Biker's Virgin

by Claire Adams

  “Oh, awesome!” she exclaimed. Her eyes looked absolutely gorgeous as they sparkled in the low, subtle candlelight.

  “Well, I dunno about you,” I said, “but I'm kinda starving. How about we sit down and enjoy this while it's still hot?”

  “That sounds lovely,” she replied. “Take a seat at the table, and I'll go get the wine glasses from the kitchen.”

  I took a seat and watched her sashaying over to the kitchen. I couldn't help but be mesmerized by the sway of her hips and the way her dress hugged the contours of her very shapely, firm butt. I felt a stirring down below and decided I'd better sit down and keep my lap under the table, lest my excitement become too… obvious.

  She returned smiling and carrying two wine glasses and a corkscrew, which she set on the table in front of me.

  I uncorked the wine. “Say when,” I suggested as took her glass to fill. I started pouring, and when the glass was about three quarters full, Brooke said when.

  I filled my glass and clinked it against hers.

  “Here's to… Here's to…” I began but drew a blank when it came to completing the sentence.

  “Here's to chemistry,” she said, finishing my sentence with a cheeky grin.

  We both took deep swigs of our wine and then dove into the food. It was, without bragging too much, pretty damn delicious.

  We chatted as we ate, discussing topics like our classes, the people in them, our teachers, but also recounting days from high school, parties we'd been to, funny or embarrassing situations we'd been in. Chatting with her was natural; the conversation flowed.

  Eventually, the topic turned to my parents. I tried to maintain the upbeat tone of our evening, but I couldn't help talking about my dad and what I'd learned earlier that morning. Brooke was so easy to talk to and such a great listener. I felt comfortable releasing all the emotions I’d had pent up since I got the phone call.

  “Oh, my God, Emerson,” she said, and there was genuine concern and sympathy in her voice. “I'm so sorry to hear that.”

  “Thank you,” I replied.

  She reached across the table and took my hand in hers. A powerful stirring of electric excitement charged through me as her skin touched mine and I felt the warmth of her hand under the tips of my fingers. “If there's anything you need, I'm here for you,” she said. A glisten of tears rimmed the edges of her eyes.

  “Thank you,” I repeated, not really knowing what else to say. “That means a lot to me, Brooke. It really does.”

  “Well, I mean it,” she assured me.

  We sat in silence for a few moments before I gently withdrew my hand from hers. “Let's not talk too much about it, though,” I said. “I don't want to dwell on it.”

  “Alright,” she replied. “Well, now that we're done with dinner, how about we do something else?”

  “Sure,” I replied as I drained the last of my wine from my glass. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Well, how about another bottle of wine for starters?” she suggested, her eyes glinting with a flirtatious glow in the candlelight. “The night is still young.”

  “It's still young, indeed,” I agreed. “Bring it on.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Brooke

  Hearing Emerson talk about his dad's medical situation really pulled at my heartstrings. I had to stop myself from getting all teary-eyed right there in front of him. I don’t know what it was, but seeing him hurting broke my heart. I had to hold myself back from jumping out of my seat and wrapping my arms around him to comfort him. Instead, I took his hand. That’s when something happened. I could almost feel him calm down as our eyes met. It was as though the touch of my hand seemed to assuage some of the fears that were gnawing at his heart at the prospect of his dad having such a risky surgery.

  At once, all I wanted was to steer his thoughts away from all the worry and anxiety. So, I suggested, against my own rational judgment, that we drink more. I don't typically approve of using alcohol as a crutch, but once in a while, it can be a little therapeutic to drown one's sorrows in a few glasses of liquid courage. And, I sensed that poor Emerson had some pretty intense sorrows to drown.

  So, we headed to the sofa, our bellies satisfied with both wine and the delicious meal Emerson had made, and we sat down with a fresh bottle of dry red. The room wasn't spinning by any means but I was, however, feeling a bit of a heady rush from the bottle we'd already finished off. I wasn't quite drunk yet, but the buzz was coming on fast. We flopped down on the sofa, and Emerson uncorked the second bottle. He filled up a glass for me, one for himself, and he then clinked his glass against mine with a smile. “Thanks for a great evening,” he said.

