11
Nina
He cleared the table in seconds flat.
He told me to strip to nothing as he left the room.
I did, anticipation rushing over my body as I removed my clothes, setting my glasses on the end table in the living room.
When he returned, one hand behind his back, I wore only my birthday suit, and his eyes shone with ravenous lust as he stared at my breasts for the first time.
He drank me in with his dirty gaze. As his eyes traveled over me, I felt consumed. Devoured.
To be wanted like this was wholly new.
And absolutely incredible.
“You are so unbelievably beautiful,” he said in a smoky rasp.
“So are you,” I whispered, and the admission surprised me. I’d always known he was handsome, but this time I felt it. I felt it in my core, in my heart. I experienced the attraction to him, and it didn’t scare me. It thrilled me.
“Get on the table. On your back, dirty girl. Spread your legs open for me. Let me see if you want a gift or not. If you don’t, I’ll just leave.”
I gasped, and pleasure ripped through my body as he taunted me. I wanted his gift. Wanted it terribly. And I didn’t want him to be disappointed in what he saw. Heat pooled between my legs, making me wetter.
I perched on the edge of the table, like I was posing. I wasn’t going to scoot unceremoniously or climb like a dork. I knew how to pose, how to move. And I could adjust myself too.
Like that, with my body long, I leaned my head back, letting my hair cascade down to the table, my neck stretching. I could no longer see him, but I could hear him.
His noises were animalistic. Groans of admiration.
I felt sexy as he stared at my body while I moved like water, fluidly, lowering my back, sliding along the table, stretching across it, like I’d encouraged my clients to do.
My back bowed, and I raised one knee.
A new wave of pleasure washed over me from the pose. It was a familiar boudoir shot, a woman all curved and sensual. But I was on the other side of the lens and he was the camera. He gazed at me like a man possessed.
Then he spoke, low and powerful. “Touch yourself, so I can taste if you’re ready for me to stay.”
My hand slid down my body, and I stroked myself, bucking the second I made contact with my sensitive flesh. It was torture and relief at the same time—all I wanted was more touch, more contact.
I held out my hand to him, and he stalked over, grabbed my wrist, and licked my finger. He moaned as he sucked off my wetness.
“Good,” he growled, then he returned to where he’d stood in full view of me. “But that’s not enough.”
“What else should I do?”
“You know what to do, dirty girl.” He parked his hands on the edge of the wood, his stare hot, branding me. “Show. Me.”
I quivered.
Vulnerability rippled over me as I lowered my hands between my legs, setting my palms on my thighs. But with vulnerability came something new—possibility.
By offering myself, he could give me what I craved.
I opened my legs wider, parting them with my own hands. Like I was offering him my body, my desire.
And the evidence of it.
For the briefest of seconds, he closed his eyes, like this was all too intense, seeing me like this. My worry spiked.
“Adam,” I whispered, my pitch rising.
His eyes snapped open. “We’re good, Nina.”
I relaxed again. That was all I needed in these moments when the games, the fantasies became too much for me. When he shed that rough exterior and returned to the man I knew, the man I trusted. I had his assurance, and I was good too.
He shifted once again to the after-dark alpha who enthralled me.
Like a predator, he surveyed his prey. I was the hunted and I wanted to be ravaged. Stepping closer, he moved his hand from behind his back and dropped a hard black item and a small bottle onto the table.
I gasped. I’d known what was coming because it was my fantasy, detailed in black and white in my notebook, but I didn’t know how he pulled it off. “That’s not mine. How did you get that toy?”
“Amazon Prime. Two-hour delivery. Came this morning when you were in the shower. Now let’s get you coming on my mouth, dirty girl.” His hands circled my ankles, and he pushed my legs apart even farther. “Stay like that. I don’t want you to move. Are we clear?”
I nodded. “So clear.”
“Keep your hands on your thighs. Keep your legs spread nice and wide.”
“Yes,” I said, tingles spreading over my body as I grew wetter, hotter.
Then he bent his face to my ankle, pressed a kiss there that sent sparks across my whole body. My God, if a kiss on my ankle did that to me, what would happen when his face was between my legs?
I’d have the answer in seconds, because he traveled quickly, licking a line up my calf, over the back of my knee, along my thigh. He reached my hand, kissing me there before coming close, so damn close to where I wanted him. But not all the way. He flicked his tongue inches from my core, then moved to the other side, licking down my leg.
I was shaking from the pleasure.
He hadn’t even put his mouth on me, and I was trembling with need.
“Please,” I murmured.
“Beg for it.”
“Adam, please. Please touch me. Please go down on me.”
“Use your words,” he instructed. “Use your dirty words.”
I breathed in deep, and then said words I’d only said in my fantasies. “Please eat me. I’m begging you. Go down on me, and fuck me with your tongue.”
In a second, his face was between my legs, and I moaned so loudly I was sure Miss Sheridan would wink at me later, tell me she’d caught my cries on her downward-facing-dog video.
I didn’t care.
Because I was having something spectacular for the first time.
This was why women loved being eaten.
It was decadent.
