Page 17 of The Virgin Gift (The Gift 2)
“Good. Now watch me. Don’t close your eyes at all.”
She wrapped her arms behind her back and didn’t look away.
With my fist curled tight, I stroked hard, fast, rough. Long thrusts and jerks as all the pent-up pleasure tore through me like a tsunami, taking me to the edge in mere minutes.
“Open your lips, sweet girl.”
She took orders like she took pictures. With precision and focus and passion. Her lips parted, and she waited for me to come on her lips.
My orgasm ripped through me, and I gave it all to her.
My greedy girl lapped me up like I was dessert, like she was famished and she intended to finish every last drop on her lips.
I shuddered, the aftershocks rocking through me in a blast of white-hot pleasure.
When I settled, I pulled up my jeans and told her to stay put, my voice softer now. “I’ll be right back, baby. I’m going to clean those gorgeous lips of yours.”
Shortly I returned from the guest room with a wet washcloth, wiped the come off her chin, then washed my hands. I set the cloth on the counter, making a mental note to toss it in the wash later. Obviously.
I reached for her, and she rose, those eyes wide and curious as she asked, “Was that good for you?”
I sighed happily, but sadly too. How could she think this night was anything but perfect?
I clasped her cheeks, speaking the full truth. “Tonight was in another realm. And there’s more where that came from.”
She shot me a small smile, still a little nervous, but a little eager too. “Good. I want more.”
“I’ll give you everything you want,” I said, and then I took something I wanted.
I wanted a good night kiss.
A tender kiss.
This time I was soft and gentle. She seemed to like it, trembling in my arms.
Trouble was, I liked it too.
I liked it beyond the boundaries of our deal.
Outside the rules.
I liked it because it was her. Her sweetness, her loveliness. Her soft kiss made my chest ache. It was full of everything that made this woman my close friend—trust and compatibility.
And that was dangerous for the rules of our engagement.
Time to shove all these unwarranted emotions out of my head.
I scooped her up, took her to her room, and set her on the bed. I tucked a finger under her chin. “I’ll see you in the morning, and I’ll make your favorite breakfast,” I said, because that would reset us. That was what we did. I cooked for her, and we talked about anything and everything.
That was us—our friendship.
And I needed to recalibrate.
She lifted her chin and looked at me sweetly, so damn sweetly. “Good night, Adam.”
“Good night, Nina,” I said, fighting the wish to stay.
I went to my bed, stripped to nothing, and slid under the covers. I rated this night an A, but even with top marks, sleep didn’t come easily. My brain whirred with too many thoughts. Thoughts and ideas I was wildly unprepared for.
But I still had questions. Or rather, I had one. In the morning, though, I’d ask her.
9
Nina
Even the shower felt new.
The hot water streaming over my skin was a fresh sensation.
Like I was feeling it for the first time.
I raised my face to the spray, letting it cascade over my cheeks, my shoulders, my belly.
The water traveled down my skin, like it was forging a new path over a new person.
This was crazy.
I was still me. Still irreverent, passionate, introspective me, the woman who loved watching the world go by through her lens, the person who craved facts and information, the friend who was there in a heartbeat when needed.
I was still that woman, wasn’t I? I was still a businessperson, a neighbor, a friend.
But I was someone else now too.
Someone who knew.
Someone who knew sensations, desires, firsthand, with another person.
I didn’t know much. I barely knew a few things about the way bodies tangled together, and how touch could turn to more.
But I’d started to explore that land. I’d pushed open the door to a secret club last night and sneaked inside. The club of mutual pleasure.
I’d been giving myself orgasms for years. The landscape of my nightstand bureau was mapped with mountains of vibrators, hills of batteries, and valleys of late-night fantasies. My Amazon account was privy to my personal habits—how many toys I obtained every year, how frequently I replaced them. I had quite the impressive collection.
But none of my toys had given me what Adam gave me.
Freedom from my own hands.
Freedom to let go. To surrender to another’s touch. To the things I’d craved most.
Adam gave me the chance to give in to pleasure, to turn the keys over to another person. And it was wondrous.
As I remembered his filthy words, his firm commands, and his adherence to my written wishes, a hot shiver raced through me, but it was chased by something else.
