Misadventures of a Virgin

by Meredith Wild

  I shake my head and cluck my tongue. “Aren’t you clever?”

  She agrees with a curt nod before I lean in and brush a kiss to her soft pink lips.

  “What you didn’t know,” I whisper, “is that I saw right through your little act. I knew under the innocent virgin I wanted to dirty up was a little sex kitten who would never be truly satisfied until she had a bad boy like me… A man who could put her on her knees and make her come like a rocket. All. Night. Long.”

  Her mirth fades, washed away by the passionate heat glinting in her eyes. No longer pink and sparkling, she’s a dusty rose now. Her cheeks are flushed, and her skin shimmers like it does when she’s incredibly turned on. Her palm is hot in mine, and I’m certain the entire room has just shot up at least twenty degrees. Tonight is our wedding night, and I have well-laid plans. I just thought I’d be able to wait until the guests left before my willpower totally vanished.

  “You want to get out of here?”

  I’m certain she can hear the animal need clawing at me with each inviting word. She seems to when she slides up against me, making me strongly consider pushing up her skirts and taking her right here. Right now.

  Heaven help me, the things I’m going to do to this woman. Thank God I have a lifetime to work through the list.

  I release her hand to pull a small folded piece of paper from my pocket. I slip it subtly between our palms as we continue to dance.

  Her eyes brighten. “What is this?”

  I grin, enjoying her curiosity and impatience. Both qualities make teasing her worth every ounce of restraint I have to exercise. I graze my hand across her back, over bare skin, before cinching our bodies tighter, making damn sure she can feel what she does to me.

  She exhales softly, and I can tell she’s as worked up as I am. She reaches for the note with the hand I’m not holding, but I extend our clasp away.

  “You can read it later.”

  “I thought we were getting out of here,” she says with breathy desire.

  I exhale a groan and drag my nose along her neck, inhaling her perfume. “We are absolutely getting out of here. But if you move away from me right now, everyone’s going to know that I’ve been thinking filthy things about my wife.”

  She smirks and flickers her gaze around the room as if she only now remembered we shared it with at least a hundred others.

  “Okay, then we should think and talk about something else before the song ends.”

  “Hmm. That’s all you. I’m a lost cause.” I really am. June has bewitched me—body, mind, and soul—from the day she walked back into my life.

  “I want pumpkins.”

  I tilt my head back, my eyes wide. “Pumpkins.”

  She nods. “It’ll be great to have them in the fall.”

  “Woman.” I sigh. She has had me on my toes planting new crops and changing things around for months. Patrons of the McCasker Farm will want for nothing, I swear.

  She sifts her fingers through the hair at the nape of my neck, distracting me from mentally sorting out how and where I’m going to put her pumpkin patch. Because I’ll give her whatever she wants, for as long as I’m breathing.

  “All right, June. If you want pumpkins, I’ll grow you pumpkins.”

  She smiles broadly. In an instant, all the work I’ve just committed myself to is instantly worth it.

  “I found a recipe in Haidee’s cookbook for pumpkin pie. I’ll make you some the first chance I get.”

  “Sounds delicious,” I say. Then I kiss her again, slowly, tenderly, and with only a fraction of the passion I plan on showing her later. “I may think of a few other ways for you to thank me too.”

  JUNE

  When the song fades out, I make a bolt for the wedding party table while Kase wanders through the ballroom doors and out of sight. I don’t know what he’s up to, but I can’t wait to find out.

  I take a gulp of my water, because I’m parched and roughly a thousand degrees after that dance with Kase. My forever lover. My husband. I let a giddy smile take over. Knowing I’m officially married to the love of my life is so much more than a dream come true. It’s a blessing I’ll always cherish. A gift I’ll always hope to reciprocate by giving my gorgeous husband more loving than he can handle.

  With that in mind, I unfold the piece of paper in my hand and begin to read.

