The Virgin Romance Novelist Chronicles

by Meghan Quinn

  Motherfucker. This woman would be the death of me.

  Playing along, I grabbed her arm and pulled her down on the bed. “Don’t walk away from me; I’m still talking to you.”

  “I’m mad at you.”

  “Are you really?” I grabbed the belt to her trench coat and undid it so the jacket was forced to fall open. In seconds, her beautiful breasts were on display, as well as a very thin white thong that barely covered her.

  In awe, I ran my hand over my face. “You’re so beautiful, Rosie. How could you think you’re not enough for me? You’re more than I could ever ask for.”

  Her hand gripped my cheek and her face rang sincere. “I will always think you’re too good for me, Henry, always.”

  That, right there, ripped me apart. Instead of talking, it was time to show her how we were the perfect match for one another.

  “Get up,” I demanded.

  “What?” she asked, probably a little shocked at my tone.

  “I said, get up.” My voice was still harsh, but I added a wink so she’d know I was falling in line with her role-playing. Recently, she read me a sex scene from one of her books where the hero bent her over the bed for obvious reasons. She’d told me how hot it was over and over again, so it was time to make her dreams come true.

  “Oh,” she quickly said. She got up, hiding her breasts.

  The moment she was up, I made her step out of her thong, because one time she made me tear it off like in the books she read. I ended up yanking so hard on the damn thing to make it come off that I gave her crack burn and bruising. I told her never again.

  Once she was completely naked, I said, “Undo my pants for me, love.”

  She did as she was told. Her hair was still crazy, but there was a lightness in her touch. I didn’t like that we hadn’t finished our conversation, but if this was what it took to calm her down, I’d take it.

  My pants were pushed down and my cock sprung. Her small hand wrapped around it and started to stroke, which I allowed, because fuck, I was a man and it felt good, plus, she actually seemed happy.

  “How does that feel?” she asked, a thread of insecurity in her voice.

  I lifted her chin so she was forced to make eye contact and read the pleasure coursing through me. “It feels fucking amazing, Rosie.”

  Pride swelled inside of her. Before she could take my cock in her mouth, I pulled her away and turned her around, her back pressed against my chest, her ass cradling my cock. Her breathing became erratic as my hands found her breasts. I kissed her neck lightly, barely grazing my lips across her skin, just a whisper of a touch. Goosebumps spread across her skin and her hand found its way to the back of my neck, where she held on.

  I looked over her shoulder and marveled at the size of her breasts; I needed to touch them, to make her shake under my simple touch. Moving from her stomach to her breasts, I played with the underside of them, gently rubbing my thumbs until she pulled on the hairs on the back of my neck. She needed me to move my hands up farther. I listened to her commands, and at the same time, squeezed both of her nipples.

  Her moan rang loudly through the room, startling Sir Licks-a-Lot, because in the background, I could hear him scattering across the hardwood floor, trying to gain traction to find cover from the “monstrous voice” in the bedroom.

  “Oh, God.” Rosie continued to moan from the work I was performing on her nipples. She was extra vocal right now, and all it did was turn me on even more.

  I kept one hand on her breasts, moving between them, granting equal nipple time, while my other hand found its way to her pussy. Continuing to grip her from behind and letting her body weight fall against me, I found her slit and pressed my fingers inside. She was so fucking wet for me.

  “Christ, love,” I mumbled into her ear, continuing to work my fingers until I was fully inside of her.

  “More, I want more, Henry.”

  Always wanting to give my girl what she needed, I gently guided her to the bed until her ass was in the air. Quickly, I grabbed a condom, sheathed myself, and pressed the head of my cock against her entrance. She had no shame in taking what she wanted because before I could move myself, she pushed her back end against me and inserted my length. I was only partially inside, but it wasn’t enough, and with one thrust, I was in.

  We both moaned from the tilt of her pelvis and the intimate connection we’d created. In tandem, we worked together to reach our climaxes. The thrust of my hips matched the clench of her pussy. With every movement, we tried to give each other pleasure.

