Claiming His Virgin In the Ring

by Cassandra Dee

  And that thought pitched me over the edge. I might never see my lover again. I might never see the man I adored, I’d never feel his hands on me again, much less look into those clear blue eyes. Crumpling at the kitchen counter, I absolutely lost it, chest heaving, head in my arms, wailing like a siren. God, what a mess! I cried for everything I’d never have, everything that would never come true, there was no fairytale ending to this story.

  But at that moment, my cell rang, the buzz insistent. I let it chime for a minute, ignoring it, the table vibrating as a cheery song, ringing insistently. And with a resentful swipe, I picked it up and answered.

  “He-hello,” I sobbed, trying to hide my tears. “Hello?”

  Angie’s voice rang out, loud and clear.

  “Hey girlie,” she sang. “Long time no talk. How’s it hangin’?”

  I let out a snort then, half laugh, half sob. It’d been a week since I’d gone to the party, and so much had changed, yet my friend knew nothing. All she knew was that I’d disappeared, probably thinking I’d gone home and gone to bed, the old boring Marie.

  So my breath hitched a little.

  “Hey, I’m okay,” I lied. “How are you?”

  And Angie took off at a million miles an hour.

  “Honey, that party was so awesome, did you have fun?” she chirped. “Oh my god, I met so many men, it was incredible, I gave my number out to like ten guys.”

  And I giggled blearily despite myself. That was amazing, we were forty year-olds and I felt like giving your number to one guy was pretty good. Hey, age bias runs deep, old ways of thinking are hard to shake even though I was being biased against myself in this case.

  “That’s great,” I said, blowing my nose. “Did any of them call?”

  Angie squealed then.

  “You know it! Three of them did, and honey, I’ve been going on dates every night of the week. In fact, sometimes I go out twice per night. Isn’t that incredible? I’ve been forcing myself to eat two dinners, it’s so hard with all that food, but it’s worth it, it’s sooo worth it,” she cooed. “These guys are amazing.”

  I giggled again, wiping my nose and letting out another huge honk.

  “That’s awesome Ang, I’m so happy for you,” I said into the phone, trying to sound peppy and supportive. “It’s so great that you found people, don’t worry about the two dinners, just don’t eat dessert.”

  And Angie chortled happily on the other side.

  “I know, I really got lucky at the party, I’m so glad we went,” she giggled. “But what about you Marie? I didn’t see you after twenty minutes, what happened? Did you go home? Or did you,” and here, her voice lowered, “did you go home with someone? Meet someone for a hot night of no-no?” she asked wickedly.

  I laughed then. Because yeah, Trent and I had done anal our first time, did that count as a “hot night of no-no”? But even worse, I’d fallen in love with the alpha male, completely lost my heart to the big man, and was only worse for the wear now. So I laughed, a little brokenly, and sighed into the phone.

  “Well, I’m not sure if I did any ‘no-no,’ but I met someone,” I admitted.

  Angie squealed then.

  “Oh my god, you did? Don’t say it was that fat blonde guy I saw you talking to. Honey, you can do better than that, that dude’s the type who goes to nude beaches even though he has a tiny pecker. That kind of guy, you don’t need,” she proclaimed authoritatively.

  And I laughed for real then. Because where did Angie come up with this stuff? A nude beach? A tiny pecker on a nude beach? I giggled again before saying, “No, not that guy. I met someone else, someone amazing in fact …”

  And Angie cut me off.

  “Oh my god, that’s so great! What’s his name? What does he look like? Where does he work? Tell me everything,” she rushed.

  Taking a deep breath, I braced myself. I wasn’t sure I could do it, the pain was so fresh, the wound still tearing me apart inside. But I’m not a fan of bottling things up, and it was time to let go. There was no hope for me, the show was over, so I may as well let it out now, this was a good time as any. Taking a deep breath, I recounted my tale to Angie, describing how I’d met Trent, fallen in love, and how our time together had been so meaningful, so life-changing, transforming me from plain old Marie into a woman of the world, a woman who appreciated life and everything it had to offer.

  “So that’s great!” chirped Ang at the end of my story. “But I’m confused. Are you seeing him or what?”

