The Virgin Gift

by Lauren Blakely

  His grin widened. “We finished early. Bet you didn’t think we’d finish it on Friday night.”

  “No. I sure didn’t.” And I wished he hadn’t.

  He tipped his forehead to my place. “Come. You’ll want to see it before you sign off. You can pay tonight, yes?”

  “Of course. Of course I can. Just give me a second,” I said, and returned to the bedroom to find Nina in yoga pants. She’d brushed her hair and knotted it into a bun. Her laptop lay on the bed.

  It was as if we were erasing the evidence, rewinding to casual buddies who helped each other out with guest rooms for crashing in and food for noshing. “I need to go see what’s going on next door.”

  “Yes, go. I hope it looks fabulous. I need to”—she paused, like she was thinking—“I need to prep for tomorrow. I had a last-minute booking with a client who’s in town with her lover this weekend. She’s doing some casino-themed shots, so I need to go over my plans to shoot her in a bed of coins.”

  I ached a brow, laughing. “That’s interesting.”

  She shrugged with a smile. “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. You know how it goes.”

  Then she winked at me, as if the city’s slogan was ours. As if it was a reminder that we were a secret.

  Was that all we could be? Nighttime rendezvous and dirty deeds, midnight trysts and secret fantasies?

  I wanted to know what number eleven was. Wanted to ask if we could write in numbers twelve, thirteen, fourteen, and more.

  It had felt like she’d wanted that too.

  But hell, maybe I was wrong. Maybe she responded the way she did because it felt good. Because she had a little kinky sub in her, and I gave her my kinky dom.

  Maybe that was it.

  My mind raced, hunting for answers in her eyes. I didn’t find any, so I crossed the distance, curled a hand around her head, and kissed her lips.

  When I broke the kiss, I told her I’d be back later. Because that was how it worked. I should return.

  I would return.

  “See you then.”

  But David wouldn’t shut up. “Let me show you the finish close up,” he said, guiding me from room to room. “We are masters at detail. Take a look at this.” He pointed to the doorway of the guest room, where my parents would stay next week.

  “Terrific.”

  “You won’t get that from anyone else. You chose well. That is why we had to spend the extra time. You won’t regret it.”

  But I was already regretting having answered the door.

  “No regrets for the paint,” I said, flashing a thanks and we’re done grin.

  He chuckled and clapped me on the back. “That should be my new corporate mantra.” He sighed deeply, pleased, then snapped his fingers. “Let me just have you sign off on the invoice.”

  “Great.” That was what I wanted, so I could return to Nina.

  He reached into his bag for a clipboard then flipped through some pages, whistling under his breath. He found mine and took his time tugging it gently from the holder.

  Kill me now.

  I snagged a pen from the counter, and the second the paper was free, I scrawled my name.

  “Now, just a little green and we’ll be good.”

  I located my platinum card, and he slid it through a card reader. But the credit card company decided to be a douchebag and spent its sweet time verifying that this wasn’t fraud.

  I mean, that was all well and good, but was tonight the time for Chase to call and verify I was me?

  Evidently.

  Thirty minutes later, David left, my condo still smelling of fresh paint.

  Nina would be hungry, and I needed to feed her, not to mention find a way to figure out what the hell to say.

  But when I returned to her apartment, the place was quiet. A stillness floated through the air. An empty protein bar wrapper was on the kitchen counter.

  I padded to her bedroom.

  My heart raced to my throat. There she was. My sweet Nina, curled up on top of the bed, her laptop open, her yoga pants and T-shirt on, sound asleep. Good sex had a way of doing that to you. It was the best medicine for an excellent night of rest.

  I lifted the corner of her covers, tucked them diagonally over her, and dusted a kiss to her forehead.

  Her breath came steadily. In, out, whoosh.

  I tried on her name in the faintest of whispers, too soft to wake her, but needing to test it.

  “Nina, I fell in love with you.”

  Her breath stayed at the same pace, and I turned out the lights, left the room, and shut the door.

  Tomorrow I’d have to find a way to say it for real.

  I did not want to be startled awake by the Rolling Stones. Not now. Not at this godforsaken hour. Because it could only be a disgustingly early time of day.

  I squinted, reaching for my phone next to me on the guest bed.

  Morning light shone through the blinds, the sun blaring its arrival. Grabbing the phone, I silenced Brandon’s ringtone then answered.

  “Hello,” I grumbled.

  “Bonjour! Also, where is my parade? My motorcade? My marching band?”

  I groaned. “My bad. Forgot to order one.”

  “I forgive you, I suppose. Well, as long as you pick me up at the airport.”

  I scoffed. “There is this thing called Uber. You download it, use it, and it takes you everywhere.”

  “I know. Just messing with you. I’m in my Uber now, on my way to your place. The only room I found was a master suite at the Bellagio for two grand a night, so I’m all yours today. See you in ten.”

  I sat bolt upright. “See you.”

  Scrubbing a hand across my jaw, I tried to make sense of my day, and how my plans had been upended. Well, technically I didn’t have any plans till tonight when the crew would hit our favorite spot at The Luxe, but I needed to work, go to the gym, see my sister, and, oh yeah, one more thing. Find a way to tell Nina I had fallen for her without, y’know, screwing our friendship.

