by Celia Loren
I switch out my old razor blade for a new one, and slap some conditioner on my legs, figuring it'll help to get a close shave. I shave my calves and then my thighs, for a change, going all the way around. I pause as I stare at the mound of light brown hair between my legs. It's not like I haven't seen reruns of Sex and the City. I know what most women have going on down there.
I tentatively reach my razor down and begin narrowing the strip, then trimming down the hair. It ends up a little shorter than I intended, but I think it looks nice. I rub my thighs together experimentally, and am surprised by the buzz of extra sensation that spreads from all the newly exposed skin. I splash some water down there, wondering briefly how I know if I smell good, and turn off the water.
In the bathroom mirror, I examine my body as I dry off. I worriedly run my hand over my stomach for a moment, and then shrug. Jack's already seen almost all of me already, so it's not like there will be much of a surprise. As I head into the bedroom, I wish for a moment I had some nicer clothes to put on, but again, he's already expressed definite interest, so it's not like I have to impress him or anything, right?
I pull on my underwear and some old cotton pajamas, then cover up with a long-sleeved denim shirt. I turn off the lights in my room and close the door after me as I head into the hall. I think my mom and Ray are asleep, but I want to make it look like I am too, in case anyone comes to check on me. I walk down the hallway, passing the foyer and stopping at the stairs up to the third floor, where Jack's bedroom is. I rarely go up to the third floor of the house, considering it to be Jack's territory, and I've never even been inside his bedroom, though I did glance inside it during my first tour of the mansion.
I place my right foot on the first step and slowly ascend. The interior decorating choices on this floor are lighter, more airy, lending it a feeling of existing in the clouds even though the hallway is on the leeward side, without views of the ocean. I pass a casual sitting room and stop in front of the next door, Jack's bedroom.
My palms begin to sweat and my heartbeat jumps in my chest. What seemed so possible and even reasonable in my bedroom now seems frightening in this dark hallway. I look down and study my toes, wiggling them against the cold marble. I'm not committing to anything by just knocking, I remind myself. I can always back out.
I raise my hand and softly knock. I wait, but can't hear anything from the other side of the door. Maybe he's asleep. Maybe he didn't mean tonight. I hesitate, then raise my hand to knock one more time. The door swings open and I yank my arm down.
"Um, hi. I hope I didn't wake you up," I stammer, my mouth suddenly dry as I look up into Jack's face, his body silhouetted against the soft light from somewhere in the room behind him.
"Nope," he says, and pushes the door open, keeping his hand on it as he gestures me inside with the other. Our height difference is such that I don't even have to duck as I pass through into his bedroom. I glance around, fidgeting with the hem of my button-down. It's more of a suite than a bedroom, and it makes my room look tiny.
I hear the door shut and turn around. Jack's walking toward me with an expression on his face that makes my knees weak. I take an instinctive step back and hold up my hand.
"Wait. Some business first."
"Business?" he asks, looking amused.
"Business," I repeat. "Condoms. Always."
"Agreed," he replies gamely.
"We can both sleep with other people, but we have to use protection then, too."
"Agreed," he says again, though he begins to walk toward me. I lose my train of thought as he takes the bottom of his white t-shirt and whips it off over his head, tossing it onto a beige armchair as he passes it.
"And one last…one last thing…" I trail off as he wraps his arms around me and picks me up off my feet. Our eyes are suddenly level as I feel my feet dangle in the air. My breasts pillow against his pecs and I can feel our hearts beating against each other's.
"It can wait," he murmurs, his lips millimeters from mine. I don't have time to breathe before his mouth is on mine. I wrap my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist as my entire body responds to his touch. My lips open as his tongue presses against mine, his hands spreading across my back and then reaching up into my hair. I feel him begin to walk and then he gently lays me back against his bed. He's still on top of me, but making sure not to put all his weight on me.
