The Virgin Secret (A Dad's Best Friend May December Romance)

by Lila Younger

  I could get used to the idea of ‘us’, and that has me happy as I wake up.

  This Saturday morning is no different. When I open my eyes, there’s the scent of coffee in the air. Making breakfast for me has become Mark’s thing, and I love it. It makes me feel loved and pampered, like a princess. Sometimes he brings it to me in bed if I’d stayed up late studying and slept in. Today though, he’s still cooking and clattering downstairs, so I pull on one of his shirts, button it up a little, and pad downstairs.

  “Morning,” I say as I put my arms around his waist and breathe in the smell of him. He’s walking around in just his sweatpants, and I put my cheek against his warm back, feeling him move and flex. “What’s for breakfast?”

  “I attempted French toast,” he says, bringing my hand up to his mouth for a kiss and gesturing over at the plate of rather soggy looking bread. “Key word is attempt.”

  I poke it a little.

  “Looks undercooked,” I comment. “Actually, did these get cooked?”

  I flip one over and raise my eyebrows. It’s completely burnt.

  “How did you manage to both over and undercook this?” I say with a laugh.

  “I don’t know,” he says sheepishly. “I think you might have to tag in on this one. I’m almost through the whole loaf.”

  I peek at the counter. He’s right. I give him a fake exasperated sigh and bump him away from the stove with my hip.

  “Come on then,” I say. “Hand over that bread.”

  Mark gives me a kiss on the side of my head and relinquishes the spatula. I get busy trying to save the rest of our breakfast, but I can feel him looking at me.

  “What’s on your mind?” I ask him. He’s leaning against the counter, a half smile on his face as he watches me.

  “I feel like I’m looking at our future,” he says. My heart does a little jump at the word ‘our’. “I like it a lot.”

  “What? You mean how you’ll burn breakfast and I’ll have to fix it?”

  “More like you wearing my shirt and nothing but my shirt in the mornings,” he says, then he gets serious. “Taking charge of what we do best for each other in our life.”

  It’s getting serious again and I don’t know what to say. My mouth is dry as a desert suddenly. I want to think up something light and funny to say to defuse the moment, but Mark seems to realize that I’m not ready.

  “I was actually thinking maybe we should get out of the house today if you don’t have too much work,” he says changing the topic. “A friend of mine mentioned that there was a spring festival at the city park if you want to go.”

  “Sounds good to me,” I say, glad that he gave me an out. “I’ll bring my supplies. I haven’t had a chance to draw or paint anything in ages now.”

  I slide the French toast onto a new plate and bring it over to the island. He pours me a cup of coffee, adds in the creamer and brings it over. I spin back around to the fridge and pull out the syrup for Mark, while he goes to get the powdered sugar in the pantry for me. We move in sync, not needing any words at all.

  After breakfast, I quickly get ready so that we can head out. It’s a weekend, and the festival is going to be super busy too I bet. I look forward to it though. How long has it been since I’d put pencil to paper? At least a few months now. I think. Ever since I realized that I want to draw more than I want to do school. I’d put away my supplies so I wouldn’t be tempted to quit. I was very close to getting my degree, and I couldn’t afford to lose my concentration.

  Drawing, painting, creating were things I’d done all my life. One of my earliest memories was of me scribbling my crayons all over my bedroom wall. It had been so much fun, covering up the boring white with color and more color. As I got older, I started to branch out. I tried making friendship bracelets, pottery, dying clothes, baking... but I always came back to drawing and painting. It got me through the painful high school years, when two moves forced me to start over and made sure that I never really had a friend. Sometimes I wondered if I’d have the guts to go through with going to art school instead of becoming a doctor, but I always chickened out before clicking the apply button.

  Anyways, I thought as I threw my sketchbook and some paints into my purse, it’s not like I can do anything about it now. The deadline’s passed already.