  “It's not over yet,” I replied. “Unless you’re just ready to get the hell out of Dodge.”

  He locked his gaze on mine. “Not a chance.”

  An energy pierced the air between us. I could sense the heat of Emerson's stare, and could almost feel the pumping of his heart in that powerful chest through the space between us. I immediately looked down at the glass in my hand, trying to breathe, but I couldn’t keep my eyes off of him as he leaned toward the coffee table to set the bottle of wine down. He caught me staring and smiled almost shyly, causing me to avert my eyes once more and sending a flush of heat through my cheeks.

  “Alright,” he broke the awkward silence, “how about we play a drinking game?”

  I laughed. “I have never played a drinking game!”

  “Well, all the more reason for you to do it now! What's life without trying new experiences?” He grinned and raised his eyebrows, challenging me.

  I considered his challenge for a moment before replying. “Okay. Fine. I'll play. What kind of game are you thinking of?”

  “How about a little game you might have heard of called… truth or dare?” He took a sip of his wine as he looked over the edge of his glass at me ever so suggestively.

  The intensity of his glance took my breath away. I pulled in a slow, deep breath as inconspicuously as I could. “Alright,” I agreed. “Let's do this. So how does the drinking aspect of it come in?”

  “Well, we'll play the classic truth or dare. You know how that works, right?”

  “I do, though it's been a long time since I played. I think the last time was in middle school. How do we add the drinking into it?”

  “Alright, so let's say it's your turn. I say to you, 'Truth or dare?' and you have to pick one of those options. If you pick truth, I ask you a question and you have to tell me the truth. If you choose dare, you have to do whatever dare I suggest. Now, here’s the drinking part. If you don't wanna tell the truth, or don't wanna do the dare, you have to drink a large gulp of wine. Got it?”

  “Yeah, sounds easy enough. So, who's gonna go first?”

  Emerson took a quarter out of his pocket. “I'll flip a coin. Loser goes first.”

  “Deal.”

  He grinned as he positioned the coin on top of his thumbnail. “Heads or tails?” he asked.

  “Heads.”

  He flipped the coin up into the air, caught it and slapped it into the palm of his left hand. He kept it covered for a few tantalizing seconds before he revealed the outcome. “Ha!” he exclaimed. “It's tails! Looks like you're up first, Brooke. So, what's it gonna be? Truth or dare?”

  I sipped on my wine before answering. “Truth.”

  “Alright. I'll start off mild, ease you into the game. So, my question for you is: How old were you when you had your first kiss?”

  I chuckled. “Alright, that’s easy enough. I'll answer that one. I was thirteen.”

  “Thirteen, huh? And, who was it with?”

  “Um, you only get one question, mister. Nice try.”

  “Yeah, you're right, you're right, I was pushing it there.”

  I smiled. “But I’m feeling generous. I'll tell you anyway. His name was Jimmy Chamberlain. He lived down the street from me at the time. There were some woods near our house. He and I used to go to the woods to catch fireflies in jars
in the evenings. So, one evening we were out with our jars sitting on this old fallen tree trunk when this huge swarm of fireflies came through the trees. It was amazing. Looked like something out of a movie. I remember watching in awe, looking at all these little insects drifting through the trees like floating stars. We were so amazed that we didn't even try to catch any of them. We just sat in silence watching this spectacle unfold. Before I realized it, we were holding hands and the next thing I knew… Well, my first kiss.”

  Emerson smiled warmly. “That actually does sound like something out of a movie,” he said. “What ever happened to little Jimmy?”

  “Oh, I dunno. My family moved soon after that, and we didn't stay in touch.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah,” I sighed dramatically. “Young love. I guess it just wasn't meant to be. Anyway, enough about my sad love life. It's your turn. So, truth or dare?”

  He fired a cheeky smile at me. “I'm gonna go with dare.”

  “Alright, mister! Give me a moment to think of something suitable.” I scrunched my nose as I thought. “Got it. Ready?”