Adam’s tongued lapped me up, his mouth caressed me, his fingers stroked me. He ate me and kissed me and lavished pleasure all over my wet, aching center.
“Yes, please. Oh God. Adam,” I said, writhing and arching against him, keeping my hands on my legs the whole time, as he’d told me to.
How had I missed out on this for all these years? This was better than chocolate, better than music, better than the sexiest photos I’d ever taken.
I was having what my clients were having, I was sure.
And Adam was taking me, eating me like I was the best thing he’d ever tasted.
I was close, so close, and as pleasure coiled in me, I was terrified for the briefest of seconds that I’d come too hard, too loud.
“Adam,” I cried out, my voice breaking. “I’m about to come.”
He stopped. Instantly. “No.”
I trembled, staring at him, the pending crush of pleasure threatening to take over. “No?”
“Beg me,” he said with narrowed eyes. “Beg me to let you come.”
With my hands on my thighs, I spread my legs even wider, my climax fighting to break free. I had to come. I needed the release. “Please let me come, Adam. Please. I’m begging you.”
“One more ‘please.’”
“Please!”
He returned to my sex and the second his lips were in their rightful place, I detonated. I screamed. I rocked and writhed and came harder than I’d ever come before as white-hot pleasure ripped through me. I was seeing stars upon galaxies of stars.
And it wasn’t stopping.
Nor was he. He slowed his pace, but kept licking, kept kissing. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I registered a sound. A bottle being opened. A squirt.
He pulled his mouth away. “Keep your hands on your thighs. I’m not done with you.”
Shuddering, I whispered, “Yes.”
Then I felt his fingers traveling lower, farther. When he reached my ass, he pushed, and I tensed. “
I’ve got you.”
And oh yes, did he ever have me.
He pushed the tip of his lubricated finger into my ass, and I squirmed, letting out a yelp. “Adam, Adam, Adam,” I panted, my voice rising because as much as I wanted this, as much as I trusted him, his finger was entering my rear, and this was also very much virgin territory.
“Do you need me to stop?” he asked, stilling himself.
I drew a breath, shook my head. “No.” Then, louder this time, I told him exactly what I wanted. Because this was on my list too. “I want you to keep going.”
“That’s my girl,” he said, praising me as he pushed his finger deeper. He pressed a kiss to my sensitive clit, and my hips rocked up in pleasure.
“So nice and tight,” he murmured against me as he stroked inside me with his finger. “Have you taken anything in your ass before, sweet girl?”
Sweet girl.
He’d used that nickname for the second time, and somehow it felt fitting as he touched me there. I loved that he still saw me as sweet even as he explored all my entrances.
“Yes. Just a plug though,” I admitted.
“Good. This will feel so much better,” he said, slowly easing out his finger.
I craned my neck as he reached for the black vibrator, hit the on button, and pressed it against my ass.
I jerked, a wave of lust spilling over me as he slid the tip of the toy against my ass.
“God, yes. That’s so good.”
“It’s going to be so damn good when you beg to come again.”
That was all he said, because he silenced himself with me. His lips returned to my swollen center, his tongue flicking my clit as he pushed the toy deeper into my rear.
The twin sensations—penetration and filthy kisses—sent me into the stratosphere in seconds.
Lust rocketed through me, and I became a wild woman. Swallowed whole by pleasure, I gave in to the crush of sensations. To the waves of desire flooding my body. I felt tight and hot on the vibrator and wet and soft on his mouth.
And I felt bliss.
Tingling, delicious bliss racing across my skin.
I was close again, and I remembered the rules.
“Adam, let me come.”
He growled against me. He didn’t even have to say a word. I knew what he wanted me to do—what I wanted to do.
“Please,” I keened as I reached the edge, and he sent me over, driving me into ecstatic oblivion with toy and tongue.
I was in another world, another land, and I floated there on a sea of euphoria for minutes.
I was nothing but breaths and pants and contented moans.
And as I came back into my body, I was vaguely aware that it was my turn, that I wanted to do something for him.
But he rose, placing a finger to my lips as he shook his head. “I know what you want. You can suck me off when I come home from work.”
“Yes,” I said, because that was my answer to everything with him. A loud, reverberating yes.
Then he took me to the shower, stripping off his jeans, turning on the water, and scanning the shelf quickly. “Do you have a shower cap? So you don’t get your gorgeous hair wet?”
I laughed softly. “No, I don’t have one. I use hair ties. On the vanity.”
He stepped out of the stall, giving me a bird’s-eye view of his sculpted ass. My friend had a fantastic body. One I wanted to lick and kiss and bite. He reached for a tie on the vanity then returned to the shower, shutting the glass door.
He proffered a black band for my hair, and I smiled as I looped up my brown locks in a messy bun. He murmured appreciatively.
Then he washed me.
He was attentive, soaping my shoulders, my back, my belly, and making sure my messy bun didn’t get wet. That was no easy task, but he pulled it off. A little thing, but I was grateful, because no woman wants to do her hair twice in an hour.
He let me take my turn, soaping his strong arms, his chest, his carved abs.
We were quiet in the shower, wordlessly caring for each other. Showing a new type of touch—one I hadn’t foreseen when I penned my list. Care.