  Mark hollers from downstairs that he’s going to the car, and I hurry to change into something. Since it’s going to be so nice out, and I won’t have to straddle the bike, I decide to wear a white lace sundress, with a cobalt blue cardigan and a red skinny belt. I’ve got the prettiest floral flats on too, and overall it looks perfect for a date. My light brown hair falls around me in waves, and I feel confident enough that I don’t need more than a swipe of mascara and blush to go out. Mark tells me he likes me natural, but I want to step it up a little when we go out. That way it’s only him that gets to see me without makeup.

  I head down and see that Mark’s already got the Jeep started so I climb in quickly and we set off. Until now we’ve always taken the motorcycle when we have to go to school, so it’s a nice change. I see a little Celtic looking cross dangling from the rearview mirror and lean forward to take a closer look.

  “This is pretty,” I say. “It’s Celtic right?”

  “That’s right,” Mark says as he pulls out of the garage. “My family’s from Ireland. Cork to be specific.”

  “I didn’t know that!” I exclaim. “Have you been back there? You don’t have the accent.”

  “That’s because dad came over when he was twenty or so. Almost all of my family’s back there though. I’m due for a visit soon. I think one of my many cousins is getting married next year.”

  So that’s where he gets that dark hair and mischievous smile from! I wonder what else I don’t know about him.

  “Tell me more about you, “ I say, taking a hold of his hand. “I’ve known you all my life, and it feels like I already know the essentials, but there are definitely lots of important things I feel like I don’t know.”

  “Like?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Your favorite food for example. Your favorite movie. If you’re scared of heights.”

  “Whatever you make. Pulp fiction. And nope, cause I’m not scared of anything.” He flashes me a smile and squeezes my hand. “We good?”

  “I’m being serious,” I say. “I want to know more about you.”

  “And you will,” he says facing the road again. “It’ll happen naturally.”

  “You don’t have anything you want to know about me?” I persist, turning around to face him as we hit the red light. Mark considers this.

  “There is one thing. What sort of art are you doing these days. You mentioned paper and paint. Is that what you’ve decided to focus on?”

  “I like landscapes. Sort of like you I guess. There’s something very peaceful about it, and it’s nice to be able to take my time to draw. I’ve been doing a lot of watercolors because it’s so easy to take around with me, but maybe one day I’ll have a proper studio or art room and I’ll be able to break out my oil paints.”

  Mark nods along for a minute, then decides on something. We’re moving again, but instead of heading towards down town like he’s supposed to, he does a turn at the gas station.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  “I’ve got a better place for us to go to than the city park. We just need to pick up a few supplies first.”

  **********

  We’re almost an hour outside of town when Mark finally turns off the highway and onto a gravel parking lot. We’ve picked up some picnic food, and he’s taking me to the lake where he took the photo hanging in his study. As soon as he told me his plans, I get excited, my hands itching to begin. He tells me that that was the very first photo that he sold that proved to him he could become a success. He’d been coming to the spot for most of his life, and it was a place that he came to when he was making the decision between becoming what he wanted, a photographer, and what his parents wanted for him
.

  Hearing how similar his story is to mine cheers me up a lot and makes me feel less alone in my own struggle. I still have so many questions, so much uncertainty about what I want to do in life, but Mark is showing me that it could be done. It’s not a bad choice to want to go for what I wanted.

  There were only two other cars parked in the lot. It’s usually a lot busier, Mark tells me, but he thinks that everyone decided to go to the spring festival instead. We get out and start walking, but halfway up the trail to the beach, he pulls me along to a smaller, almost covered path.

  “This way,” he says. “This’ll lead to my secret beach.”

  I follow along behind him. This path, if you can even call it that, is covered with fallen trees, steep hikes and tons of bush and bramble. I’m starting to think we’re lost, but after only five minutes we emerge in a small clearing. The public beach is cut off by a piece of land jutting out into the lake, and the little cove that’s created feels completely private and our own. Mark puts down the food and unfurls the large blanket he took from the backseat while I kick off my flats and wander towards the water. It’s warmer than I thought it would be, and just like in the photo, it’s crystal clear. I can see the rocks below, stretching all the way out to the middle of the lake.

