two. The blond man in the Brook’s Brothers suit is too tall. I know you and your high standards. You’re great at making matches for other people. I call you whenever I have a tough case. The question is, do you trust me?”

  She’d forgotten how Seraphina got straight to the point. Dawdling was for people who had all the time in the world. She swept her gaze over the room, and the two men she had her eye on earlier eased closer to each other. Interesting, but a threesome was not what she was looking for.

  Amelia sighed again. “I know what I want.”

  “And what you want is unrealistic.” Seraphina raised her eyebrows.

  That made her back straighten. “Fine,” Amelia conceded. “Okay. Yes. I should simply want a man with a big dick and stamina.”

  Seraphina seemed to fight a smile. “We can provide a bit more than that.”

  Still unsure, Amelia looked again, and again she’d found fault with every man in the room. Her pickiness had led her to the hotel. Spending too many years as a matchmaker had made her this way. She didn’t put much stock in beggars can’t be choosers. She had settled twice, and twice she’d been burned.

  After six months of a non-dating moratorium, she was over celibacy. A relationship was out. She sucked at them, and as her business grew, she didn’t have time to nurture one. Was it a cop-out to focus on the one thing in her life she could do right? Maybe. But she’d forced herself to come here to get out of that sexual rut. To be adventurous. To find a man who wouldn’t care that she created perfect couples but couldn’t maintain even a dysfunctional relationship. Relationships required her to let go of control, have faith her partner had her best interests at heart.

  It should have been easier to choose a man to just have sex with, but even that fell under her exacting standards. She met Seraphina’s patient but expectant gaze. This woman’s work ethic put hers to shame. Seraphina may have only been doing this for three years, but the matches she’d put together were intuitive and just plain genius.

  Amelia grabbed a
glass of wine from a wait staff passing by. “I’ll trust you.”

  Seraphina didn’t even take a moment to preen. “Four o’clock, in the corner, looking a bit put-off by the amount of people in the room.”

  Following the simple directions, she squinted and searched for the man. Amelia’s breath stuck in her throat. How in the hell had she missed him? Not like the corner he’d found kept him hidden. He had presence. Despite the wary glances he tossed around the room, he had impeccable…everything. His confident posture contradicted his choice to stick to the shadows. Lush waves of hair, the shade of dark chocolate, framed his face. His cheekbones and jawline cut at a sharp angle. The suit didn’t exaggerate his masculine form, but his muscles made one hell of a statement on their own. He smiled at some private joke before he took a sip of wine. Out the corner of her eye, she could see Seraphina’s satisfied smile.

  Amelia asked, “Did he just walk in?”

  “Nope.”

  Whatever doubts she’d had, fell away. If Seraphina said this man was the one she should spend the night with, then Amelia trusted the woman wholeheartedly. Well, that and how her nipples hardened the longer she stared at him. “Deets?” she asked.

  “He wants to learn how to seduce women.”

  “Oh. Interesting.” He didn’t look like he needed any help in that department. Alone and cautious, he still gave off a certain magnetism. If she’d seen him on the street, she’d have been drawn to him. “And?”

  “If he passes muster, I’d suggest you take him to room 306 as a…precursor to what I’m sure is a lesson plan you’ll come up with.”

  Amelia laughed, because that’s exactly what she’d do. It was part of her issue. She hadn’t just shrugged when any of her past lovers said he had any problem. She’d put on her matchmaker hat and given him tasks to complete as practice. Distancing herself was easier. There was no way to feel the sting of rejection that maybe her partner’s problem was connecting with her. A catch-22 if there ever was one. How could any man have intimacy with her if she never let them in?

  She was fucked in the head. No question. Why else would she need to be at The Den of Sin, looking at a room full of men and rejecting all of them without seeing the one man who piqued her interest? This was her task to complete. This was her practice. Trust Seraphina’s choice and insight even though approaching him instead of the other way around could end in rejection. Amelia finished her glass of wine, put it down on the buffet table and squared her shoulders. “What should I say?”

  Seraphina clasped her hands, stopping short of rubbing them together. “Say something that will leave no doubt about the kind of woman you are. He’s the adventurous type.”

  That sounded intriguing. Could be ominous. She wanted garden-variety sex. Not something that involved ropes, spankings, and calling a man master.

  Seraphina must have noticed her hesitance. “I thought you trusted me.”

  Sweat threatened to dampen her brow. “Do I need a key for 306?”

  “No, it’s a show that I think both of you will benefit from watching.”

  The answer sounded cagey, and that’s when Amelia got it. Someone would perform sex for an audience. It was audacious and made her palms get all sweaty…but curiosity stole her attention. So whether or not the man went with her, she planned to head to 306. First, she had to pick him up.

  The best pickup lines were grounded in who you were. Who was she? A go-getter, personable, but she had the capability to laugh at herself. She snatched another glass of wine as a waiter went by. The liquid courage helped her move across the ballroom. When she was five feet away, they locked eyes. His were tawny-brown. He looked in his thirties, but that conflicted with the vibe he gave off as being much older.

  Attraction flashed through his gaze. His hand closed around his glass. Nerves settled into her stomach, but now she could smell the deeply masculine cologne he wore, and that magnetism dragged her a little closer.