Questions swirled in my head. Where did we go from here? Did this mean something different? This surprisingly tender moment in the shower? When touch was no longer sexual, but still intimate in an entirely new way?
I had no answers, and I didn’t want to ask him, but I could feel those questions echoing in my head, a space that was already filled with so many unknowns.
After, when he was dressed and ready for work, my uncertainty descended again briefly. Should I kiss him goodbye? Walk him to the door? I wasn’t sure what we were supposed to do next or how we should behave. But I remembered our breakfast and how easy it was, and I returned to that. To us.
“Thanks for breakfast. Best I’ve ever had.”
“Funny, I was going to say the same about my dish,” he said with a wink.
My heart warmed. We could do this. We could be us.
But the moment was broken when his phone rang.
12
Adam
Brandon’s face appeared on my phone as The Rolling Stones’ “Start Me Up” blasted.
He’d picked that tune. It was his favorite, and it was our anthem during college. The Friday night song, we’d called it, before we hit the quad for parties, pool, and whatever else we could find when it came to festivities.
I slid my thumb across the screen, answering, “You can’t resist me. Admit it. This is the second time in less than twenty-four hours you’ve called.”
“Yes, that’s it, Adam. I can’t stay away from you,” he said, and his eyes drifted to Nina at the edge of the screen. “Bonjour, Mademoiselle Nina. Ça va?”
She laughed, rolling her eyes. She didn’t know Brandon well, but she’d met him a year ago when he was in town. “Do you actually speak French now?”
I shot her a knowing look. “Remember last time Brandon was here? He tried to pick up some gals from Montreal using his French skills, and he failed abysmally.”
“Is that so?” she asked. I liked that she was chatting with him on this call, even briefly, because she was normally reserved with people she didn’t know well. Brandon fell into that category. But here she was, by my side. That was a sign that she wasn’t weirded out by what we’d just done. She was still herself with me, and that reassured me that we could work through her list exactly as we intended to.
Brandon cleared his throat. “Ahem. It wasn’t my French that failed me. Don’t you remember?”
I smacked my palm to my forehead, recalling how his pickup attempt went down—in flames. “That’s right. It was your radar that failed you. The Montreal gals weren’t in Vegas for the boys. They were in Vegas for the girls.”
“All the more reason why I was trying to insert myself into their lady sandwich,” he said, flashing a grin, keeping it light, as he always did. I knew better, but I also knew this was how he operated. How he had to operate.
“Dream big, my friend,” I said, then shifted gears. “To what do I owe the pleasure of an early morning phone call?”
Brandon furrowed his brow, casting his gaze from Nina to me and back. “Isn’t it eight-thirty where you are? I know you two are like Batman-and-Robin kind of close, but I didn’t realize you were hanging out in the bat cave that early.”
“For the record, I’m not Robin, and besides, this is my bat cave,” Nina said, arching a brow over her glasses. I reined in a grin, both from the comment—because who in their right mind ever wanted to be Robin?—and also because she looked badass in her red-as-sin glasses and with that sharp stare in her brown eyes. And tough, too, with her whole photographer look in full force this morning. Dark jeans, black boots, and a wine-red shirt. Biker chic, and did she ever wear it well.
She wore everything well, including her kinks. To think the woman who’d been my friend and neighbor had been hiding this fantastic secret these last few years, and I didn’t mean her virginity. I meant her appetite in bed—she was
a little bit submissive, a lot kinky, and all kinds of dirty.
My kind of woman.
And I was the only one who knew about the other side of Nina.
“Fine, you can be Catwoman and he can be Batman. How’s that?” Brandon asked, and his tone was still inquisitive, but I doubted he wanted to know what we thought of his superhero assignments. The way he glanced from Nina to me and back again suggested he was still trying to get a read on us. “Anyway, what are you two comic book characters up to?” he asked.
Nina smiled for a sliver of a second, like it escaped her lips and she had to catch it before it sprinted away from her. Then she schooled her expression, but I could read between the lines. She was keeping our little tryst a secret, and relishing, too, that we were having one.
Same here.
I reveled in our secret.
“I’m on my way to work, and Nina is too,” I said to Brandon, giving the simplest reply. “And to answer your other question, you nosy bastard, I’ve been staying with Nina for the last few nights, since my place is being painted. What’s up with you? I need to head to the car, so I don’t have long.”
“Funny, I don’t either. I have a few meetings, then I have to pack because I happen to have a plane to catch . . .” He let his voice trail off, like he had something up his sleeve.
“Where are you headed?”
He took a beat. “To Vegas, as a matter of fact. And if you play your cards right, I just might let the two of you take me out for a night on the town. How’s that for generous?”
I grinned. “That’s great that you’ll be here.”
Nina leaned in close. “We’d love that. We’d be happy to see you. You have to join us.”
“We?” Brandon’s eyebrows shot into his hairline. “Are you two a we and I’m just learning now?”
The smile on her face disappeared instantly. She blushed, turning the shade of a fire engine. She pressed a hand to her cheek and stepped away from the frame, whispering, “Sorry.”
The Virgin Gift Page 7