  “This place is amazing,” I say as I head back towards Mark on the tiny strip of beach. “How did you know about this?”

  He points up to where the land sticks out into the lake.

  “I was on the main beach when I saw that and thought it’d be a good vantage point. It took me a while to hike up to it, but once I did, I discovered this on the other side. It’s perfect isn’t it? Our own private beach.”

  “It makes me want to go swimming,” I say. “It’s so nice and warm.”

  “Swimming? We didn’t bring our bathing suits.”

  “Who says we need that? There’s nobody here,” I say coyly. It takes a second for him to catch on, but then his eyes widen and he’s smiling too.

  I undo my belt and shrug off my cardigan, then pull the dress over my head by the hem. I’m wearing a delicate pink bralette and panties, his present to me two days ago. Mark pulls me close to his hard, toned body, wrapping his arms around my waist and giving me a kiss. It starts off sweet, but there’s an undercurrent of need, and our kisses get more passionate, my hands grabbing onto his shirt to pull it over him, his roaming across my body. I can feel his erection through his jeans, sliding up against my thigh.I can’t believe he wants to do it here, out in the open, but the idea is exciting too. I don’t think anyone knows about this place, but they could, and it makes our movements more frantic, more urgent. I’m already soaking wet and desperate for release.

  Mark’s hands tug down my panties, and then he cups my ass and hoists me up around his waist. His mouth is all over my skin, my neck, and I have to clutch onto his back as he staggers and pushes me up against the tree. The bark is rough, but I don’t care, I’m too preoccupied by his cock, which he frees with one hand and pushes into me in one swift stroke. I start to scream his name, but he’s kisses me again to muffle me, because we’re not too far from the other beach, and there’s definitely at least a few people who would hear me scream and come running.

  Hands roam across my breast, rubbing the nipples through the lace until they’re hard peaks begging for attention. Pleasure runs like a current through us as he enters me again and again, each thrust pushing me against the trunk of the tree. There’s power behind every stroke as he almost completely leaves me before slamming his full length into me again, as though he’s got all the time in the world. I close my eyes, giving into him entirely, letting him take me however he wants to. My breathing is jagged and shallow, my mouth moaning sounds to beg him to keep going. I have to grab onto his shoulders, hold on tight to stay afloat, because I’m already so close. The familiar tightening in the pit of my stomach rises up to the surface and I close my eyes shut, blotting out everything but the feel of his cock inside of me. I can feel Mark tensing up too, moving faster and faster, his thrusts slamming hard against my clit as I surrender to my orgasm and tighten around him.

  “Hailey!” he groans into my neck as he comes deep inside of me, filling me up with his seed.

  I have no idea how he manages to stay standing, but he does, supporting my trembling body as we ride out the pleasure together. Slowly I relax, first my toes, then my legs, and finally the rest of me, and he gently carries me over to the blanket. I can feel him, still half hard as he pulls out and puts me down. My chest heaves from the intensity of my orgasm still. Who knew it could be so hot to have sex outside?

  “You are beautiful like this,” he murmurs. Mark is on his side, resting on an elbow. He goes still suddenly, his gaze intense.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Just memorizing everything about this. It’s perfect. I should have brought my camera.”

  “You know what I don’t understand. How you’re still single,” I murmur as I let my fingertips trace a pattern over his bicep.

  “There hasn’t been anyone like you Hailey,” Mark says, his voice grave. “Believe me I tried. You were young, only eighteen, and I thought that if I left, maybe I’d be able to put you out of my mind. I never could. Nobody even comes close. I resigned myself to being alone.”

  His words lights joy inside of me, and for once I let myself enjoy it.