  June Bell McCasker, queen of my heart…

  By the time you read this, you’ll already be my wife. We will have laughed, danced, and maybe even cried. I will have shared you with our friends and family, watching you glow like the beacon of pure happiness that you’ve become for me. We will have said our vows, but I will have wanted to say so much more. Because words will never be enough, I will have wanted to seal it with more than a kiss…

  If you’re reading this now, it means I can’t wait another minute to steal you away. Meet me by the bridge in 20 minutes.

  I love you.

  Kase

  Good God, how am I supposed to wait that long? I’m already bouncing in place, anxious and fidgety when Julie comes up to congratulate me. She’s had so many glasses of champagne that she easily makes me forget the time with her rambling. Fifteen minutes later, not trying to seem too eager to break away from her tearful reminiscing about our friendship, I hug her tightly and disappear from the bustling ballroom as discreetly as I can.

  Downstairs, the patio spans the width of the hotel. I hear an engine hum in the distance. I ditch my wedding shoes and run toward the sound. When I cross the bridge, Kase is there in a golf cart, a bottle of Dom between his thighs and two flutes in one hand.

  “You look like you’re up to no good,” I say with a laugh. “Where did you get that?”

  He smirks and shrugs. “I borrowed a bottle from the bar in Eve’s. I’m sure your dad will forgive me.” He extends his empty hand toward me. “And you look good enough to eat. Come on.”

  I climb into the cart with him without delay, because I’m all about no good right now. Kase had me pegged for sure.

  I take the glasses from him so I can hold his hand as he drives. “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see.”

  I’m bouncy and anxious when, a few minutes later, we’re nearing the grove. The steady rush of the falls can be heard in the distance. My belly flutters with anticipation when we step off the cart, and Kase leads me toward the path up the falls lit by dozens of tiny tea lights.

  My jaw falls in awe. “Kase.”

  He doesn’t speak. He just guides me carefully up the smooth flat rocks until we’re at the very place where he’d kissed me all those years ago.

  He takes the glasses from me and sets the champagne aside before coming back to me. The clusters of lights at the top cast a glow over us, making the mist from the falls look like a million particles of fairy dust dancing in the air. He takes my hand and tugs me closer. I look up at him, breathless and more in love than I ever believed possible.

  “This is incredible,” I say.

  Because in this moment, he’s the old Kase, the mysterious boy I always wondered about—the one who chased me up the falls to kiss me the way he’d always wanted to, working his way into my heart so thoroughly that I had no choice but to wait for him to come back to me.

  As if he’s reading my every thought, he cradles my face in his palms. His eyes search mine. “This is when I knew,” he says. “The minute I touched you, I knew you owned me.”

  I cover his hands with mine. “And now you own me too.”

  He bows his head until our foreheads touch. I can feel his shallow breaths, warmth mingling with the cool misty air.

  “Thank you,” he whispers. “For making every new day the best day of my life. For trusting me when I was too scared to trust anyone.”

  My heart is bursting. Aching with pure happiness. Unshed tears sting behind my eyes, but I’ve lasted all day without ruining my makeup. There’s only one way I want to get messy, and that’s with Kase, our bodies entwined, embedded, joined in per
fect abandon.

  “Kiss me, Kase. More than kiss me. Make me yours.”

  With my invitation, he crashes his lips to mine. No longer tender. No longer teasing and sweet. He leads a frenzy of desperate touches with his mouth, and then his palms feverishly seek more of my flesh. He walks us backward to where a couple of cushions and blankets are spread out. He’d come up here in anticipation of this moment, which makes me want it so much more.

  He sits down, guides me so I straddle him, and wastes no time finding his way up my fluffy skirts.

  “Fuck,” he groans when his fingertips reach my bare sex.

  A secretive smile curves my lips. “You didn’t think I’d make an exception today, did you?” As soon as the negligée portion of the pre-wedding photos was over and the dress was in place, I’d quickly ditched the satiny panties, hoping that by the time the night was over, Kase would know I’d been this way all day, waiting for a moment just like this. “I wasn’t about to let you ruin a beautiful pair of panties by tearing them off me like a savage.”

