The Virgin Romance Novelist Chronicles

by Meghan Quinn

  “Fuck, it does.”

  Henry was cute, because whenever we were intimate, his tongue slipped up and he swore more often then he normally did. That I could make him slightly lose his mind like that was awesome.

  “Love, I’m so close.”

  “Me too,” I gritted out as my hair fell in front of my face, blocking my view of Henry.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he squeaked as he stiffened under me.

  That was all I needed, and together, we both fell over the edge and thrust into each other, riding out our orgasms until there was nothing left.

  My body flopped on top of his while he shucked the condom and cock ring to the ground. It was a habit I was not fond of but one that could be fixed by birth control or a wastebasket next to the bed. Simple.

  Henry’s hands ran up and down my back as he kissed my shoulder, slowly bringing me back to the present.

  “Is that going to make the book?” Henry asked, full of hope.

  “That is definitely going to make the book.”

  “What else can we try?” He made me laugh.

  “How about we take a break for a second.”

  “Come on, you know Virginia wants more.”

  He was right, because Virginia was sending me her Kegel sign for yes at a rapid pace. You know, like Batman’s signal but for . . . pussies. I tamped her down. She couldn’t make all the decisions.

  “She does, but give her at least a few minutes.”

  “Fair enough.” Henry kissed along my jaw. I knew exactly what he was trying to do and damn if it wasn’t working.

  Pressing against his chest, I lifted myself up and looked him in the eyes. “I love you, Henry.”

  His eyes softened as he gripped my cheek with his hand. “I love you, Rosie. More than anything.”

  And just like that, I had my happily ever after . . . and so did Virginia and Poseidon.

  Part Two

  THE RANDY ROMANCE NOVELIST

  Prologue

  ROSIE

  It happened to me. I lost the big V, and I don’t mean Virginia; she was still intact. No, I lost my virginity . . . finally!

  I had sexual intercourse, I did the dirty, I performed the sexuals, and I horizontally twerked it.

  Basically, penis met vagina and had one hell of a party at the pleasure palace.

  I did this with my best friend, Henry, now the love of my life. I never thought I’d find such an all-consuming love with someone I’d known forever. It seemed like a fairy tale. I’d finally handed my heart over to someone who would care for it as if it were their own.

  Life after the big V was deflowered wasn’t what I expected it to be. I’d watched several movies and I’d read thousands of books that faded into black after the big magical make-up kiss; none of them prepared me for what I was going through now.

  In fictional stories, couples were catapulted into their happily ever after. In my mind, they were frolicking across prairies filled with daffodils, walking hand in hand, gazing at each other through rose-colored glasses. The outside world was non-existent. Couples were trapped in a cocoon of love for the rest of their lives, never seeing a dark moment ever again.

  This theory was rudely destroyed after I experienced the big kiss that faded into black. No one stopped to congratulate us on finding the person we were meant to spend the rest of our life with. There was no one to film us during our big kiss. Cameras didn’t travel in circles around us, capturing our mouths melting into each other, sealing our love, like every epic romantic movie I’d ever watched.

  No, the pretty picture I had in my head was a far cry from the real-life one, which consisted of kissing Henry on the streets of New York with catchy music like “Signed, Sealed, Delivered.” Instead, there was a wheezy old man kicking us in the shins to get out of the way so he could throw out his expired coffee cup that carried pee in it rather than the day’s dark roast special.

  Life as I knew it returned. I was forced to go back to work and write about litter boxes and clumping formula, while hoping and praying I didn’t run into the man whose chin I’d farted on in the elevator. No one offered you discounts for being in love or finding your perfect soulmate. There was no spontaneous combustion of brilliant fireworks following me around every time I thought of Henry.

  There was combustion all right, but it was the subway smell filtering through the street grates mixed with yesterday’s trash simmering on the streets. Not the kind of epic love I’d expected.

  Life after the mind-altering, scene-ending proclamation of love was just that . . . it was life. It traveled around like clockwork.