  I shook my head with frustration, tears welling in my eyes.

  “No, we’re done. He’s done, he’s gone,” I said, the words so painful to speak, each one lancing through my heart.

  But Angie wasn’t so sure.

  “But how do you know? Don’t you have his number? Why do you say it’s over?”

  And I sighed again.

  “Because, Ang, we agreed on one week together, nothing more. And that week’s done, he’s gone. Left without saying goodbye in fact, no note, no nothing,” I added softly. Of course, I blushed remembering Trent’s semen, the warm cup of jism waiting for me, but that hardly seemed appropriate to add.

  But my friend was on a different level. She snorted, a weird sound of exasperation and hilarity.

  “A one-week pact?” she asked drolly into the phone. “What, are we in seventh grade where we do pinky promises? Did you cross your heart and hope to die? Stick a needle in your eye? Is that it?”

  I grew red then, even though she couldn’t see.

  “No of course not,” I said, a little stung. “It’s just, well you know, we said one week, and the one week ended.”

  But Angie wasn’t taking that as an answer.

  “Girl, this isn’t the Dark Ages, you can call, you know,” she said. “You sound so sad, why don’t you make yourself feel better? Just call to say hello.”

  I was taken aback.

  “And say what?” I huffed, my heart beginning to speed, my breath coming fast. “What could I possibly say?”

  “I dunno,” replied Angie airily, “but it sounds like you guys really got along, that you were never short on words. Just give him a call and feel it out, go with the flow.”

  I choked then.

  “But Ang, did you hear what I said? Trent’s my son’s age. In fact, he’s my son’s best friend, it’s so wrong.”

  The blonde laughed again.

  “Honey, that was the best part. That was the most awesome part of the whole thing, that you hooked a man half your age, that you turned his head, made him want you, and by the sounds of it, made him love you too. Who cares if he’s your son’s age? What, he’s got a career, he’s got his own life, it’s not like you’re picking up a kid.”

  And I was stunned silent. She didn’t think I was some gross cradle robber? But Angie wasn’t done yet.

  “Besides, if you’re some old witch, then what am I?” she asked. “One of the men I’m dating is eighteen,” she confessed wickedly, her voice lowered. “Grant’s eighteen, he’s so hot, so amazing in bed, I forgot how good a younger man tastes,” she purred into the phone. “So if you’re a cradle robber, then I’m robbing in utero, my new guy’s barely a baby.”

  I choked then.

  “Eighteen, really?” I croaked. “That’s barely legal.”

  “I know,” said Angie smugly. “But it’s legal. Barely legal, but legal still.”

  And my head whirled. Oh my god, we were both cradle robbers. My friend and I both, we were cougars preying on young men, robbing them before they reached maturity. But something about that description was wrong, flat out wrong and even silly. Because although I couldn’t speak for Angie’s boy, I knew Trent was nothing of the type. My man was self-assured, charismatic, he knew what he wanted, a man with a purpose and meaning to life, a confident spring in his step. I was no cougar “preying” on some helpless victim. Trent would never be a victim, he was too alpha, too sure of himself.

  So my voice wavered as I spoke again.

 
; “But Ang, don’t you feel guilty?” I asked tremulously. “And don’t forget, Trent’s my son’s friend, it complicates everything.”

  But Angie just pshawed.

  “Honey, you don’t give these guys enough credit,” she admonished. “Seriously, your son is a grown man. Robbie. Is. A. Grown. Man. He can handle it, he’s not some middle school boy who’s upset that his parents are divorcing. And if I remember, Robbie’s been telling you to get out, he wants you to be happy, find someone new. And if it’s with his best friend, then all the better. He knows both of you already, it simplifies everything.”

  But I shook my head.

  “No, I don’t think this is what my son had in mind,” I said slowly. “Robbie wants me to date, yes, but not so close to home.”

  “Home, schmome,” scoffed Angie. “Your man is traveling all the time, your son is at college sixty miles away, nothing is close to home, honey. Trust me Marie, you’re being too hard on yourself. The smallest challenge pops up and immediately you’re a damsel in distress thinking, “This’ll never work.” What never was going to work was your marriage to your ex, honey, marriage to that loser was going to work, I could have told you that before you married Rob. But this? This is different, there are no rings yet, there are no promises. So just give it a try, darlin’, give Trent a call and see what happens.”