  It’s an intimate moment, broken up a second later by his stomach rumbling. We both laugh. I guess one piece of French toast isn’t enough for a guy like Mark. He rifles through the paper bags, putting our lunch out while I lie back on the blanket. I can feel him trickling out of me, and I know that I need to make sure I hit up the pharmacy tonight or tomorrow. For now though, I’m going to enjoy the sun on my body, a swim in the crystal clear lake, and a lazy afternoon of sketching and painting. Maybe another round with Mark in between. Or two. I was discovering that for him, sex was something to be enjoyed and savored over and over. It was never a one time thing, hurriedly finished to satisfy a body’s urges before falling asleep like the stories Jen and Lexie tell about their nights with the boys at university. Maybe that was the difference. Mark was a man, more experienced and more sure than any of those boys could be.

  “You don’t mind that we’ve missed out on the festival do you?” he asks, breaking into my thoughts. He kisses me tenderly up between my breasts to my mouth.

  I don’t think I’ll miss the spring festival one bit.

  Chapter 8

  Mark

  I’m happy that my idea of going to the lake has the desired effect on Hailey. After that weekend, I start noticing her drawing again. Sometimes it’s a quick little sketch on the margin of her notes. Other times I see her doodling on the back of the napkin when I come back with drinks from the bar. She’s even started up a drawing Instagram to keep up her daily practices she says. The change is remarkable, and more than just creating a habit, she seems looser and happier too. Like drawing has woken up something inside of her again that’s been sleeping for too long.

  But there is more that I want to do for her. She’s not going to art school because the deadline has passed, but if I can get her portfolio to someone, and they accept her, then art could be a viable choice for her. I wasn’t sure at first, but seeing how much joy even a little bit of drawing does for her, I want to do what I can to make her dream come true. In the almost three weeks that she’s been living with me, she’s completely changed my life. Never before had I felt so at ease with a woman.

  What Joanna had said about me was true. I’d been around a few times. But it wasn’t because I only enjoyed the thrill of the chase. Most of the time, it was because the women enjoyed being with a famous photographer, a rich land developer, rather than with me. They liked the spotlight, and they really liked the money. Sometimes it was like they liked that idea version of me rather than the real thing. Because I’m not that guy. Not really. Sure I liked to take photographs, and yes, I invested my money into land because I wanted to ensu
re a good living for myself, but that’s hardly all there is to me. I’m happier than ever before. She deserves the same.

  So I email Ben, an old friend I know on the board at Westchester School of Art and Design, one of the top schools in the nation. I get straight to the point. They’ve been asking me for a while now to take a spot lecturing about photography, so it’s really to everyone’s benefit. All I ask is that they take a look at her portfolio; if they don’t see the promise I do, then at least she can go into medicine knowing she gave it a shot. I figure that it’ll take a few days for him to get back to me, but I get a call a half hour later.

  “Hello Ben?” I ask.

  “Hey Mark. It’s Keith, not Ben. I’m calling from the cruise. We’re going to be coming home in a week, and we’ll be driving right up from the airport so we can find Hailey a new apartment and get her out of your hair. We really appreciate what you’ve done for her by the way.”

  Hearing his voice makes my stomach drop to my feet. My sudden good mood evaporates and I’m scrambling to process the information he’s telling me.

  “Keith, it’s good to hear from you. How’s the cruise?”

  I’m trying to stall, because the last thing I expected was a call from Hailey’s father. To be honest, I’ve been so happy that I’ve conveniently forgotten all about the fact that what we have going on isn’t exactly kosher. I really don’t want to lie to my best friend, but at the same time, I know that telling him now would ruin his vacation. And our friendship, most likely for good. No, it would be better if he was here in person so that I could explain things properly. Maybe go over with Hailey how to approach things.

  “The cruise is alright. Everything’s overpriced of course. We’ve just left Rome and let me tell you, their pizza is all wrong. Nothing like what we have back home. And the drivers are crazy.”