  But there was one change, one single thing that shone like a beacon through the mud-filled day-to-day monotony. Instead of going home to an empty house, I went home to wide-open arms and a smile designated only for me.

  Love was waiting for me. Love was patiently and excitingly waiting for me to come home.

  Henry waited for me.

  ME!

  The girl who got a vibrator stuck in her vagina.

  Life after the monumental confession of love wasn’t easy; it was only the beginning of the crazy up-and-down rollercoaster adventure we’d embarked on together. Situations weren’t pretty; there were misunderstandings, fights, sleepless nights, and moments so electrically charged with stubbornness that I couldn’t think of one possible way we’d get over our disagreement. But we did.

  We said stupid things, and we did stupid things. Everyone was human, a lesson I learned rather quickly after the first time I forgot to tell Henry something important.

  This wasn’t a story of finding love, experiencing that kiss for the first time, or discovering the unyielding feeling of falling head over heels in love with someone.

  This story was entirely different. This was what continued after the lights were turned off, the music died down, and the cameras stopped spinning in their cinematic, dramatized way.

  This was a story of struggle, of strength, of misunderstandings, and the forever bond of two individuals.

  This was the story of my life after my happily ever after . . .

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The Titanic

  ROSIE

  “Just sit still; if you move, the chair moves.”

  “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Henry asked, questioning my knowledge.

  “I know how to do The Titanic. You just have to work with me.”

  “Missionary is always a popular position, love. We can try that one out. You know missionary, right? We’ve done it a few times. It’s when you’re on your back and I’m plowing you between your legs.”

  “I know what missionary is,” I chastised, irritated that he wouldn’t sit still. “You know I like to try positions from my books, though, so sit still while I grab my Kindle. I need to make sure I’m doing this right.”

  “Because that’s sexy,” Henry mumbled, as I removed my bottom half from his.

  Naked, boobs slinging about, and white butt on display, I trotted over to my nightstand to grab my Kindle. Thankfully I remembered to shut the blinds this go-around. I’d been known to forget to cover the windows, and it wasn’t until the deed had been done that we’d realized there had been a gaggle of street youths, with binoculars pressed against their faces, getting an eyeful of slapping body parts.

  Walking down my block—making eye contact with said teenagers—had been humiliating, to say the least. I swore I heard them call me Pinky. Henry thought I was delusional, but it was unmistakable. I thought it was because they’d seen the beautiful hue Virginia has to offer. Henry, if he chose to believe the nickname, said it had to do with my cute pink nipples.

  Cue giggling like a schoolgirl.

  Kindle in hand, I walked back to Henry, who was waiting patiently on my office chair in all his naked glory. I’ve only really been with one penis—you already knew this—so I might have been a little biased, but I wasn’t lying when I said Henry had a fantastic appendage.

  Girth. Check.

&
nbsp; Length. Check.

  Hair. None.

  Balls. Wrinkly and weird, but let’s be honest, they’re coin purses full of milky babies. Can’t really go right with those things.

  Everything about Henry’s “junk” appealed to me.

  “Are you reading or staring at my penis?” Always calling me out.

  “Reading,” I replied, scattering my thoughts away from the wiener between his thighs.

  Nodding at my Kindle, hands crossed just above his pecker, he asked, “Is that right? Then why is it closed?”

  I looked at my Kindle to see the top covering the screen. Huffing, I scoffed, “Mind your own business while I verify positions.”

  The creak of the chair in the room clued me in to his slouching and attempt to get comfortable. From the corner of my eye, I could see his legs spread, and his boner touching his six-pack with ease. I really am a lucky, lucky girl.

  Pushing back the sigh that wanted to escape, I returned to my Kindle and opened it up to Warning Track by one of my favorite authors. There was a scene I read the other day where Jane, the main character, got it on with the oh-so-handsome Brady Matthews in a chair that just so happened to be in a baseball stadium. Who doesn’t like a hot sports romance? The author called the sex position The Titanic because at one point, Jane lifts her arms in the air, giving all her trust over to Brady while he maneuvered in and out of her. The minute I read the scene, I knew I had to try it with Henry.