  “Oh, and I would have. They would have been shredded,” he rasps, sealing our mouths in another greedy kiss.

  I don’t have to beg or work his cock free from his tuxedo pants. He’s ahead of me, moving quickly to spread me under my skirts and guide me down onto his length. He binds us one searing inch at a time before punching his hips up. Again and again, harder and deeper until my cries of ecstasy fill the night air. They’re made of the sweetest satisfaction, the deepest love, and every ounce of gratitude that’s collected inside me over the course of this incredible day.

  “I love you. I love you so much,” I say, winding my arms around him with no plans to ever let go.

  “I love you, June. I will always love you.”

  KASE

  A year and a half later…

  I wake up from a nap and check the clock. It’s well past noon, and for a split second, I’m in a panic that I’m late to milk the cows. But now that we’ve downsized the dairy operation, my time is dedicated to the fields. That and making my wife happy, one special project at a time. I spent the morning planting more bulbs in the backyard. In the spring they’ll sprout up around an oak tree that June likes to sit under on sunny afternoons with her lunch.

  She said my mother, wherever she is, probably would have loved that spot, looking over the pasture and the fields, the barns and rows of tiny white cottages. Even though it still hurts, the fact that she left and never came back, June’s rekindled a little bit of hope that love exists inside the absence. Love and probably fear and regret. But mostly, hopefully, an enduring love. Wherever my mother is, I hope she knows we’ve made a home for her memory.

  I pour a cup of coffee and go out onto the back porch to survey the fruits of my labors again. In the distance, June is walking up from the field, holding an enormous pumpkin to her hip.

  “Goddamnit.”

  I put my coffee down and sprint to meet her. I’m out of breath when I get to her.

  “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  I scoop the pumpkin away from her and she sighs with relief instantly. “Thanks, honey. I found the perfect one, and I knew I’d never find it again in the patch, so I just had to bring it home.”

  “Baby, you cannot be carrying twenty-pound pumpkins across fields. You’re carrying enough as it is.” I caress over the swell of her belly and lean down to kiss her forehead. She smells like the field. Like fresh country air and fall leaves, all the things our guests come to Falls Edge to experience on their weekends away from the city.

  She tilts her head up and finds my lips, pressing herself into me even though her belly keeps us from getting as close as we once were. Being eight months pregnant with our son hasn’t slowed her down from moving or fussing or working just as much as she used to—a fact that bewilders and infuriates me at times.

  “Come on,” I say, taking her hand. “You should get off your feet.”

  She frowns. “I’m fine, Kase. Seriously. Plus, I still need to make those apple pies for the farmers market tomorrow.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’ll make the pies. You can give me instructions.”

  She huffs out a sigh but doesn’t argue. I smile, because for now I’ve got my way. We walk together toward the house. The oak tree and the lilies and the back-porch swing come into clear view. Beyond, the mountains in all their quiet wonder frame the picture of our home. In that moment, with my wife by my side, carrying my future inside her, I know without a doubt that all my dreams have come true.

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  Chapter One

  Madison

  Pop!

  My heart leaps at the sound. A rush of fizz pours from the top of the champagne bottle, dousing my hands. I curse inwardly and mop the mess off the counter. Not bothering with a glass, I take the bottle with me to the couch and curl up for another quiet night in. I flip through the channels and settle on a made-for-TV movie. All I need is a pint of Ben & Jerry’s to complete my look as a miserable divorcée.

  I thought when all the paperwork was finalized today, something would change… I would change. I was no longer Madison Cleary, the wife on the arm of a rising star. I was officially Madison Atwood again. The new Madison should feel happy and relieved and free. But something about this celebration feels so incredibly empty.

  I close my eyes and exhale a tired sigh.