One of his hands moves to the back of my knee and then begins to slide up my inner thigh, the cotton fabric of my pants bunching slightly. He shifts, moving his body a little higher on mine, and I can feel something pressing against my pelvic bone. His hips move, and I gasp as his erection grinds against me.
"I'm a virgin!" I blurt out, pulling my mouth away from his. He freezes.
Chapter Nine
"Very funny."
"I'm serious." He pauses, then straightens up, looking down at me with wide eyes. "It's not a big deal or anything," I rush on, "but I just thought, I mean you said honesty was important so—"
"You're a virgin?" he repeats.
"You really didn't even consider that as a possibility?" I ask, raising myself up on my elbows.
"I—well, now that you say it, I guess I can see it."
"I'm only eighteen," I reason defensively. "When did you lose your—"
"Fourteen."
"Oh. But it's not a big deal," I say again, as he moves away from the bed, drawing his hand over his face like he's just seen a ghost.
"It is a big deal, Bree! I mean, my first time was with a virgin, but that was different. I mean, this has to stay purely sexual."
"And it will," I reply with a shrug.
"It's different when it's your first time. You're going to get attached."
"No, I'm not."
"You will."
"I won't! My god, you're arrogant!" I exclaim, standing up and smoothing my clothes back out. "I mean, this is exactly why I won't get attached to you! Because you're so convinced I will!" To my outrage, he begins to laugh. "Oh, now I'm amusing to you? A second ago you were jumping away from me like I had the plague or something!" I storm toward the door, my cheeks burning with anger and humiliation.
"Wait, wait, Bree!" he says, grabbing my arm. I shake him off, but stop and turn around to face him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to laugh. It's just…you're so little, and you get so mad…it's kind of cute."
"That's insulting," I glower at him.
"Look, I'm just…I'm sorry I reacted like that. I was surprised. You're so beautiful, and I started thinking of you a certain way…we just have to slow down."
"I'm ready to have sex," I insist.
"Maybe you are," he concedes. "But what else have you done? Sexually, I mean?"
I cross my arms over my chest. "Well, you know, kissing," I murmur.
"OK…" A blush begins to spread across my cheeks. "Is that it?"
"I'm introverted, alright?"
He smiles. "Right. Is that why you were so embarrassed that I saw you naked? Because no one else…" I nod. "Well, what if we just took things step by step? And if you ever feel like you're getting attached, or it's overwhelming, you have to promise to tell me, and we'll stop."
"And you have to promise, too," I say, narrowing my eyes. "Don't act like this is a one-way street."
His mouth twitches but he nods. "Fine. I will admit that being the first to introduce you to these things does…interest me," he finally says, his eyes sparkling.
"So…what's the first step, then?" I ask, jutting my chin out and sticking my hands back down at my sides, trying to look braver than I feel. He grins and reaches forward, taking my hand and leading me over to the couch in the sitting area at the front of the room. He sits, and I sit next to him.
"I feel like I'm in high school again," he says with a smile as he leans in. He kisses me more gently this time, his tongue slowly working my lips open. His hand wraps around my waist, and I place mine on his shoulders. His tongue moves around my mouth, sometimes moving quickly, and other times t
aking its time to massage mine. I try to match what he's doing, hoping I'm doing it right.
I feel his hands move under my legs and he slowly picks me up and turns me ninety degrees before placing me down on his lap. I pick my knees up slightly and curl toward him, feeling his cock under me, but not as alarmed by the sensation. I gasp as I feel his fingers brush against the bottom of my shirt, pushing the hem up slightly. His fingers just graze the skin of my stomach, and I marvel at how responsive I am to his slightest touch.
His hand slides up under my shirt toward my breasts, and my body actually begins to throb. I feel like I'm one giant exposed nerve. His fingers open and slide around my nipple until it grazes against his palm. An ache forms there as my nipple hardens against his palm. I groan as he closes his hand around my breast.
He pulls his mouth away and kisses me across my cheekbone before pulling my earlobe into his mouth. His hand moves to my other breast, pinching my nipple between his fingers. My eyes are closed, and my lips parted, simply enjoying the pleasure coursing through my body. I stir. I don't want to simply receive, I want to learn how to give, too.