  That was all.

  I dragged myself out of bed, peered down the hall, and saw her door was still closed. I wandered over and pressed an ear to it. I didn’t hear any stirring. My sexy angel was still asleep.

  And that sucked.

  In the guest bathroom, I took a piss, brushed my teeth, washed my face, and then pulled on my clothes from last night.

  Her home was still painfully silent as I padded to the living room, images of what we’d done there last night flickering before me.

  My friend on her knees, waiting for me.

  Nina taking me in her mouth.

  My sweet, dirty girl losing control on the butterfly.

  My shaft twitched, like a dog longing to be let out.

  But it would have to get in line.

  I headed to her kitchen counter, spotted the owl notebook, and grabbed a sheet of paper, scribbling out a quick note.

  Brandon is here, and I need to go. And you said you have a client. But I want to see you later. I need to see you later. And don’t forget—we’re all going out tonight.

  I don’t know how I’m going to look at you without thinking of how absolutely beautiful you are on your knees, on your stomach, on your back.

  In every way.

  You’re beautiful—my sweet, dirty girl.

  P.S. Did you know Antarctica is the only continent where pumpkins don’t grow? Lucky Antarctica.

  There. That wasn’t too much. It was just enough for where we were, but it hinted at more. More something. More us.

  I left the note by the coffee pot, a surefire guarantee she’d see it.

  Then I set the pen by the notebook.

  This notebook.

  And to think this was where it had all started. I ran my finger down the cover, as if it had magical powers and would tell me how to win Nina’s heart, along with her body.

  I flipped it open to her list, smiling as I reread every item.

  And then I saw a new one.

  My skin turned ele
ctric.

  She’d filled in number eleven.

  21

  Nina

  I was alone, and it was fitting.

  I’d always done well with my own company, processing my day, sorting my thoughts. After last night and all that had happened and hadn’t happened, I needed time to figure out what to do next.

  I padded out of the bedroom, but the open guest room door and the lack of Adam’s phone and gym bag told me he was gone. I knew he was busy today, so I wasn’t worried. I’d shower, have some coffee, and prep for my shoot.

  I headed for the bathroom and cranked up the heat. I lifted my face to the water, letting it beat down on me. A mere twenty-four hours ago, I’d luxuriated in the water then too, the newness of my sexual explorations a palpable thing.

  I supposed they were this morning too.

  After all, last night I’d crossed the bridge.

  But as I ran my hands down my body, I still felt like me.

  I felt the same.

  I was the same woman I’d always been.

  Because the woman I was had always wanted sex, wanted kink, wanted submission in its own way.

  Now, I was simply the woman who’d had those things.

  Was I different?

  I turned around under the water, shampooing my hair.

  The difference, I supposed, wasn’t in my body and whether someone had or hadn’t entered it.

  The difference lay in who I’d let in.

  Adam was inside me in a deeper way. When he’d touched me for the first time, it was like he was breaking down a wall. One I hadn’t known I’d erected. One that had prevented me from seeing him in certain ways. Before he found my list, I’d assumed he was the sweet guy next door, a fantastic friend. Charming, confident, and 100 percent a good guy.

  He was still all of those things. But he was more. So much more. He was my filthy match. And if I hadn’t taken the chance on working through my list with him, I’d never have known that we’d set each other on fire in the bedroom.

  I trembled as memories raced past me.

  We were an inferno in bed. We were wild together. We melted into each other. And that told me more than an awkward post-sex conversation about lists and gold stars did.

  I had no prior evidence. No point of comparison.

  But in the bright light of morning, I knew I didn’t need one.

  Because I was certain in my body and in my heart that we’d shared something deeper than a laundry list. The connection was real, visceral, and powerful.

  Yes, the moments after sex had been weird, with me trying to keep it light.

  But I didn’t linger on those images.

  I scrolled through the viewfinder on my mind’s camera to before.

  When we were naked, looking into each other’s eyes, falling apart. He’d said my name, something he hadn’t done before. He’d said it over and over, and he’d sounded like a man who’d lost himself too. Lost himself to emotions, to possibilities, to a future like this.

  Was it too much to hope for? Too much to ask?

  I didn’t know, but I burned with longing. A new kind of longing—I craved a deep intimacy, and I craved it with my best friend.

  After I rinsed the soap from my body, I turned off the water and stepped out of the shower.

  Brushing my teeth, I reached for my phone on the vanity and scrolled through the recent episodes of Ask Aphrodite, finding one that fit my state of mind.

  The title was True Intimacy—How to Ask for It.

  I hit play, and that smooth, sensual voice filled the room.

  Hello there, gorgeous lovelies. Today we’re going to tackle a different side of sensuality. But it goes hand in hand with sexual exploration. After all, doesn’t true intimacy in the bedroom come from intimacy outside of it? Rare is the couple who can set fire to the sheets without the foundation of love, respect, and adoration. In fact, I will die on this hill: great sex is only possible with great love.

  And as you’ve been learning how to ask for what you want inside the bedroom, I urge you to ask for what you want outside of it too.