  I laughed then, a small half-laugh, half-sob into the phone. Because Angie and I have been friends forever, she’d seen me through my marriage and divorce, through the highs and lows, the rollercoaster of life, and knew me better than almost anybody. And her solid support, her reassurance, the bulwark of strength, gave me so much confidence, pulling me through a tough time, a ray of hope in the darkness.

  “Maybe,” I murmured into the phone. “Maybe.” I wasn’t making any promises, this was too much to take. But Angie was all over it.

  “Good,” she encouraged. “I’m hanging up now so you can call him.”

  I squealed.

  “Ang, no, not yet! Right this moment? No, I’m not ready.”

  My friend chuckled, rolling her eyes, I could hear it even through the phone.

  “Okay, not this very second then,” she agreed lightly. “But tomorrow okay? Call him tomorrow. Imagine that voice, his voice speaking into your ear, saying “Marie.””

  And although it sounds lame, I swooned a little. I imagined Trent’s voice in my mind, the deep, soft velvet, how he’d whispered my name to me while we were in bed, how he’d muttered my name into my folds while licking my pussy, how he roared my name as he came, his dick hard in my butt. Oh god, everything about him made my heart beat fast, my pussy moisten.

  So I had to do it. Even if all it did was cause me more heartache, I had to talk to Trent again. I had to see where this would go, where it could lead, and maybe, just maybe, we might have a future. After all, what was there to lose? I’d stepped out of my cocoon once, and it had brought me true love. If I stepped out again, what might happen? I wasn’t sure, but as I bit my lip, my heart pounded even faster thinking to the conversation ahead. Because I had to talk to Trent again … my love, my life, my everything.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Trent

  Shit, I was exhausted. Traveling is one of the best and worst parts of the job. On the one hand, you see new cities, places you’d never go on your own dime. On the other, it’s fucking exhausting when you’ve got a full schedule, training during the day and then a game at night, it wears you out, grinding until you fall into bed, weary and spent.

  And lately, I’d been the club hermit. Sure, the other guys sometimes drank at the bar or visited the local strip club, but these were young dudes with the energy to party, to find chicks, to hook up with the inevitable groupies at every stop. But for me, it’d lost its allure. There was only one woman on my mind, one woman who ruled my thoughts, her face dancing before me whenever I closed my eyes and I couldn’t do anything but think of her. Shit, I’d spent the last week holed up in my room after practices, ordering room service, acting like a fucking dirty old man as I stroked one after another out, lusting after Marie.

  And it was more than lust. I loved that woman, I absolutely adored the ground she walked on, the brunette ruled my heart, mind and soul. And yet here I was, alone every night. What the fuck. WTF, seriously, my life was a fucking mess.

  So I snorted angrily, striding through the hotel lobby. This sucked balls, my life sucked balls despite the fact that we’d had an awesome game, my stats were sure to improve given the bases stolen, the runs I’d batted in. I should have been on top of the world but instead, I was fucking miserable, ready to bark at anyone, ready to snap a couple necks if need be.

  And that’s when I saw her. The brunette stood by a console in the lobby, looking uncertain, chewing her lip but oh so beautiful. Marie was a breath of fresh air, her face open, innocent, that curly brown hair hanging over her back. Oh god, how I wanted to wrap it around my dick again, pull it tight as she came hard, wrenching her backwards as her pussy convulsed for me. But what the fuck was she doing here? We were in Detroit and plane fare’s not exactly cheap.

  She caught sight of me then, and my body went from alert to fucking red alert, triple self-destruct. Because shit, I’d forgotten how compelling she was in person, those big brown eyes wide, making my soul melt, how her breasts heaved, huge and bouncy beneath her sweater. And in two steps, I was before her.

  “What are you doing here?” I ground out. Shit, that sounded rough, like an angry bear so I cleared my throat. “What brings you here?” I managed more normally. God, I hope I hadn’t scared her away already.