I turn my head, pulling my ear from his mouth, and kiss him softly on the lips before mimicking his move across my cheek. I taste his skin as I go, working my way over to his ear. I wind my tongue across its curves, and revel at the quick intake of air I hear him take through his mouth.
His hand glides off my breast and back down. My stomach clenches as his fingertips hit the tops of my pajama pants and keep going. They don't continue straight, though, but turn right and graze against my thigh. My hand moves to his shoulder and I dig my fingers into his muscle there as the ache that's been building up between my legs starts to become unbearable. I want him to touch me so much.
Just as I'm about to scream, he moves his fingers over, dipping them slightly into my wetness. My mouth falls away from his ear in shock and delight at the feeling. But then he moves one finger over my clit and I gasp, my back arching of its own accord as pleasure shoots through my whole body. His finger keeps circling as his other hand moves to my breast and he pulls my back against his chest. I feel his breath at my ear as our cheeks fall together.
"Tell me if you want me to stop," he whispers.
"Don't you dare," I manage to gasp out, and feel him grin. His finger moves faster, back and forth, and around. My eyes roll back in my head and my body stiffens. I catch my breath in my throat, feeling overwhelmed by the wave of pleasure that's building up inside me. What if it takes me away? I feel his hand move from my breast and he spreads his huge palm across my heart, holding me back against me as though he's keeping me safe.
"Relax, Bree. Let it happen," he murmurs. The tension in my throat releases, and I gasp in a fresh breath of air. Almost simultaneously, my lower back arches and an orgasms rips through me, extending from the tips of my toes through every last hair on my head. His hand stays on my chest through every spasm, until I finally relax back against him. Only then does his palm slide away, reappearing a moment later against my cheek, turning my head so that he can softly kiss me.
I open my eyes and see his pale eyes staring straight back at me. I blush, and suddenly have the desire to pull my shirt down. I've never felt so vulnerable.
"You're embarrassed," he notes, his expression inscrutable.
"Yes," I admit in a whisper.
"Maybe now you're glad we didn't jump straight to sex," he says, raising his right eyebrow ever so slightly.
"Maybe," I reply, resting my head against his. "But can I…" I begin, twisting my body so I can lay my hand on his stomach before sliding it downward. He stops it with his other hand.
"Tonight was just about you. Plus, hand jobs aren't really my thing," he says with a grin.
"But you will teach me how to do your thing?" I ask, regarding him seriously. "Because I want to know that when I get into a real relationship I'll know how to—"
A wicked smile spreads across his face. "Oh, don't worry about that. By the time I'm done with you, you're going to be a fucking expert."
Chapter Ten
I glance nervously between Andrè and Silvio as they approach me behind the bar during a lull in service.
"Bree, we have to ask you about something serious," Silvio says. I clear my suddenly dry throat. Shit, do I seem different? Is it possible that people can actually tell that I had my first non-solo orgasm last night? And that it was from my future stepbrother?
"Is your mom gonna sell the place?" Andrè asks. They wait for my answer, hands folded over their white aprons.
"Oh! Oh my gosh, for a second—never mind. No, no! Why would you think that?"
"Well, she married a billionaire. We figured…"
"She'd never sell ABC Diner," I assure them. "Building this place up saved her. And besides, you really think she'd do that without letting you guys know?"
Silvio shrugs. "Rich people are crazy," he tells me flatly. "You never know what they're going to do. And your mom, and you know I love her, but now she's one of those rich people."
"She is not!" I defend her, as though they've called her a bad name. "Wait, you don't think of me like that, do you? Like I'm gonna turn into some stuck-up crazy rich person?"
"You? No, never. But just in case, we're hanging onto those eighth grade graduation photos of yours," Andrè says with a delighted grin as they head back into the kitchen.