  I laid my chest against her back and wrapped my hand under the arch of her body, so I was able to pinch her nipples once again; lately, they had been so sensitive. The minute I squeezed, she clenched around me and called out my name in heavenly bliss.

  Within seconds, my balls tightened and a euphoric burst of pleasure shot out of me as I ground my dick into Rosie. White bursts of pleasure clouded my vision, my body shook with hers, and together we sighed with satisfaction.

  After our orgasms, I rolled us both over on the bed so we were side by side, looking at the ceiling. Rosie’s breathing was heavy, matching mine. From the side, I grabbed her hand and linked our fingers together, squeezing hers tight.

  “I love you, Rosie.” I lifted up on my side, keeping our hands connected and brought them to my lips. “This right here, what’s between us, is forever. Tasha means nothing to me. I’m irritated that she is working at the firm. She was warned not to approach me; if she does again, you have the right to pop a cork up her ass.”

  Rosie laughed an adorable little sound and smiled. “Promise?”

  “I promise, Rosie.”

  She bit her lip for a second and looked at the ceiling in thought. When her eyes returned to mine, she asked, “Won’t you get tired of my vagina? Same old deli meat every night?”

  “What?” I laughed out loud. “No. I could never get tired of you. Your meat is the kind of meat I crave.” I pondered my statement for a second then shuddered. “I don’t want to compare your vagina to meat anymore. That’s seriously disgusting.”

  “Fair enough, but if you get tired of my vagina, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Dick Dazzle Dance

  ROSIE

  His hand reached up and cupped my cheek, making me sweat even more. I was a hot mess. “God, Meghan, I’m so far in love with you, it’s ridiculous. I don’t just love you, I’m in love with you, like desperately, hopelessly, can’t be without you, in love with you.”

  Oh God, this man.

  “I know I was an ass, and I know I haven’t been the easiest person to be around lately, but I blame you.” He smiled. “You turned my life upside down the minute you decided you wanted to date. I couldn’t stand the thought of you with anyone else, because I knew deep down in my soul you belonged with me. Meghan, I’m sorry for everything, the way I treated you, for bringing Tasha into this, I was just . . . lost. I thought you wanted to go out with that Atticus guy, right after we shared one of the most amazing moments of my life.”

  “One of the most amazing?” I asked, while tears streamed down my face.

  “Yes, the most amazing was when I met you.”

  Tears fell down my cheeks as I typed. I was supposed to be working on an article about living in the city with a frisky feline, but I set that aside and started on the last chapter of my novel. Instead of writing about medieval times, or a couple I wasn’t really close with, I wrote about my life, my experiences, and my misfortunes. I poured them out into my computer.

  After my writer’s club meeting, I wondered if people would like my character, Meghan. Would they be able to relate? Would they be able to see her as a woman searching for the new chapter in her life? Or would they find her over the top and naïve? I had so much self-doubt now that I had been criticized for the first time. I wondered if I should even finish the story. I felt like the negative remarks broke my spirit, broke my inner storytelling soul.

  A
week went by, and I didn’t bother writing; I didn’t even open my computer except for when I was writing a quick article for work—working from home was amazing, by the way. When I wasn’t writing articles, I was reading, soaking up every story I could dive into. The only problem with my plan of avoidance was I lived with a very in-tune boyfriend, who knew I was avoiding my work in progress. He convinced me to talk to Wolf-shirt Wendy, to email her and get my writing spirit back on track.

  Wolf-shirt Wendy practically forced me—through the Internet—to keep writing and scheduled coffee with me later in the week to go over what I’d written so far. I sent her chapters constantly to read, so she could keep me on track to finish. She was going to get one huge shout-out in my dedication.

  I wiped the tears from my face and started to type again, just as my phone rang. I looked down at the caller ID. Delaney.

  Crap, I knew she was calling for an update about the party, and all I had right now was a giant papier-mâché penis, plastic whistles, and an appointment to go talk to a male stripper company called Balls to the Wall, with Jenny, my coworker.