  And her eyes flickered to me, hopeful and tentative.

  “Hi Trent,” she murmured softly, biting her lip once more, highlighting that perfect peachy pout. What I wouldn’t give to push her to her knees, right here, right now, and have her suck me off, I needed the woman that bad, absolutely craved her loving. But I made myself stay sane.

  “Marie, fuck it, let’s go up to my room,” I said roughly. I couldn’t help it, my nerves were shot the moment she appeared, a jangling mess of shit. But I didn’t want to scare her with the cave man act, so I tried again. Taking a deep breath, I smiled although that too, was a little forced.

  “Marie, let’s go up and you can tell me everything,” I tried in a more neutral tone. “Alright? This isn’t the greatest place,” I rumbled, gesturing to the random passerby, the usual tourists going in and out.

  And the brunette bit her lip and nodded, flushing softly.

  “Sure Trent, no prob,” she said, reaching down to grab a small bag at her feet.

  I stood stock still. Holy shit, that was an overnight bag. Where was she staying? Here? At the hotel? With me? Or was she getting another room? Shit, I had no idea, the blood coursing through my veins but I couldn’t stop to think, couldn’t stop to hope. With a grunt, I reached forward and took the bag from her, like it weighed nothing.

  “After you,” I said, nodding to the elevator, and the woman moved forward, her round form lush, swaying with every step. I groaned internally again, shit I needed her and that ass beckoned to me, the heavy heart-shape, the white orbs mountainous and fleshy. I needed to be in her again, feeling that hot, dry channel gripping me, hearing her moan as she rode my dick with her anus.

  But shit, we were so far from that it was laughable. Because I still had nothing to offer Marie, nothing that a woman of her stripe would be happy with. Despite my amazing performance on the field lately, I was still a penniless ballplayer, chasing a dream, something that had one in a billion chance of happening. Because there are so many dudes in the minors, a shit ton of us playing junior league at the local community field, killing ourselves, hoping to catch the eye of the scout, waiting for some big team to call. But you know what? It happens about never. Sure, we all knew one or two guys who’d moved up, but that was one or two guys from the thousands in the crowd. And they’d been signed to week-long contracts, it wasn’t like they’d hit the majors for good.

&n
bsp; So I was still me, an itinerant journeyman, peddling my wares, trying to find a buyer. And Marie deserved better than that. She deserved a billionaire, a man who could take care of her so that she’d never have to work again, she could eat bon-bons all day and lay on her back, taking long baths and reading novels in bed. That’s what I wanted to give her but I didn’t have it. I didn’t have it, and it killed me, coming up short when I wanted the best for my girl.

  So my mood darkened, deepening into self-loathing as I opened the door to my room. No frills here, just your usual commuter hotel, a big double bed, a TV and a desk. There was no seating area, no free Wi-Fi, and the mini-bar was shit as always. But I offered her a drink.

  “Whiskey? Beer? Wine? Or there’s some sparkling water,” I grunted, striding across the room.

  And the brunette nodded, murmuring “Water please,” before seating herself gingerly on the bed. Gone were the days where we would have been all over each other in an instant, tearing off our clothes, my dick buried deep in those soft folds at the drop of a hat. Instead, we were practically like strangers, her movements tentative, mine rough to disguise the hatred I felt for myself. Fuck, I was such a loser, I wanted nothing but to sweep her off her feet and yet here we were in this dingy hotel, awkward and uncomfortable.

  So I cleared my throat again.

  “What brings you here?” I asked roughly, expressionless. “What bring you to Detroit? You have business?” I couldn’t imagine it, unless nurses traveled across state lines now.

  And Marie shook her head.

  “No, not exactly,” she said hesitantly. “Well, a little,” she admitted. Oh fuck, I had been wrong. The brunette did have business, she wasn’t here to see me, and my heart plummeted.

  “A conference?” I asked. They did those medical conferences all the time right? Where pharmaceutical reps chatted up doctors, that sort of thing. But Marie shook her head.

  “No, not exactly,” she murmured again before taking a deep breath. “Trent, I came here to see you,” she said with a whoosh, lifting those big brown eyes to me.