"You did not keep those!" I call after them. "You know we couldn't afford the smaller braces!" I close my eyes, trying to banish the thought of my cheeks, still chubby with baby fat, surrounding my crooked teeth with braces on top and bottom. Maybe being an introvert isn't solely to blame for the fact that I've held on to my virginity.
I take a rag and absentmindedly wash down the bar as the front door dings with incoming customers. Am I a member of the one percent now? Surely having a bank account with three digits in it means I can't be, but I do live in a mansion. I pull my notepad out of my pocket as I put the rag away and head for the table that just walked in. I'm just a few feet away before I realize who it is.
"Miles, hi," I say, pulling my pencil from behind my ear.
"Hey, Bree," he replies in his quiet, hoarse voice. "I forgot you worked here."
"Oh, right." I flip my pencil between my fingers nervously. "So, how are you?"
"You know, good…"
"You have a job at a photography studio, right?" I ask. Shit. Is it creepy that I know that? He didn't tell me himself, I only overheard him talking about it with his friends.
But he doesn't seem phased. "Yeah. Honestly, it's a lot more grunt work than I thought it would be. Running errands, measuring chemicals…pretty boring. But you have to start somewhere, right?"
"Yeah, that's what they say. So, what can I get for you?"
He eats his lunch by himself, and we make small talk every time I go over. I'm still too nervous to actually make a joke or say anything intelligent, but it's by far the longest conversation we've ever had. When he leaves, I give him a small wave, then quickly turn around to hide my giddy smile.
On the drive home, or back to Ray's house, I turn the conversation over and over in my mind. Did I smile too much, or not enough? Should I have been more forward? Maybe thrown in a casual, "come back anytime?" I have to admit I did better with him than I have any other time, though. I hope he comes back.
When I head into the house, I can just hear voices emanating from the kitchen. "I'm sorry you had to see it," Jack is saying as I walk in.
"Shouldn't you tell someone in the league?" my mom asks, worry deepening the lines around her eyes.
"Tell them what?" I inquire.
"Hey, honey," my mom greets me as I join them at the counter. "Do you need dinner?"
"I ate there. Tell them what?" I repeat, not letting her get away with changing the subject.
"Nothing." I raise my eyebrows at her. It was a terrible lie, and she knows it. She sighs. "Jack got a threatening letter. I was just going through the stack, and opened it by mistake."
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"That's weird. How do they even know you're staying here? Wouldn't they have just sent it to your penthouse?" I point out.
"Fans have a way of finding out everything," Jack says, rolling his eyes.
"What does it say?"
"It's not important," Jack responds quickly. He picks up the letter and envelope and walks over to the gas range. He turns the dial, and lights the paper on fire, holding it up as it catches and then dropping it in the sink.
"It was quite graphic," my mom says quietly.
"People bet a lot of money on these games," Jack says with a shrug. "They can fixate all their anger on one person when they lose." My mom smiles sadly, and I know she's thinking about my father. Jack quickly realizes his mistake. "Sorry, I didn't mean to—"
"I know you didn't," my mom says quickly. "I'm so glad my family's going to get a little bigger, but it does mean I have more people to worry about," she says, rubbing Jack fondly on the shoulder before heading for the foyer.
"Huh," Jack says quietly, almost to himself.
"What?" He has such a funny expression on his face.
"She…it's been a while…my mother died when I was pretty young," he finally says. I nod, not wanting to press him further. He shakes his head, flicking away the remnants of whatever emotion or memory it was. "Work was good?
I grin. "Really good."
He cocks his head. "What happened?"
"Miles came in. He forgot I worked there, but—"
"No he didn't," Jack interrupts me.
"He said he—" I insist.
"Trust me. He went back to see you."
"OK, whatever," I reply, dismissing the possibility out of hand. "But it went pretty well, I think. Like, I made conversation the whole time." I pause. "Sorry, this isn't weird to talk about, right?"
"Not at all," he replies nonchalantly. "Or maybe it is, but I don't care. You got any plans?"