  It’s far too easy to stay where we are, in our comfortable places, and never take a chance.

  But a chance at true intimacy is a chance worth taking.

  I know. I’ve been there, and I want you all to have what I’ve had.

  So, if you’re on the cliff, jump off. It’s worth it.

  I won’t give you a step-by-step instructional. All I will say is, you won’t get what you want unless you ask for it.

  I hit end, stared at myself in the mirror, and vowed to find a way to ask. After I dressed for my shoot, my stomach rumbled and my brain demanded coffee.

  I answered the call of the belly and the brain and headed for the kitchen, where I stopped short. There was a note left by the coffee maker.

  My heart stuttered. Nerves slammed into me.

  But then I talked back to them. After all, I’d been learning how to ask for what I wanted.

  “Please let this be my chance.”

  I opened it.

  22

  Brandon

  For the record, I was not a cheap bastard. I’d looked far and wide for hotel rooms.

  I’d happily pay a couple hundred a night for one on the Strip. No. Make it an even five.

  But I couldn’t find one for less than two grand.

  When certain conventions sent more than one hundred thousand people at any given time to Sin City, one did not simply find a hotel room that didn’t cost a kidney the night before he flew to town.

  Still, that was what friends were for, and I was damn glad I had Adam and his offer to turn to when I got off this plane.

  But first, champagne.

  The blonde flight attendant handed me a glass. “It’s calling your name, Mr. Winters.”

  “But it’s so early,” I said playfully, shaking my head as if truly debating the consumption of this beverage. “How can I live with myself for drinking so early?”

  “It’s not early in France,” she said with a wink in a faint French accent. “Pretend you are at your favorite brasserie, having a glass, watching the men and women walk by on cobblestoned streets.”

  Ah, sounded exactly like my life for the last few years.

  I raised the glass, grateful the airline had upgraded me, thanks to my frequent flyer miles. “When you put it like that, how can I live with myself for not drinking this champagne at three in the afternoon in Paris?”

  She patted my shoulder, smiling softly. “Exactly.”

  It was a passing touch. It ended a second later as she moved to the row behind me, treating another first-class passenger to a breakfast drink.

  But it was enough to remind me of how long it had been.

  Three years of only passing touches.

  Three years of missing.

  Three years of watching the world go by.

  I lifted the glass and downed half the drink, letting the bubbles tickle my nose and go to my head.

  I wasn’t going to get drunk on half a glass of champagne. Please. But as the plane zoomed closer to Vegas, the city where I’d met, romanced, and fallen madly in love with Jenna, I’d need a drink or two to get off this plane.

  Hell, I’d required shots, lots of shots, last time I came here.

  I downed the rest of the glass for good measure.

  When the attendant turned around, passing me again, she didn’t ask if I wanted another. Instead, she stopped, giving me a soft grin. “What brings you to Vegas?”

  “Friends. Work. The usual.”

  She arched a curious brow. “And is that good?”

  “Good enough,” I said, my standard reply.

  “Sometimes ‘good enough’ is all we can hope for, isn’t it?” Her brown eyes were rimmed with sadness. She didn’t even try to hide it. It was there to see so easily, to read so completely.

  But then, that was what I did. I read people. “Yes. Sometimes it is all there is.”

  She sighed, a little melan
choly sound, but then she smiled, and just as quickly, her sadness disappeared. It was gone in the snap of the finger. “But we go on, and we find the joy in other things, don’t we? That’s what I’ve done.”

  I was too startled by the slice of honesty she’d served up to say anything at first. It was rare to connect with a stranger so easily, one I knew I’d never see again.

  But maybe that was what strangers were for sometimes. For those unexpected encounters that cut you right to the heart.

  “Yes, I think that’s true,” I said. “At least, I hope it’s true.”

  “It is,” she said reassuringly. “I’m finding mine again. I’m trying again. You’ll get there. I can see in your eyes that you’re thinking about it. I know you’ll get there, and you’ll be glad when you tried.”

  She set her hand on my shoulder once more, took my empty glass, and walked to the galley.

  It wasn’t romantic, her touch. I didn’t follow her to the galley and beg for her number. That wasn’t what that moment was about.

  It was about something more.

  About letting go.

  This stranger, who could read loss in my eyes just as easily as I’d seen it in hers, was an unexpected comrade in arms, giving me permission to let go.

  And as the plane began its descent, diving toward the city that once belonged to my heart, maybe that was exactly what I needed.

  It was only a weekend.

  But maybe it was time to let go.

  When I reached Adam’s condo, he yanked open the door and clapped me on the back in a quick hug.

  “Good to see you,” I said, filling with a new sort of happiness—the kind that came from seeing old friends. It was a centered, balanced kind of joy.

  His brow creased. “You look different.”

  “It’s Botox. Shh. Don’t tell anyone,” I said as I moved past the doorway.

  “Ah, that’s it. Did you have those collagen injections too?”

  I set down my bag and laughed from deep within.

  Adam tilted his head to the side. “Yeah, you don’t usually laugh like that. What’s up? Because it isn’t Botox.”