  But, knowing my best friend, she wouldn’t stop calling until I picked up her call, so I answered the phone.

  “Hey, Delaney.”

  “What are you doing right now, hooker?”

  I sighed back into my chair. “Is that really necessary, calling me a hooker? It’s not a great term for women’s rights. Maybe, instead of hooker, you could call me something like, girl who is as smart as an astronaut.”

  “Do you really want me to be a liar, Rosie? I’m not comfortable with lying.”

  “You’re lying right now?” I shouted into the phone, getting way too emotional way too quickly.

  “Yikes, settle down there, weighted vagina. There, is that better?”

  I huffed into the phone, saved my work, and shut down my computer. There was no way I’d get out of whatever Delaney had planned. “Pretty sure being called a hooker and being called a vagina fall in the same category as not the best nicknames.”

  “Eh, I’ll keep working on it. How’s the purple prune doing anyway? Still thick?”

  I shifted in my chair. “Yeah, still feeling heavy.” I looked behind me to make sure Henry couldn’t hear me. He was in the other room, enjoying his Saturday. I whispered into the phone. “Delaney, I’m kind of terrified that I’m allergic to Henry’s penis. I’ve been doing some research on the Internet, and I’m afraid it’s a real thing.”

  “You’re not allergic to his penis,” Delaney answered back, exasperated. “Did you call your doctor like I told you to?”

  “Yes, I have an appointment the day before your bachelorette party. Having your party on a Sunday is a real bitchy move, by the way; people will have to take off work.”

  “I’m well aware. I don’t want to be at the bars, surrounded by idiots on my night; we will be holding it on a Sunday.”

  There was no arguing, so I didn’t mention the date anymore, even though people who’d RSVP’d had asked about switching it. They will just have to be told it wasn’t an option and to take it up with Delaney. My maid-of-honor duties only went so far.

  “Fair enough. So what do you want from me? If you’re trying to figure out what I’m doing for your party, I’m not telling you.”

  Even if I had information about the party, I wouldn’t tell her.

  “I have an appointment at the salon; I need your guidance. Will you meet me?”

  “Seriously? I’m in sweatpants, Delaney.”

  “Oh, my God, well . . . excuse me. I didn’t mean to disrupt your frumping. By all means, continue; don’t let me disturb you.” Her voice was full of sarcasm.

  I groaned. “Text me the address and time.”

  “Meet me in thirty. I’ll text you the address. Love you, puss!”

  “Don’t call me that,” I shouted as she hung up the phone.

  Annoyed, I got up and headed to the closet. Taking sweatpants off and putting on real clothes on a weekend when all you planned on doing was lounging, felt like peeling off your own skin with mini toothpicks. It was not enjoyable.

  “Who was that on the phone?” Henry asked, walking up behind me and kissing my shoulder.

  “Delaney. She wants to meet me at her salon to go over something. I really don’t want to go, but I know I have to. I haven’t been a really good maid of honor.”

  “Might be nice to get out of the apartment. Maybe you can pick up our favorite curry dish on the way home.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I see where the encouragement to leave the apartment comes from. You have an ulterior motive.” I pinched his side and grabbed my jeans off the shelf.

  “I’m not ashamed of my actions.” He laughed.

  I shucked my sweatpants off and started to put on my jeans as Henry leaned against the doorframe and watched me, heat in his eyes.

  Skinny jeans were such a bitch to pull on, and I wished Henry wasn’t watching me. I had to do my skinny jean struggle in front of him, which consisted of kicking my legs out, squatting, and kicking some more.

  “Why are you watching me?” I asked, struggling to get the things over my butt.

  “I like looking at your body,” he answered without skipping a beat.

  With a jump, I was able to get the jeans over my rear end, so I took a second to breathe. They were feeling really tight. Had I been working from home so long that my jeans were starting not to fit? That would be depressing.

  “Man.” I leaned my hand against one of the shelves and breathed heavily. “You’re lucky you don’t have to wear skinny jeans. They can be tough to get on sometimes.”

  “I’ve enjoyed the show,” he replied with a smirk.