  “As I’m gonna get.”

  “I dare you to walk out on the balcony, do a Tarzan yell as loud as you can, then announce to the neighbors that Brooke is the best neighbor ever! Loudly.”

  He grinned and complied without hesitating. When he returned to the couch, I was laughing hysterically.

  “If the cops are called, I’m telling them you did it,” he announced as he sat down.

  I just shook my head and tried to stop laughing. “They’d never believe me. My Tarzan cry isn’t nearly as good as yours,” I admitted.

  “Yeah, yeah. Well, put your money where your mouth is. Take a dare,” he taunted.

  “Fine. Dare.” The word slipped out before I even thought about it.

  He didn’t hesitate. “I dare you to tell me what you really think of me.”

  I almost told him. I opened my mouth and just as he thought the words were going to come out, I slowly raised my wine glass and gulped down what remained in it with a sly grin.

  “Oh, that was just wrong,” he grumbled.

  I laughed.

  Three truths, a dare, and another empty bottle of wine later, it was his turn.

  “Okay, Tarzan, what’s it’s going to be? Truth? Or dare?” I asked.

  “I think it’s time for another dare.”

  We both took sips of our freshly poured wine. I was really starting to feel the effects, its soothing heat moving through my body. I also felt my inhibitions starting to fall away, but I was at a point I really didn’t much care. “Okay, Emerson, I dare you to… strip down to your underwear.” I was more surprised at what I’d dared him to do than he seemed to be.

  He didn't even bother to protest or hesitate. He stood up immediately and whipped off his shirt, which he flung across the room stripper-style—a move that got me giggling like a schoolgirl. Then he slowly undid his belt, dropped his jeans around his ankles, and climbed out of them. Next thing I knew, he whirled them around his head like a lasso. I couldn't help but laugh. While I was giggling, he tossed them across the room, as well. He was left standing in his underwear—tight, black boxer briefs, which left almost nothing to the imagination, as the contours of the bulge protruding from them was plain to see. I couldn't stop myself from taking in the whole spectacle of his gloriously hard, defined body. Every muscle seemed to have been chiseled from smooth marble. There didn't seem to be an ounce of fat lurking anywhere on him. I stared for a moment before it hit me that I should say something or do something; I'd been staring at him so long it was becoming a bit embarrassing. “Alright then, well done!” I laughed. “Now it's my turn again, right?”

  “That it is,” he replied, and then sat down next to me in his underwear.

  “Umm… Emerson, I didn't say you have to stay in your underwear, ya know. You executed the dare, you can get dressed now.”

  He smiled, and I’d have sworn there was a hint of something strongly suggestive in his smirk. “I'm comfortable like this,” he said. “Besides, don't you think it's kinda hot in here?”

  It was definitely hot, although whether that was from the actual temperature in the room or the fact that Emerson was now basically naked next to me, I couldn't say for sure. “Um, yeah, it's absolutely a little warm in here,” I responded, not quite able to look him in the eye. “So, yeah, let's get on with the game.”

  We each drank the last of the wine in our glasses and then topped them off again. I realized how quickly we'd been drinking and how the alcohol was starting to hit me. I was feeling pretty light-headed.

  “Alright, truth or dare?” he smirked. “And don’t say truth again, chicken.”

  “Okay. Dare.”

  A devious smile turned up the corners of his luscious lips. “I dare you to move closer to me.”

  I complied, all the while staring him down like I wasn’t fazed. But I was. He was dangerously close. “Your turn,” I half whispered.

  “Dare.”

  “I dare you to tell me what you’re thinking right now.” I narrowed my eyes at him.

  “I’m thinking that I really want to kiss you,” he breathed.

  My pulse quickened.

  “Your turn,” he reminded me when I didn’t speak.

  “Truth.”

  Emerson locked his eyes on mine with a smoldering gaze. “If I kissed you, would you like it?”

  “Umm, can you ask another question?”

  “You can drink if you don't wanna answer, but I'm not gonna change the question.” His focus intensified.

  “Alright, I'll answer. Yes. I would.”

