Authors: Lisa Logan
Her bliss wavered for a moment as her fingers grasped the remote. Did it have to be this time? Surely this one moment deserved to be reconciled in private.
Releasing a sigh that was more of a shudder, her fingers slipped away from the controller as Bruce’s thick cock finally prodded her entrance.
“
Do you want it?” His voice vibrated against her as he nuzzled her neck.
“
Yes. God, yes.”
“
Do you want me to give it to you now?”
“
Now, Bruce. Please.”
With a satisfied grunt, he pushed his way in. Not in one dizzying plunge, however, but stretching her slowly, inch by inch. That’s when it happened.
The pain was razor sharp, sucking her breath away in a cry of surprise. She froze in panic. Every centimeter he advanced heightened the sensation until the slow entry he no doubt thought was giving her mindless pleasure prompted a stream of short but increasingly agonized moans in her throat.
As her cries grew more obviously distressed, he ceased motion and frowned down at her. “What’s wrong?”
She shivered, but remained silent as a theory dawned in his expression. “Ridelle, you’re not a virgin?”
What was it, stamped on her forehead?
Unable to reply, she merely met his eyes with a quiet nod. They stared at each other for a long moment, Ridelle searching his gaze for the outcome of revealing her little secret.
“
Oh, Jesus,” he said. “I had no idea.” His eyes flashed fire, then a smile twisted one corner of his mouth. “My God, baby. That’s incredible.” He paused, his eyes shutting as he leaned his head back as if struggling with some sort of effort. She felt his length pulse inside her, driving his hips back into pistoning motion. “I’ve always,” he said, sinking deep to punctuate every word by connecting his pelvis to hers, “dreamed of…having a…virgin.”
Though the immediate sharp pain relented, Bruce’s churning failed to allow any recovery of the exquisite pleasure that had been ready to bring her to orgasm just moments before. Not even the scent of his cologne revived her while he rocked away. As his momentum built, his attention to her waned until she felt he was no longer aware of her presence in the room. He was certainly oblivious to her cries of distress, her attempts to grab his hips an and slow them into a more tolerable, less painful rhythm. Squeezing her thighs, whimpering his name, slapping at his ass—all these seemed only to get him off more. In short, he was gone—or he just plain didn’t care.
In that one searing moment of lost innocence, Ridelle went from sexual delight to survival mode. She fisted her pillows and sheets in dismay, breasts slicked with sweat and jiggling up and down with each hip grind until he finally ejaculated endless moments later. He let out a wild moan of, “Oh God, oh God,” that became a ragged mantra during his apparent religious experience, shooting cum into her in violent spasms. Then it was done, Bruce still far away in a land behind closed eyes. His arms shook with the exertion of holding himself over her; his hair fell from his forehead in dampened ringlets of muddy brown.
“
I’m sorry,” he whispered at last through gasping breaths. “It was just such a turn on. I couldn’t hold back.”
With that Bruce rolled onto his back, arms behind his head and eyes squeezed shut. His sudden evacuation prompted the sweat on her torso to prickle and cool, chilling her outside as much as she felt within. She laid there in silent shock, listening to the sounds of their heavy breathing returning to normal. Not that she ever would.
Finally, the man spoke to the ceiling. “I still can’t believe it. A virgin. God, how sexy. I don’t know whether to feel flattered or guilty.”
And the fact that he didn’t was in part why he needed his ass handed to him.
He rolled over onto this side, facing her on the bed. The side of a forefinger traced along Ridelle’s upper arm, then detoured to graze along the contours of breast and nipple. No delighted shiver at his touch this time—just ripples of panic as she glanced down and spotted his arousal stirring. Jesus, not again?
“
I’ve never been with a virgin before.”
Her eyes narrowed in question. “What about Frannie?”
His answer came with a derisive snort. “Fran? Hell, no. God only knows how many bedposts she’d notched before I came along. God, what a rush to know I was somebody’s first.”
She remained silent as a small groan sounded low in his throat. “In fact,” he went on, his eyes on her breasts and his cock growing at an alarming speed, “just thinking about it makes me want you again.”
His eyes tore themselves away to meet hers as he gave her breast a firm squeeze. She swallowed. “I’m feeling pretty sore right now. Maybe we should wait.”
His hand skimmed down along her stomach, lightly delving fingers into the triangle of hair at its base. “Anything I can do to help it?”
Yeah, she thought, take the hint and get out. She forced a smile and helpless shrug. “Just a little break, I think.”
“
I understand.”
Words mismatched actions for a moment as he scooted forward to press himself—quite awake and ready—against her thigh. With a moan, he leaned forward claimed her lips once more with his own, teasing them open for a brief moment with his tongue. Just when it seemed she would have to assert her refusal he pulled away, a playful grin on his face. “Grrr,” he said, mimicking the low growl of a predator. “I’m going to hop in the shower. Join me?”
She worked to keep her expression neutral. Fuck, there were still pictures to take, even if she was too chafed to think about it. Why the hell hadn’t she just gone ahead and snapped a few? Either way, she had to act eager for their next time.
She batted her eyes in a playful tease. “Of course.”
Being soaped into a full lather by a man in her shower was an experience she’d fantasized about many times, but Ridelle couldn’t shake the hollow feeling that having had Bruce inside her had left behind. Funny how being filled to capacity could make her feel so empty. In fact, the very thought of the cavernous void nearly drove her to tears.
