by Lacey Silks
My First, My Last
by Lacey Silks
Kobo Edition
Copyright 2012 © Lacey Silks
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be constructed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
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ISBN-978-0-9878772-8-4
Widowed two years ago, Rose is ready for a new relationship. She’s considered following her heart to look for the man she made love to for the first time but her ex’s frivolous lifestyle has kept her from finding Jake in Venice. When she opened her front door, he was the last person she expected. Now, as he stands on her doorstep Rose needs to decide whether to give the man who took her virginity a chance at a life together. While her mind tells her to be careful, her body longs to be taken by him once again.
There’s nothing more that Rose wants than for her first lover to be her last.
My First, My Last is an Erotic Romance short story, approximately 5300 words (250 words/page). Contains adult content and graphic sex scenes.
CONTENTS
Beginning
Middle
End
About the Author
More work by Lacey Silks
Connect with me online
To all our firsts
***
The full moon shone through the black leaves above our heads. The aroma of apples in the orchard wafted on the light breeze. I knew it must be after ten because I’d left my aunt’s house at a quarter to, and the walk took just under fifteen minutes. We’d been standing in an embrace for longer than that. Meeting Jake every day was a necessity. Any minute away from my boyfriend was a wasted one. I needed him like I needed air. Each morning, I ran through the yellow grain field to meet him right after breakfast. A last kiss goodnight stolen in the evening meant I’d sleep well, dreaming of him.
My aunt wouldn’t be upset if I missed my ten o’clock curfew, so I continued to enjoy Jake’s warm embrace, letting my head rest against his steady chest. Only two weeks of our summer vacation remained before I would fly back home overseas with a heartache, more than four thousand miles away from Jake. For the next ten months, I’d write him letters, telling him about school, my friends, how much I missed him and loved him; and most importantly, how many days remained until I saw him in July. This was our second summer together—out of many more, I hoped.
My heart pounded. I took a deep breath and lifted my head.
“I want you to be my first,” I whispered against Jake’s lips. The apple tree gave enough shadow from the moonlight to cover my heated cheeks.
He pulled away just enough for the moon to light his face. His mouth curved up with an innocence of a sixteen-year-old boy. I knew my decision meant as much to Jake as it did to me. Jake loved me, and there was no one else I would ever love more than him. Ever. This was it.
“Really? Are you sure about this?” He took me by my shoulders.
“I’ve thought about it for ten months. It’ll happen eventually, and I want it to be you. At least I know you love me.” The confidence in my voice surprised even me.
“Of course I love you. I’ll love you until I die. You just made me the happiest man on earth.” He pressed his lips hard against mine. His shorts filled at their front as he glided his hands to the small of my back, pulling my pelvis toward him. The bark of the apple tree scraped my neck, and I arched my back toward him.
“Tomorrow night. Meet me here at nine thirty. I know the perfect spot.” He nuzzled his nose into my hair.
We kissed for another fifteen minutes before I ran off toward my aunt’s house. Jake followed me, as he always did when we returned from the orchard, like a gentleman. One last kiss goodnight and I snuck up the stone stairs. I looked back just before Jake’s highlighted hair disappeared around the corner, then leaned back against the wall to calm my heavy breaths.
Yes, Jake would be my first.
Twenty years later
I had imagined this moment for more than twenty years, even secretly while I was married. The boy with blond highlights and a loop through his left earlobe hadn’t left my mind for over two decades. But now that Jake stood at my doorstep holding two dozen roses—not a boy but a man—I didn’t know what to say. I let my experienced eyes scan him from bottom up without him noticing. The washed-out jeans and new black sweater suited his physique. His subtle cologne didn’t completely cover the smell of the store’s fresh clothing. My thoughts became lewd and dirty in an instant, but that’s because I’d had them about the first man I’d made love to for twenty years.
It seems like yesterday. I swallowed through my dry throat.
But I had only known him as a teenage boy, not as a man. I often wondered whether his kisses would be as tender as they were when we were teens. Did I want them tender, or as rough as I’d imagined, ones that would penetrate my core and satisfy me for hours? I doubted I could get enough of Jake. If his teenage inexperience was any indication of his future sexual abilities, then I was sure Jake could satisfy my needs and desires.
We locked our gaze for a few minutes. I’d never forgotten the way those blue eyes pierced my soul. He was clean-shaven, but I pondered whether the day-old stubble would tickle me when he roamed my body. The roughness of his jaw line and defined cheekbones made my mouth dry up even more. Perhaps it was because I was no longer a girl and had unsatisfied needs. A shiver flew through me when I recalled my lustful dreams of us together, as a man and a woman, and I finally got the courage to speak.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“I’m sorry to hear about your loss.” He handed me the bouquet. The deeper tone sent another wave of jitters through my body.