  What to say to a man in a situation like this? What would she tell a client to say? The perfect icebreaker encouraged dialogue. He didn’t look like the type to take himself too seriously. Catch him off guard and make him laugh.

  She sipped her wine for some more liquid courage and then grinned at him. “I bite.”

  His brows shot up. “Excuse me?” His voice was deep, rough, with the hint of an accent she couldn’t place.

  If she hadn’t already felt need pulsating through her limbs, his voice would have strummed that tenuous longing. “You looked worried when I walked up,” she said. “So I decided to be honest. I do bite, but only men who call me Miss Washington.”

  He ran his thumb across his bottom lip to try and hide the sudden smile. She was right. He didn’t take himself too seriously.

  He dropped his hand and tilted his head. His quick perusal warmed her. “How often are you nasty, Miss Washington?”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Not often enough,” Amelia muttered.

  He drew in a breath and stepped forward. That indefinable draw to him intensified. He studied her as though her appearance would reveal all her secrets.

  “You were talking to Ms. Gibson before you came over. What did she tell you about me?”

  It surprised her he’d noticed her. “That you’re adventurous.”

  “And?”

  Some airy jazz tune played in the background, but she could practically hear her own breathing. She was nervous. An emotion she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

  “You want to learn how to seduce women.”

  He nodded. “What makes you the one to teach me?”

  She had to handle that question as a matchmaker. With ease, she stepped back into her comfort zone and took charge of the conversation. “You’re straightforward.”

  “What I need isn’t for everyone,” he said, his voice even deeper.

  Her panties dampened; she didn’t know why his mysterious air turned her on. And she was starting to doubt he needed help. Given enough time and wine, another woman would have approached him. But maybe he wasn’t lying. He hadn’t moved from his corner. If he had, she’d have seen him. So why hadn’t he?

  “You fear rejection.” When his eyes widened, Amelia knew she had him. “I understand that both professionally and…personally. But, I’m a matchmaker. I know how to teach a man to take his best qualities and showcase them.”

  “You’ve done it with sex?” He sounded incredulous.

  “Nope, but I’m up to the challenge. I’m actually intrigued.” She squinted at him. Who had rejected him? Why?

  A mystery and a challenge. The man was hitting all her buttons without trying. She wouldn’t find out his secrets until she sold him on her credentials. Amazing, that something as simple as proving herself could make her want him more. As for his reason for being at The Den…It wasn’t just a need to learn how to seduce a woman. He’d admitted to that openly, without a bit of hesitation. So there was more.

  “What would you get out of this?” he asked, his tone even, curious.

  She shrugged. “Sex.”

  He laughed, and the sound was like warm honey. “I don’t know. You might be getting a bum deal.”

  “Every man or woman is teachable.” She bit her lip as nerves crept in again. She’d joked about a big dick and stamina, but if that’s all Amelia wanted, the first passable man should have sufficed. Searching for a connection in a place like this seemed ludicrous. A smile, a laugh, and flirtation had worked much better than just spotting a stud for the night. So what exactly did she want?

  Trust.

  Seraphina had told her he had that “X factor” Amelia couldn’t quite put into words. Being a client, asking for help…this wasn’t her territory, but she knew sometimes you could read a client’s needs so plainly after perusing their application or talking to them. Seraphina had seen both of theirs.

  Amelia blew out a breath. She’d trust the woman. “Audition for me.”

  “How?”

  He didn’t blanch at the audacious requ
est. She gave him brownie points for that. “Kiss me. If it’s unappealing, then we go our separate ways. If it just needs work, my pointers can be my audition. No hard feelings on either side.”

  “A kiss, huh?” He laughed softly.

  Anticipation filled her, but she hoped she kept her outward appearance cool. “We have to start somewhere.”

  “Okay.” He plucked her glass from her fingers and set both of theirs down on the table behind him.

  Pressing a hand to her back, he guided her into the darkness. So he didn’t want an audience for this. Understandable. She made a mental note of it…and then she really thought about what kissing involved. She did it when she was attracted to someone. For a while. He was a good-looking stranger with a nice smile. What had he seen? What had he experienced? This was something she usually had an inkling of before getting this far with a man. Her confidence fled. It was one thing to come to The Den of Sin. Another to have sex with a stranger based on someone else’s expertise.

  But a kiss…Two lips meeting. She could do that. A small enough leap into the unknown, and the momentary loss of control would be good practice no matter the outcome. Right. Her breath sounded ragged in the quiet that stretched between them.

  He lifted his hand. She leaned forward without thinking, just instinctively trying to follow the promise of touch. Embarrassment wanted to take root at her needy reaction. But he was so close, and six months was a damn long time.

  Finally, he ran his finger over her cheek, his eyes dark now. She wasn’t looking at a shy man who wouldn’t cross a room to approach a woman, even if she caught his eye. This was simply a man hemming a woman up against the wall to kiss the shit out of her. Amelia’s stomach flipped. He was stepping up to the challenge, holding her stare. They may have been strangers, but he wanted to do this. That need was clear and undeniable. That need solidified when he bent down.