While scrubbing his back, she thought of her old high school clique. One by one, they’d each come to the lunch table with I’m Not A Virgin Anymore stories. All were worthy of a letter to Penthouse, something Ridelle had doubted was quite true. None of the girls described the sensation she felt now, the sense that something vital and precious had been lost forever. They all beamed as if in possession of the universe’s most guarded secret. Ridelle was the only one from whom the universe had withheld this sacred knowledge, and if
this
was the honest truth of it, she’d gladly give it back.
As they left the shower stall, she realized she did have one thing to be grateful for. The man was married and would not be able to spend the night.”
Scrubbing her hair with a towel as she wandered back to the bedroom, she nodded to the bedside clock. “Wow, it’s after ten,” she said. “I had no idea it was so late.”
He followed her from the steamy bath with a towel around his waist, not appearing nearly as panicked at the news as she’d have liked.
“
I guess you should get going home,” she went on. “We can’t let Fran suspect.”
He shrugged, his hands on hips. “Fran will believe what I tell her to believe. She’s used to me working late.” He walked forward, the towel unable to hide twitching throbs of yet another awakening erection. Did the man think of nothing else?
“
Frannie is my friend. She can’t find out about us, Bruce. Not ever.”
Now in front of her, he yanked their towels away until his longing thrust itself against her abdomen. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into it. One hand against his chest, she pushed away. “Please, Bruce.”
She tried not to gape at the sight of his full extension as he withdrew from her. He’d probably take it as an invitation to gear shift her again.
“
You’re right,” he said, and she fought the urge to let out a sigh of relief. “Neither one of us can afford for her to suspect that I can’t get enough of you.”
Turning away, naked buttocks swished with male rhythm as he swept the room for various bits of his clothing.
Within fifteen minutes they’d dressed in relative silence. Ridelle changed into a simple below-the-knee sleep jersey in hopes she would look as unappealing as possible without being obvious about it before ushering him to the front door. There, he paused to fill his palms with her breasts and engage in another thorough oral examination of her throat.
“
When can I see you again?” he rasped.
Her brain see-sawed between wanting it over with quickly and wishing for a lengthy reprieve. “When can you get away without Fran suspecting?”
His eyes roamed the living room, as if the answer lurked along her mantle or walls. “Tomorrow, if you’re not busy.”
“
And recovered.”
He winked at her as his hands fell along the sides of her waist, snaking around behind to rub circles around her backside. “Oh, I promise to make you feel all better.”
With another kiss he was gone, their next rendezvous still hanging in indecision. Wandering back to the bedroom, her lip snarled at the sight of the twisted, love stained bedspread. Moving closer, she spied dark rusty speckles amid the DNA evidence of their tryst. She let out a tired sigh. He’d made her bleed. Virgins were supposed to, though, right?
Her stomach twisted as the hollow feeling returned. She needed to talk to someone. Someone who could help get her head fastened on straight.
Twyla stooped to retrieve a boxed checkers set from the honey oak flooring in the den, then deposited it inside an oversized, tufted velour ottoman that doubled as a coffee table. Settling the hunter green lid back in place, she collapsed on the leather couch and propped her stocking feet on the ottoman.
It was after ten, and she was beyond exhausted. The kids had been quite a handful. Their nine o’clock bedtime suffered an unscheduled delay and had finally settled them into bed a half-hour before. Banana cream pie for dessert turned her trio of tots into a band of swinging howler monkeys. Andy was pulling another late shift at the hospital and hadn’t been on hand to help, naturally. Her darling cherubs always went into psychotic overdrive when they knew there were more kids than parental hands.
The den was brightly light and reflected a cheer off wainscoted walls that grated against Twyla’s impending headache. Reaching for the built-in console on the couch, she grabbed the remote and switched off a Disney cartoon. Sinking further into the fabric, she wondered whether she could stay awake long enough to indulge a warm soak in the Jacuzzi tub, or if should she simply pull off her tropical print chemise and fall into bed.
She should tackle the kid’s bathroom rather than indulge a soak of her own. Hell, the entire house was a war zone. With her in-laws due for a visit-slash-inspection the next day, she should have a mop in one hand and a vacuum in the other. Fatigue crept into her marrow, however, gluing her more firmly to the seat with each passing moment. No cleaning or bath, then. Straight to bed, then tear through the house first thing in the morning.
She dragged herself up the carpeted staircase, her trained mother ears picking up the sounds of two children’s regular breathing and a third reading to himself quietly in bed as she passed two bedrooms on the way to her own at the end. Pausing only long enough to peel off her tropical patterned dress, she pulled back the powder blue duvet and slid thankfully onto cool, floral print sheets. Snuggling under the goose down comforter, she reached out to smack a ginger jar touch lamp to plunge the room into the relief of darkness.
Her eyes fluttered closed with a satisfied smile for about sixty seconds. Then the bedside cordless jangled for attention. Andy no doubt checking in.
“
Twyla?” The quiet voice was not her husband’s. “Did I wake you?”
Recognition filtered through near sleep. “Ridelle? No, I’m still awake.” More or less. “What’s wrong?”
“
Sorry to call so late. I just needed to tell someone.”
“
Mm-hm.” Sandy eyes fluttered closed for a moment, until the woman on the other end unraveled the reason for her call. Then they snapped open.
“
God, so it really happened? Tonight? Where is he now?” Ridelle had slept with Bruce. Jesus, she’d really done it.
“
I sent him home. Told him I didn’t want him to get caught.” Something in her voice sounded distraught, almost haunted.
“
Are you okay?”
A whoosh blew through the other end. “I don’t know. It wasn’t what I expected.”
Still lying on the pillow, Twyla rolled onto her back. “Different how?” A thought on that prompted a tiny gasp. “He didn’t do something, you know, weird? Kinky?”