“Thank you.” I stared, wishing I’d worn something sexier than sweat pants and a tank top. “What loss?”
“Your husband. May I come in, Rose?” he asked.
The sound of crickets chimed in the distance.
“Yes, of course.” I gestured for him to enter. The way my name rolled off his tongue brought back memories from the orchard. When his back was turned to me, I tugged at my ponytail and pulled the elastic off my hair. It fell to my shoulders, cradling my cheeks. After locking the door I turned on my heel to face him again. “Jake, it’s been two years since my husband passed.”
“I needed to see you.”
Needed.
“You did?” The memory of the girl in the orchard rushed through me. Vulne
rable and open to anything he’d suggest. If Jake were to throw me on the hall floor and had his way with me now, I’d be in heaven. My knees felt as weak as cotton balls. I bit my bottom lip and knew my eyes had softened.
Jake looked as good as I had always remembered. A little taller than the last time I’d seen him, his arms muscular and chest high. The ruffled hair suited him much better than the mullet he used to wear.
It’d be fun to run my fingers through his hair, maybe pull on it a little.
I felt a lump in my throat, and my breath quickened. I hadn’t been with a man in three months. At my age, sexual needs drove me to the brink of a breakdown. When they said women in their thirties were in their prime, they weren’t lying. There was only so much that my fingers and a vibrator could accomplish. My body was starving, but I couldn’t imagine a man from twenty years ago filling the need that tickled me between the legs and wet my underwear, could I? Of course I could! Making love to Jake would be exactly that, because I had never stopped loving him.
I shook my head to get back to reality. What was I thinking? Why had seeing him created such an overwhelming rush of emotions?
I crossed my arms over my chest, realizing I hadn’t put on a bra this morning and that with the thoughts that were running through my mind, my nipples had ripened to their fullest. Thankfully Jake had turned away.
“Is this a good place to talk?” He pointed to the table in the dinette.
“Let’s go to the back.” I gestured toward the patio door that led to the private back yard. The house was set on six acres of land, secluded in a clearing of a forest just outside of town.
Jake must have jumped the front gate.
We stepped out to the back. The wicker patio set included a double lounge. I’d pictured us on that mattress several times in the past few months. My wanton thoughts always wandered back to Jake, especially in the past three months of torturous abstinence. I wasn’t ready to give in to my new boyfriend, the first serious one since my husband’s death – or perhaps I didn’t want to. Secretly, I’d wanted to make a trip to Venice before making any commitments, so I could perhaps run into Jake. But I hadn’t spoken with him since my husband’s passing and didn’t even know whether he still lived there. Rushing off to see an ex-boyfriend just after my husband’s passing might have rubbed my family the wrong way.
“Please, have a seat. Do you want anything to drink?” I asked, noting my glass of red wine on the patio table. The dozen candles scattered around the patio glowed in the night.
“No. I’ll try to make it quick.” His brisk tone surprised me.
Quick? You just got here!
“Why? Are you in a hurry?”
“No. But I’m afraid that if I don’t say what I should have said twenty years ago, I’ll lose my nerve and lose you again.”
“Oh.” I plopped down in the chair beside him. Yes, I was brave enough to be this close to Jake. I didn’t want to lose him either. The moment I opened the door, I knew I wouldn’t let him leave. Though I hadn’t seen him for twenty years, my heart beat as strongly in Jake’s presence as it had the day we parted. My feelings for him had never changed.
“Do you live here now?” I asked. Jake and I had been on different continents most of our lives. It’s what had kept me away from him: distance. Should it have? Should we have worked harder to be together? With my legs curled under me, I sat crossed-legged. The cool air felt liberating when I opened my legs. The tingling had become unbearable, and a bit more freedom would cool down the urge below my navel. Or so I hoped.
“No. I’m still in Venice.” We had corresponded before my husband’s death, as good friends. He’d given me advice, and I’d helped him through his divorce. I had always felt guilty during my marriage for keeping in touch with a man who owned a piece of my heart, but there was no other way. Jake would forever be in my life, no matter whom I was with.
I’d had a happy and fulfilling marriage, and a wonderful career—but the heart doesn’t lie. Of course I loved my husband. But once a girl’s heart is stolen, it’s never returned. Jake possessed a piece of my heart, and he knew it. Was I still in his as well? Was there a chance his feelings for me remained, as mine had for him?
“Are you here on business then?” My chest tightened as if a stone were sitting on top of my lungs every second.
“No, Rose. I’m here to see you.” He locked his gaze with mine again. The clear eyes mesmerised me, and I wanted to get lost in them. I wanted him to be lost within me. I let my full breath out, feeling the tingle between my legs increase. Each word he spoke sent a shock through my body, right down to my sex.