  Goddamn him. As hard as I try, I can’t seem to let go of my anger.

  Rejection. Hope. Failure. Determination. Yes…determination is here and fighting for ground too.

  I put the bottle down and reach for my laptop. The Internet has answers and surely this isn’t the end for me. The failure of my marriage has been a devastating blow, without a doubt. But I can’t let my famous and infamously unfaithful husband—ex-husband—jeopardize my future.

  Sometimes it feels like he’s everywhere, though. Clients, gigs, and friends still exist in our shared circles. If I ever want to feel completely myself again, I need a break. I need to get away from LA, the whispers, and the chapter of my life that I’d just signed into the past.

  A trip to Baja, maybe. Meet a sexy, rich producer who would blacklist the fucker I’d stood by so faithfully through his rise to fame. We’d sip expensive champagne and eat just enough decadent food to fuel our back-to-back sexcapades. And of course we’d kill time in between by frolicking in the clear blue ocean.

  I let that fantasy play out for a few minutes before tugging my thoughts back to reality, or at least a more realistic getaway. The last few months of marriage to Jeremy and the subsequent months negotiating our divorce had produced the most anguished dry spell I had experienced since high school. Jeremy and I had met as naïve, fumbling teenagers. We’d been together ever since. I’d been stupid in love with him then.

  The memory hits me, but the pain hits me harder—deep in my gut, before it travels up my esophagus causing a painful burn. All those memories are tainted now, and I hate him for that more than anything.

  Maybe it won’t always be this way. Maybe one day I’ll heal. He’ll be a memory, but a distant one. I won’t always feel this way…

  Emotionally charged, I start a new search for spa retreats. As much as I wish I could fuck the feelings away on a tropical island with a beautiful stranger, I know no good will come from that. I need a real break. Something restorative. Something that can heal all the tears in my heart.

  The first few search results return locations in northern California. Far enough from LA, but close enough that I could come back for work in a pinch. I click through website after website. The options are either too dated, too crunchy, or tout a brand of spirituality I’m not ready for. I don’t want to be converted. I just need some quiet time, maybe a few massages, and some fresh mountain air.

&n
bsp; Pure determination brings me to the second page of results. I click on the website for Avalon Springs Retreat. My heart lifts and brings some hope up with it. Avalon Springs is basically a spa in the mountains. Home-cooked meals, yoga classes, a few outdoor excursions, and big blocks of time meant to help people re-center. The owners look like legit hippies. The accommodations appear clean and comfortable. And it doesn’t seem like a convoluted tourist trap for the prima donnas I’m hoping to take a break from.

  I check my schedule, ignore the pricing—because I deserve this no matter the cost—and book a four-week stay.

  Today I am Madison Atwood, and the next chapter of my life is going to start at Avalon Springs.

  “Here’s your room key. You have a king suite in the Olive Annex, which is that way. It’s only the next building over, so you’re not far from the dining room and the classes.” The young girl with flawless skin and thick blond dreads points to the front entrance of the retreat. “Every Saturday we do an orientation session here in the main house. That’ll start in about an hour.”

  “An orientation?” I lift my gaze from the paper nametag where Indigo is written in sloppy script to her pale gray eyes.

  She smiles loosely, as if she hasn’t experienced an ounce of tension in her life. “Yeah. It’s kind of like a meet and greet. You’ll introduce yourself to the other residents, do some breathing exercises and stretching, and Vi and Lou will talk a little bit more about the springs.”

  “Great,” I mutter, not bothering to disguise my lack of enthusiasm. I doubt this easy-breezy flower child will pick up on it anyway.

  I tuck the cool metal key into my back pocket, a small sign of my commitment to this getaway that I already fear is a complete and utter mistake. The reception area is noisy as a pack of people linger outside what appears to be a yoga class. Or maybe it’s the beginning of the orientation gathering. Anxiety hits and the familiar burn in my stomach follows.