  Holding my Kindle in one hand, I scooted closer to Henry and positioned his feet so they were flat on the floor. “You have to be a sturdy foundation for us. Keep these feet glued to the floor, especially since we are on a spinny chair.”

  With teasing eyebrows, Henry said, “I love it when you take charge in the bedroom.”

  “This is serious!” I stomped my foot. “Get your sexy face on and stop joking. It’s time to make love.”

  Henry held up his hands in defense. “Oh, excuse me, mistress.”

  Pointing my finger at him, I said, “Don’t call me that. Now sit up. Look alive.” I looked down at his crotch and tapped it. “Come on fella, perk up.”

  “I’m going to stop you right there, love. For the love of God, do not call my penis ‘fella.’ It’s not going to do much for motivation.”

  “Sorry.” Straitening up, I quickly scanned the scene in the book and then proceeded to walk us through the steps. “I’m going to sit on you, and you are going to have to hold on to my hips, balancing me. Can you handle that?”

  “You insult me with your questions. Of course I can handle that.”

  Smiling gratefully at the most handsome man I’ve ever known, I backed my caboose onto his lap, shifting just enough to cause a little friction between us.

  “Uh, am I supposed to be inside of you? Or are you going to dry-hump my log?” Naturally he was completely amused with this entire situation.

  “Oh, um, inside me. Just stick it in there.”

  A low rumble vibrated through Henry’s chest. “If you want it, you’re going to have to work for it. Put the Kindle down, grab hold of me, and fuck me, Rosie.”

  A chill ran up my spine from his deep voice whispering across my back. Goosebumps scattered across my skin, causing me to obey his wishes. Putting the Kindle on the floor in front of me, and reaching behind me where I felt his length against my hand, I granted his wish.

  From where he rested, I could feel the quick intake of breath as my hand connected with his arousal. His taut stomach flexed under my contact, and his hands slowly slid down from my hips to my thighs where he gripped them hard as I barely lifted up, just enough to slip him in.

  Shifting my hips, I pushed against him, so he was completely inserted. I took a deep breath and then started to move my hips, but only ever so slightly. I wanted to feel his girth, but I didn’t want to forget the task at hand.

  “Are we doing The Titanic?” Henry asked, pulling me into his chest so he could look over my shoulder.

  “Not quite,” I breathed heavily, moving with him.

  “Well, I’m satisfied with whatever this is.” His hands ran up my stomach, grazing my skin softly until he found my breasts. Cupping them, he kissed the side of my neck and continued to move his hips.

  His fingers played with my nipples, tantalizing them to small little peaks, and lost in the moment, my mind went blank. It wasn’t until Henry groaned in my ear that I was brought back to what I was trying to accomplish.

  “As good as this feels, this isn’t The Titanic.” I sat up, and pushed down on Henry’s lap, causing another groan to come from his chest.

  “Easy, love.”

  “Listen up. If we are going to do this, we’re going to do this right. Grab hold of my hips and plant your feet on the ground, so I can hook my feet around them.”

  “Okay,” Henry said skeptically, shifting beneath me.

  Once in position, I wrapped my feet around his calves and steadied myself. “Make sure you have a good grip on me.” He obliged, and when I felt secure, I lifted my hands up into the air, spreading to my full wingspan. Channeling Kate Winslet, I pushed my head back, stuck my nips out, and tried to feel the “breeze” in my face, aka the fan I set up beforehand.

  Henry was silent for a second before he said, “This is cool and all, having your hair blow in my mouth, but maybe we can start moving again?”

  “Yes, proceed.” I was still in the moment, pretending I was on the bow of a boat with Leonardo DiCaprio behind me.

  “Just move my hips . . . with you, like that?”

  “Yes, cue the thrusting.”