  “I’m sure you have . . . pervert,” I teased. I grabbed the button of my jeans and brought it to the hook, but it was difficult. Laughing nervously, I looked up at Henry and said, “Ha, things must have shrunk a bit in the laundry. Little buggers.” Turning away from him so he couldn’t see me do some contortions with my stomach, I sucked in hard, pulled both ends of my jeans together, and tried to button them up . . . but nothing happened. What the hell was going on?

  “Need help?” he asked, coming up behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist.

  “No,” I yelped, trying to shimmy away from him. “I actually I don’t feel like wearing jeans; they’re overrated. Skirts are where it’s at.” I touched my nose and pointed my finger at him. “I know the exact skirt to wear.”

  I peeled off the skinny jeans, avoiding the underwear pull down—thank God; I needed to keep some shred of dignity—and kicked them to the corner of the closet. There was a red skirt in the closet I knew would be casual but cute, so I stepped into it and settled the red cloth around my waist. I turned to Henry and tried to zip up the side with a smile, a sexy one.

  But my smile faded once I realized the skirt zipper wasn’t budging past my hips. Panic set in and I tore my gaze away from Henry, and instead, examined the zipper. There had to be a snag, that was why I wasn’t getting it up. My shirt kept getting in the way of seeing my zipper, so I took that off, tossed it to the ground, and then turned the side of the skirt to the front, where I could get a better look at what was going on.

  “Damn you, zipper,” I muttered, and then looked at Henry, who now seemed concerned. “That’s what you get for buying clothes at thrift stores, the darn tootin’ things revolt against you. This skirt was getting old anyway.” I tried to put on a brave face, but my lip trembled as I fished out a pair of yoga pants. “Stretchy waist bands are always fun,” I sniffed, tears threatening to fall.

  “Rosie . . .” Henry took a step closer, tentatively reaching out to me, but he didn’t get a chance to grab me before I flopped to the ground, one foot in my yoga pants and the other out in the open.

  “I’m fat,” I cried hysterically. My back hit the floor, and I flung my arm over my eyes so I didn’t have to see Henry’s disgusted expression from viewing his whale of a girlfriend trying to put her clothes on.

  Henr
y kneeled next to me and pulled me up against his chest, cradling my head carefully and placing small kisses on my forehead. “You’re not fat, not even close, love.”

  “Tell that to those life sucking pants and skirt.” I looked at the corner of discarded clothes and flipped them off. “I hope you get hemorrhoids.”

  The closet fell silent, my middle finger still limply pointing at the devil pants and skirt. Quietly, I mumbled to the clothes that I hoped they had a snag and started to unravel, while Henry sat on the floor and pulled me onto his lap.

  “You know, I think I did the laundry wrong the other day. I must have shrunk some things,” Henry said, trying to calm me. The ever-perfect boyfriend, taking fault for something that was my fault. Too much food intake and not enough exercise meant clothes didn’t fit anymore.

  My head fell backward and my hand went to cup his face. “Oh, look at you, being a good boyfriend and blaming the dryer, when in fact you know it’s your girlfriend who is the heifer with a problem.”

  “Do not call yourself a heifer; I’m not fucking kidding about that.” Henry grew serious. “You’re perfect, Rosie, everything about you is beautiful.”

  “Then why can’t I fit in my clothes?”

  Henry was silent for a second, not sure how to answer my question. “Uh, maybe because they’re skinny jeans are hard to put on?”

  “You are too good to me.” I kissed him on the lips, got up, and finished putting on my yoga pants. Despite the fact that I felt like a giant trash bag, I grabbed a tighter fitting shirt, wrapped a decorative scarf around my neck, and put on a cute pair of sandals. I put my hair up in a messy bun, coated my eyelashes with mascara, then grabbed my denim jacket. This would have to do.

  “Are you going to be okay, love?”

  My purse and keys were in my hand when I went to Henry and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. “I don’t want to talk about what just happened in that closet. You hear me? The skinny jean struggle is something we keep between these two balls and vag, got it?”