The Virgin Gift(29)

Sex is the same. You might love giving fellatio to one man and not to another.

Or maybe a certain lover can bring you to orgasm in ways no one else has. In places on your body you never imagined you’d want to be touched.

How do you know?

You don’t know. Until you try.

And when you try, don’t think of sex as failing or succeeding. Think of it as the journey to discovery.

To discovering everything you like.

As wiser people than me have said—it’s not about the destination, but the journey. And enjoying the ride to your heart’s and body’s content.



They removed the AirPods.

Kate raised a brow, and Lily gave me a what does this mean look.

I drew another breath and took another step on my personal journey. “I’m sleeping with Adam tonight. We made a deal. I’m giving him my virginity because I trust him. Because I’m ready. Because it’s time. And when we’re done, we’ll walk away as friends.”

Lily choked on her latte.

Kate nearly dropped her coffee. “What? Why?”

Lily set down her drink, collecting herself before she added, “Be careful, Nina.”

“I’m on protection,” I said, reminding her. “You know that.”

“No. I mean be careful with this.” Lily tapped her heart.

But how could I be anything but careful? I knew the score.

All I had to do was keep my head on straight about the final destination—friendship.

That way, the journey would be filled only with pleasure.

Starting in a few more hours.





16





Nina





His text arrived shortly before seven as I emailed some shots to Marco and Evangeline. My phone vibrated next to me on my desk. I grabbed it, eager.



Adam: I’ll be home in thirty minutes. On the dot. Be on your knees in the living room, waiting for me. Wear what you had on when you were on your hands and knees in bed the other night riding your toy while I slept quietly a room away.





With the phone in hand, I practically sprinted to my bedroom, yanking open the drawer with my sleep clothes. Sleep shorts and tanks, like I wore the other night. But I’d taken off the shorts and the panties. I grabbed a white tank, tossed it on the bed, then took a quick shower. When I was done, I spread cherry lotion on my legs, dusted some blush on my cheeks, and slicked on some lip gloss.

I set my glasses in their case and popped in a pair of contacts.

I checked the time.

Fifteen more minutes. I grabbed my tablet, clicking to some of my favorite photographers’ pages, checking out their new work. I was always on the hunt for inspiration, whether it was new angles or styles and colors. I bookmarked a few images I liked, stopping briefly at a shot of a couple on a bed. A man kissed the hollow of a woman’s throat, while she seemed to gaze knowingly at the camera. I imagined what came next, pictured them stripping each other, and saw the camera capturing it all.

But when I looked at the image again, I didn’t see some unknown couple. I saw Adam and me, and I gasped then moaned.

Yes.

I wanted that.

All of that.

And I wanted him to know how much.

I checked the clock. Ten more minutes. Just enough time to give him a surprise gift.

I turned off my tablet and pulled on the white tank. It was a cropped top—it landed at my midriff. I wore nothing else. Quickly, I walked to my studio, grabbed a tripod, and returned to my living room.

I set up my phone and its camera timer, kneeled, and took a self-portrait in just the position he’d requested.

One shot. One chance. I rose and peered at the image.

Yes.

He should be pulling into the garage right now.

In one of my most daring acts ever, I sent the photo, and a wave of satisfaction rolled through me from what I’d just done.

I couldn’t wait for him to walk through the door.





17





Adam





Control was my thing.

In business school, I’d studied its value. He who keeps his composure negotiates best, and he who negotiates best gets what he wants.

At the gym every day, I practiced that control too, working out, following a regimen. Never breaking.

Tonight I’d stuck to my workout plan, weights and the treadmill. I didn’t need to go soft, not when I’d be spending plenty of time in my birthday suit with the prettiest woman I’d ever known.

When I finished my routine, I sent her a text letting her know I’d be home in thirty minutes.

After a quick shower, I pulled on jeans and a T-shirt and headed to our building. As the elevator rose, my phone dinged with a reply. I slid my thumb over the screen. A multimedia image was loading, and the caption read: I’m a good dirty girl, waiting for you like you asked.

My mouth went dry. My chest heated.

I clicked open the photo.

My dick jumped to attention, saluting anyone and everything in the free universe.

And that was when the truth smacked me in the face.

She had all the control.

It wasn’t her body, though those curves and lush skin required worship all night long. And it wasn’t her face, though she was stunning in every way.