  Awkwardly, Henry tried to move in and out of me while I balanced on his rickety legs, swaying back and forth, side to side, catching myself occasionally from slamming my head onto the desk next to us.

  “This is a good time.” I could sense the annoyed tone in Henry’s voice.

  “Thrust, Henry. Just thrust.”

  Struggling, he said, “It’s hard to thrust when trying to balance a naked woman while I’m sitting in a desk chair that refuses to stay still.”

  “Plant your feet. Are your feet planted?”

  “Yes, they’re planted. If they weren’t planted, then I would probably be probing you on the ground right about now.”

  “Hmm, maybe we’re doing it wrong. Let me check my Kindle.”

  Before Henry could stop me, I leaned forward, grinding my butt against his lap. With my feet still hooked behind his calves, I balanced my body as I leaned forward, reaching for my Kindle. Just as I was about to reach it, Henry’s feet slipped off the ground, sending me flying onto the floor face first, ass up like an ostrich, and head buried under the rug in front of me.

  If he wanted a good view of the great and powerful asshole, he got one.

  From behind, I could hear Henry’s sexy laugh filter through the room, but instead of his chuckle making me all gooey inside like it normally would, it fueled the rage that was starting to boil inside me.

  “Henry,” I screeched, trying to sit up, but failing miserably from being caught up in the tightly braided rug that cloaked me.

  His laughter continued.

  Struggling to find some dignity, I rolled on the ground until the rug canoodled me like a cocoon. Sporting the floor warmer tightly around my body, I lifted my chest and looked at my handsome boyfriend. There was a giant smile decorating his face and an adoring look in his eyes. Damn him!

  “This isn’t funny,” I snapped, trying to show my disappointment.

  “It kind of is,” he said, falling to the ground with me.

  Naked parts were flying around all over the place.

  “You didn’t take me seriously enough. You have to take me seriously if our experiments are going to work.” I pouted, pulling the rug ends closer together to cover my exposed nakedness.

  Henry placed his hand on my face and forced me to look at him. “Love, any time I’m with you, I take it seriously. Do you know why?”

  He was trying to sweet talk me . . .

  I playe
d with the tassels on my rug, trying to avoid eye contact. “Because you like to fornicate?”

  “No.” He laughed. “Because I’ve spent so much time waiting for the moment when I could finally call you mine, that now I make sure to cherish every fucking moment I have with you. I never want to be apart from you again.”

  Yup, you guessed it, butterflies took flight in my stomach. He was really good at the sweet talking.

  “Man, you sure know how to make a girl feel good about herself, even after she went all ostrich on you moments before.”

  “I liked the ostrich.” He chuckled. “Got a great view. Maybe instead of trying to emulate a scene in a book, we can make our own material?”

  I cringed. “The ostrich is not something I find appealing.”

  “And The Titanic is?”

  “You can’t tell me you’ve never had a Titanic fantasy. Kate Winslet . . . boobies.”

  “Boobies are great, but no fantasies there. Honestly, I just want to make love to you on this floor, right here, right now.”

  “With me wrapped in a rug?”

  “Not much into fucking rugs, so you’re going to have to ditch the threads, love.”

  Without giving me an option, Henry grabbed the rug, unraveled me, and tossed it to the side. His hand wrapped around my neck, pulling me into him, where he lowered me gently onto the cold hardwood floor. My back lifted off the ground for a short second before it became accustomed to the temperature.

  “You’re so fucking beautiful; do you know that?” Henry asked, staring me in the eyes. “Every day, I wake up with you in my arms, thanking whoever wants to listen for letting you be mine.”

  I was speechless as he cupped my face and slowly entered me, one inch at a time. Taking a deep breath, I adjusted to his size and waited for him to start moving, but he didn’t. Instead, he kissed me, deeply, as if he was starving for my lips, completely desperate for them. His fingers caressed my cheeks while my hardened nipples danced with his bare chest. The friction only intensified the burn that was starting to build in the pit of my stomach, that wonderful, all-consuming, mind-blowing, life-altering burn.