Oh. He flew from Venice to see me...
“I shouldn’t have let you go. I lost years thinking about you and only you and how stupid I was to let you go.”
“It was a mutual decision. We were young. It wasn’t your fault,” I tried to explain.
He looked relieved. Was this really happening? The rational part of my brain argued that I didn’t know him. He was a man, not the boy I’d known.
I recalled our decision when I was sixteen to see other people. Our long-distance relationship had lasted more than two years, but being away for the next ten months proved difficult. And we didn’t know whether I could travel to Europe to see him the next summer. University was two years away. I had to work to save money for school. And so we’d decided to see how it went. See other people. Try to be teenagers on two different continents.
I’m so proud you’re going to university, I remembered reading in one of his letters. We’d continued our friendship through writing, until I met my future husband and made the decision to stop our correspondence. If I wanted to give that relationship a chance, I knew I had to stop writing to Jake. It couldn’t be any other way for me. My heart needed to heal and fall in love with someone else. I was certain if this new relationship didn’t work out, I’d go back to Jake. This was the last chance I’d give my heart to fall in love with someone else, and it did. I didn’t write to Jake again until after I was married.
“No. I shouldn’t have let you go.” He shook his head. “I was too stupid and young and afraid to tell you how I felt, and then you met Tyler.”
I lowered her head at the memory of my deceased husband.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.” His hand came closer to mine, but we didn’t touch.
“It’s all right. Jake, before you go any further with this, I need to tell you I’m involved with someone.” I knew Jake had always appreciated my honesty. But would I push him away again? Would he let my new relationship grow, the way he had last time?
“Do you love him?” He put his hand on top of my palm over the wicker chair; the skin coarser than I recalled, but just as tender and warm. The heat flowed through my arm up to my bosom, and I remembered my hardened nipples.
Jake’s eyes sparkled, and I admired the dimple in his chin I fell in love with. I knew he had noticed my perked top. What man wouldn’t? I wiggled my fingers in his palm, wanting the feel the movement of his skin against mine.
“No,” I whispered, enjoying his touch more than I could admit out loud because I heard my voice tremble. “Jake, it’s been over twenty years. Why are you asking me questions like that?”
He suddenly moved his chair around, turning to face me. The edges of the front of the seat touched. Jake’s legs brushed against my knees as he spread them around my chair.
“I don’t make the same mistake twice,” he whispered, tucking my hair behind my ears on each side. “You’re even more beautiful than the last time I saw you.”
I concentrated on my breathing, because if I didn’t, I’d forget to inhale. Having Jake close to me felt like we’d never been apart. The twenty years seemed like minutes, and what had passed during that time didn’t matter, at least not now. Before we parted as teens, he’s said we’d find our way to each other if we were meant to be. Was this the moment he spoke of?
But Jake had a reputation I didn’t approve of. When I
thought about all the women who had drooled over him, who had lost their virginity to him, pleased him over the years, jealousy flooded through my veins. I had wanted to do that, and I wanted to be the only one. No, I didn’t really know him. I knew a boy, not this man who hypnotized me with lust the minute I opened the door.
I couldn’t help but admire Jake’s broader shoulders, defined chest, and the bulk at the front of his pants, which I was sure hadn’t started to grow yet. My current relationship was fresh and not going too well. Christopher was too self-obsessed. Honestly, I could wiggle out of it if I really wanted to. One phone call, that’s all it would take. But was I another one of Jake’s conquests? Another name to cross off his list, like I’d heard? He’d even confessed to me about being a maniac in bed, jumping from one woman to another, unable to find that perfect partner. And I wanted him to jump me and only me. Was I really ready for him?
Jake brought his face closer to mine. The moonlight touched his cheeks, and I recalled our night at the orchard. The night I told him I wanted him to take my virginity. And he did. He had taken me again and again and it was the one decision I’d never regretted. I’d lost it to my true love, and now I wanted to be with him more than ever. But was this too fast and frivolous? I didn’t seek out casual sexual encounters, though having him here made one seem more plausible than before.
Jake’s hands glided from mine to my bare arms, gently squeezing on their way up. He cupped my face and brushed his thumb across my lips while leaning in closer. The rational part of my mind clicked shut. I’d wanted to be with him again more than ever. And here he was. The moment I dreamed about was happening and I wouldn’t stop it. I couldn’t stop it.
My breath stopped and my heart thumped at an unbearable speed. Jake touched his lips to mine. They were as responsive as when we were in our teens. I remembered all his kisses and had even counted them until I reached a thousand. After then, I stopped counting because each one always felt like our first kiss. And so did this one.