  He shifted closer to me on the sofa. His hand brushed against mine and, instinctively, I opened my hand to allow him to slip his fingers through mine. Locked in his gaze, blood pounded in my temples, heat rushed through my limbs as he moved in closer.

  “Do you really mean that?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “Then… I guess…” he slipped his free hand around my neck and tangled his fingers in my hair. “I guess there's only one way to know if you’re telling the truth,” he whispered as he leaned in and covered my lips softly with his.

  There was a brief moment of resistance on my part—a fleeting moment, the last brick in my wall coming down and settling in a cloud of dust. I parted my lips and allowed his tongue to explore. The taste of wine rushed over me as our tongues moved in a shifting, gentle dance. He pulled me closer as we kissed, his hand gently moved to cup my face. Possessed of its own will, my hand glided up to caress his magnificently solid chest. It was just as statuesque in feeling as it looked.

  He began to run his hands up and down my back, brushing the skin ever so lightly with his fingertips. Every subtle touch sent shivers of pleasure rippling along the surface of my skin.

  We parted, both gasping for breath after the intensity of the kiss. He looked as if he was going to say something, to hesitate, but then his expression changed. Instead, he leaned in and kissed the side of my neck. His lips grazed along my throat, nibbling and biting with just enough force to tantalize and set me aflame with want.

  His hands began exploring more of me as his tongue trailed kisses back up my neck until his lips found mine once more. I ran my fingers in every direction I could find, caressing his back, which was just as solid as the rest of his body. Every time his lips touched my skin or his hands traced along the outside of my breast, I felt a fresh surge of pleasure shudder through my body.

  I gasped softly; his touch had just the right amount of force balanced with gentleness. It was apparent he knew how to touch a woman's body.

  I felt my hands slipping down, returning to trickle over his gloriously ripped midsection, mirroring the gentle, yet arousing, touches he was planting on my body.

  Moans of pleasure slipped from his mouth as he continued to scatter kisses down my neck and shoulders. As I moved my hands farther south, his mouth began to wander downward. He slipped the strap of my dress down ove
r my shoulder just enough to expose what he was after. His thumb deliberately brushed across my nipple as it hardened, prompting a sharp, drawn-in breath of pleasure from me.

  He traced a heated trail down across my belly with his hand and moved his mouth from my shoulder. “I can stop any time you want me to,” he breathed into my ear.

  “Never,” I gasped, and his warm mouth made its way down to my breast, replacing his thumb. As his tongue danced playfully around my nipple, I could feel an intense arousal coming on. A heat I had not felt for a long, long time was now pulsing its intensity between my legs. The fire of the alcohol in my blood was working its madness through my veins and amplifying my arousal.

  As he began to slip his hand up my inner thigh, he hesitated. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, panting with the force of his own arousal.

  “Don't stop,” I hissed. “Whatever you do, don't you dare stop. I want this. I want you, Emerson.”

  He stared directly into my eyes with a gaze that could have liquefied steel, and then he kissed me again, deeply and passionately. I had never been kissed with such emotion. His hand slid into my panties and I shuddered. “Oh, my God, you're so wet,” his voice was husky through our kissing.

  I gripped his wrist as he started to move his fingers up and down, rubbing and caressing in a slow, even rhythm. A steadily-building tsunami of pleasure began growing with each deft stroke of his fingers. I slid my hand into his underwear and gripped what I found: the full, throbbing hardness of his own arousal. I started to move my hand in rhythm with how he was working my body until he started to gasp and moan as we kissed.

  I managed to pull my lips from his for just long enough to speak. “My room, now,” I ordered.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I stood and hurried to my room as he padded along behind me. As soon as he was inside, I pushed the door shut, stripped my dress off, and stood before him in only my panties.

  “My God, you're gorgeous,” he exhaled. “You're so utterly, utterly beautiful.”

  “So are you,” I breathed as I made my way toward him. The wine was pounding its roaring arousal through me with hurricane force. I stood before him and slid my panties to the floor. I traced a line down his abs until I locked a finger in the band of his briefs and helped him out of them.